New Horror/Sci-Fi Fiction Blog: TLPTHY


While we focus in the absurd and comedic here at The Superb, we also like to dip into the horrific, fantastic and dramatic.

We are pleased to announce our sister blog, TLPTHY, which will focus on horror and science fiction short stories. We will primarily work in short fiction and series.

We currently have a few posts up, one of which was seen on this site by Cash, Tobacco. The newest post is the first chapter for a short story I’ve been working on, Private Eyes.

Please follow us and let us know what you think.


Solid Man: Chapter 2


Having depleted all of my pistol’s bullets into the mysterious sandstorm, I was shocked to see my pursuers still standing and approaching my location.

“Bad dudes.” I muttered through my scarf. It was at this point that I really wished I had brought my ChapStick along because my lip flesh was currently hung on my bandana, like a stupid fish caught on a stupid line of dried lip meat.

I scurried to my feet and started to run up the metal staircase. Contrary to what I initially thought, staircases are not perceptible to night vision googles in a sandstorm, so it’s accurate to say that I climbed the stairs with only my shins. Shinning my way about halfway up, I noticed the storm was starting to abate. Soon, my element of surprise and cover would be gone, like the time my Groucho Mark nose and glasses were taken by that librarian.

As I reached the top step, I paused to take stock of my leg situation. The goggles showed an angry red where my shins should be, a raging weather system as it were. No time to take care of myself, however. There was a scientist in the building ahead that needed my help. He was probably in worse shape.

Drawing my tranq dart gun, I fully intended to send some of the bad guys back to my ocean base, dozed and ready to make me some ChapStick. I spotted some blobs up ahead. Bad blobs. I broke into a run, my gun pointed out in front of me, firing darts to lead my way. These darts were loaded with rhino tranquilizers, per my request. By the time I got to him, he would be slumped into a heap, drooling.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the storm completely disappearing during my run of righteousness. All at once, my rocking nightvision became high beams two inches from my face as the desert sun came back with a vengeance. I screamed and struggled to get the goggles off of my face. They were fastened so tightly, and I know that was Koji because I told him I don’t like them that tight and that guy…..that guy is always screwing with me and I’ve about had it.

Once I removed the world’s brightest Game Boy away from my face, I was treated to an even less favorable sight. I was surrounded by the terrorists, their guns drawn and every one of them with a scar on their face somewhere, like this was a thing in their culture.

“Baaaaaaaaaaaad dudes, huh?”, I said through my scarf. At this point, my lips are completely shot. I was going to have to get quite a few boys on a proper moisturizer.

“Not as bad as this dude, Solid.”, a voice said from above me. A man in a white coat stood on the staircase leading up the side of a large white metal tower. It billowed in the wind behind him, like he was a pretty lady in a harlequin romance novel.

It was my target, Dr. Sklvan, but he wasn’t in the position I had anticipated. I was thinking more of a bag over the head, no pants, dirty butt scenario, but this was a surprise. He held a remote in his hand with a large red button.

“Let me guess…”, I said, my lips really just to a point of ridiculous chap, “I just witnessed your research in action.” I gripped my dart gun tighter and tighter, hoping Koji had put some sort of pressure trigger that would blow everyone up if I just squeezed hard enough. He didn’t.

Dr. Sklvan simply smiled. He didn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me?” I wanted to make sure he heard me.

“Yes, Solid. I heard you.” He heard me.


To be continued…

Solid Man: Chapter 1


Afghanistan. 22:00 o’ clock. The night was black, like the coffee in my Coleman thermos. The desert wind stung my face like so much bleach poured in my eyes. I kept my bandana, which was a lady’s scarf that I purchased at Hudson News in the airport, across my mouth and nose, like I saw in a movie once. I was ready for action.

The sandstorm had stirred up a while back and just kept going, like a faucet in the men’s room of a K-Mart with paper towels in the drain and then I never went to a K-Mart again. Hopefully, I could use it to my advantage.

I pulled my nightvision goggles back to my eyes to scope the area ahead. I saw 4 upright blobs move across my field of vision, or that could have just been my eyes recovering from the sand abrasions, they had been blasted pretty hard for a while since I tried to just squint my way through it and may have caused some permanent damage.

My plan was set: there was a metal staircase that winded it’s way up the cliff face.  I would use my cunning stealth and extreme tactical espionage to use the sandstorm as cover to ascend the cliff face.

