dick handsome: paranormal gynecologist

Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist vs. The Vaginomicon

Note: This story was written almost entirely on a phone and presented completely unedited because I can't bring myself to exert any further effort into this horrible thing, so expect the occasional misspelling or grammatical hiccup. There's a part of me that dreams of one day being a professional artist/storyteller, and every one of these stories is like taking that part of me and smashing a brick off it's head. Enjoy! - jsb

Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist Vs. The Vaginomicon
by jayesbee

We were packed tight, clumsily bumping into each other like a pack of drunken sardines. The air was hot and muggy, the result of thousands of people rebreathing the same air over and over for the past few hours. Everything and everyone was moist. This was one of the most disgusting situations I've ever been in. Which is saying a lot, considering my profession.

My name is Dick Handsome. I'm a paranormal gynecologist.

"Ohmigod, he's sooooo hot!" shrieked one teenage girl.

"He is so, like, God's gift to women." replied another.

It had been like this all night. My head was pounding from the high-pitched squeals and the occasional MARRY ME COCKY bedazzled poster board bouncing off my skull. I was one of the very few men in the crowd and I was the only one old enough to buy alcohol, which coincidentally seemed like a great idea at the time.

Me and the sea of overstimulated hormones were all waiting to be called backstage to meet Cocky Rocko, the "sexiest singer/songwriter like, ever" according to Tiger Beat magazine. We had already sat through his concert; ninety-odd minutes of lip-syncing and elaborate dance routines. And screaming. So much screaming. The majority of the audience was slowly being corralled out to the parking lot, but us lucky ones who had won backstage passes or bought them (Me, for a ridiculous amount of money. Goddammit.) stayed behind, eagerly waiting to meet the man himself.

For the record, I am not a fan.

At the front of the crowd, a very large bald guy with a black CREW tshirt appeared out of thin air and began trying to get everyone's attention. Yelling didn't work; I couldn't hear him over the crowd, I doubt anyone else could either. Next, he tried standing on a chair and flailing his arms about. This was also futile as I was the only one who seemed to notice him. Finally he reached into his pants, pulled out a 9mm, and fired a single shot into the air.

I hadn't considered that the security would be packing heat. A nasty oversight on my part, but it was better to discover that now rather than later when things got ugly.

Discharging a firearm in the middle of a crowd filled with excitable teenage girls probably wasn't the smartest idea, but it worked. He had the entire crowd's full attention.

"Alright everybody," he said, "we're gonna start moving you all in to see Mr. Rocko. I know you're all excited to meet him, but if you all could calmly line up single-file and have your backstage passes ready and visible, it'll make my job a whole lot easier."

For the most part, everyone was compliant. The tween squeaking and OMG'ing was reaching fever pitch, but they still managed to herd themselves into the makeshift security gate pathway, their backstage passes in shaking hands, ready to present them to the security guards. I of course followed as well, eager to get this mess over with. As each person got to the security guy, he'd eyeball the pass and wave them down another gated pathway that led them to a black door, beyond which I assumed was the private party area.

As I got closer and closer to my turn with the security guy, I could see him eyeing me, trying to figure out my story. I could understand - in a crowd of tween girls, a grown man stands out like a sore thumb. I looked suspicious as hell. I was just hoping security wasn't going to make a big deal out of it.

Turns out they were.

When it was my turn to present my pass to security, I tried to act nonchalant. Unfortunately, they weren't buying it.

"Sir, do you mind stepping aside for a moment? My associate would like to ask you a few questions." the security guy said.

I couldn't draw attention to myself just yet, so I'd have to play nice for a little while longer. Fortunately, I had planned for this exact scenario. I agreed to his request, trying to look as naieve as possible. He pointed to an open area past the security gate where a large shaved gorilla with a buzzcut and too much spray tanner stood.

I made my way to the gorilla, putting on my best stupid-and-harmless look.

"The security guy said you wanted to see me sir?" I asked.

"I'm gonna be perfectly straight wit'cha." he said. "When you're in the business of doin' what I do, and you see a guy your age at a show like this, it can mean only one of two things: father or pervert. And I don't see a kid with you. So, why are you here?"