“Espionage!” I screamed at the top of my lungs to begin my mission. I dove to the side of the rock, executed a roll and completely disoriented myself. Also, I was still wearing my goggles and they now lay across my face askew and half on. I readjusted them to locate my blobs. Straight ahead and maybe 20 feet from my current location….could have been 70, I can’t really make heads or tails of this interface.

I took off across the packed sand road. My feet found purchase across the road as if I were a strange emu of brawn and power. I kept track of the blobs and finally reached my destination with a loud clang as my head and goggles collided with the scaffolding on the temporary staircase. I was knocked to the ground, and in mid-fall, grabbed for my gun and began firing it wildly into the wind storm to defend myself and get the drop on these bad dudes.


To be continued….

Heavy Breathing Radio


The slider went up, and the sound presented itself front and center.

“OH, SCARBO! You’re on with Papa Spanks!”, Charles screamed into the mic. He never distanced himself from his mic, but leaned in and tried his level best to shatter the diaphragm. Let them sort out the distortion in post.

“Umm…this is Jerry from Harbo. Second time caller, and a constant tuner….in.”, a shaky voice on the other end said.

“HARBO! I can’t get those jerkwater places sorted out in my head! Scarbo’s the one with the giant mechanical dipper that serves you any sort of soup from a Campbell’s soup can that you bring it, right?”.

“I…I have no idea. Scarbo is 4 towns east. It’s very inconvenient for Harboians to visit.”

“I bet.” Charles slams his hand on a large red button and 4 airhorns gaff taped to mic stands blast into a mic on the other end of the room. “What can Ol’ Papa Spanks play for you tonight?”.

“It’s my ex-wife’s second anniversary, congrats Beth and Gary, and I’d like to play for them the wma file that I just sent you from my Juno account.”

“Alright, hold on just a tic….”. The sound of Charlie clicking can be heard across the line. He squints and tilts his head upwards, as men of his age and background are prone to do. “Which-w…..what account did you send it to?”. His cursor was dancing aimlessly across his desktop.

“The one for Free Money Thursdays. I would have sent it to Breathers Inc,  but the b key doesn’t work on my phone.”


“I’m-I’m from Harbo.”

Charlie leans back from the mic and turns towards his assistant in the mixing room. “Do we get Juno on this?”. His assistant runs in and silently typing on the computer. “WE’VE GOT BARRY ON THE JOB!”


“BARRY FOUND JUNO, HE HAD TO GET IT UP ON THE E BROWSER!”. Jerry was quiet on the other line.

“OKAY, JUST DOWNLOADING RIGHT NOW. VERY EXCITING STUFF…..WHERE SHOULD I SAVE THIS, BARRY?…………..DESKTOP IS FULL…….”. Charlie hits another button on his separate PC that is dedicated to media playback and a Kelsey Grammar soundboard. A sultry British voice presents herself, backed by a synthetic orchestra completely obliterating any attempt of presenting a consistent level.

“This is Papa Spanks and Barry in the morning. Get your affairs in order and tune right in right now.” A chorus of 4 men and 2 women explodes into the mix as the synth instruments climax into a standard Rock stinger as they sing “SPANKS AND ENGINEER BARRY IN THE MORNINGS! WFAQ 98.7 THE KIT!”.

“Okay…”,  Jerry says into the screaming cacophony of digital instruments. “Okay.”


The sound of heavy breathing fills the airways. The inhalation hitches in places as the source appears to be exerting energy somewhere. Charlie lets the breathing play uninterrupted for 4 minutes, smiling and holding his headphones to his head. Barry stands in the mixing room and faces the corner sobbing. Jerry quietly agrees with his recording as it plays.

“THIS IS FOR YOU, BETH. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY.”, Charlie erupts at one point, then goes silent for another 6 minutes as the breathing continues, phlemy and obstructed.

At some point, Jerry hangs up the phone, but Charlie doesn’t know. He can’t know, because he is gone in the breathing. It has broadened and deepened like a river, a river he floats down to nothingness.

Jerry takes a cab across town to see Beth. There’s no traffic, because no one misses Papa Spanks in the morning.

A short while later, Charlie comes to and stops the recording. He slams his hand on the red button, the air horns blast, and everyone is back.

“PAPA SPANKS WANTS TO TAKE YOU TO…”, he jams his finger onto the keyboard to play the next song, first hitting the N key, then the plastic directly below the space bar, then the space bar. Under The Boardwalk begins, along with a new day.