Smart guy. Knows what to look out for. Fortunately, I was prepared. I reached onto my jacket pocket and pulled out a white envelope.

"Look creep, that better not be a bribe you're holding there." he said.

I didn't say anything. Instead, I opened the envelope and showed him the pink 'Get Well' card inside.

"My daughter's in the hospital." I explained. "She wanted to see Cocky Rocko, but the doctors say she's too sick. All I want to do is have him sign her card. It would mean the world to her."

The guard immediately changed his composure; his shoulders drooped slightly and his chest deflated. "Aw geez. I'm sorry man." He said, his voice even different now. "I had no idea."

"A completely understandable mistake." I assured him. "Now, where can I find Mr. Rocko?"

"Oh yeah." He pointed to a makeshift walkway created by paths of waist-high security rails. "Just follow that path. It'll take you behind the stage to a door marked 'VIP'. There'll be a guy at the door - that's my boy Joey - just show him your pass and if he gives you and trouble, tell him Steve cleared you."

"Got it." I said. "Thanks."

"No prob. And tell your little girl I said get better."

I made my way down the instructed path, pausing only to toss the 'Get Well' card in a trash can. There was no longer a line as all the VIP fangirls had made their way backstage while I was bullshitting my way through security, so I'd be arriving to the party fashionably late. Very well. I wasn't really counting on the element of surprise anyway.

Joey was waiting outside the VIP door as I arrived. I flashed him my pass and told him that Steve said I was cool before he even had a chance to question me. He nodded and waved me inside.  
The VIP room was apparently just some sort of all-purpose lounge. There was a rent-a-bartender (female) in the far corner (not really doing much of anything as almost everyone here was under drinking age) and a dj (also female) in the opposite corner spinning records on a portable rig. A snack table was placed against one wall. Small flocks of girls would sporadically swoop by to pick at it's chips and finger sandwiches as they eagerly waited for their darling Rocko to arrive. I made my way to the bar and ordered a scotch.

For about ten minutes, I nursed my drink and waited for the man of the hour. I was all-to-aware that I was the only guy in the room. Occasionally, I'd catch a group of girls checking me out and muttering to themselves, no doubt wondering what a grown man was doing backstage at a tween pop show. I ignored them and waited.

Then, he arrived. I was at the bar with my back to the room, so I didn't actually see him, but the sonic explosion of dozens of teenage girls shrieking in unison tipped me off (and almost made me choke on my drink).    

"Good evening, my adoring fans." he said, an enormous smile spread across his big, stupid face. "Did you enjoy the show?"

The crowd screamed in the affirmative. He beamed. He was wearing a silk shirt half unbuttoned to reveal a tuft of chesthair and too-tight black leather pants. Physically, he looked like Ron Jeremy with jerry curls. Time had taken it's toll on him since I last saw him, which made this whole scenario that much more bizarre.

I couldn't take much more of this. I threw back the rest of my drink, made my way through the crowd, and approached him. When he saw me, he smiled even bigger.

"Dicky!" He said. "I haven't seen you since the academy! What are you doing here? I didn't know you were a fan!"

"Actually, I'm more of a Johnny and The Facekickers fan." I replied. "Pop really isn't my style."

"Fair enough. To each their own and all that." He laughed. "So how have you been? Still stuck in that gyno thing?"

"The banishment continues indefinitely, but I stay busy." My token reply to that ever-nagging question.

"It's a shame, The High Order banishing you like that." He said as he put one clamy hand on my shoulder. "It's kinda funny though. I keep in touch with some of the guys from the academy - we've all heard of your encounters and exploits and whatnot..."

He was interrupted when an overexcited group of girls shouted, "WE LOVE YOU COCKY!" - possibly an attempt to sway his attention away from me. I then realized every girl in the room except the dj and the bartender were all gathered in a circle around me and Cock, their complete and total undivided attention directed towards everything their superstar said and did.

"I love you too ladies!" Cock shouted back. He then returned to me. "Anyway I was saying: we all think it's funny how The High Order and their so-called 'Council' stuck you in gyno to keep you out if trouble, but since you've been their you've had more paranormal encounters than the rest of us. Guess you showed them in the end, right?"

I didn't come here to reminise with old classmates, and I was never one for formalities. It was time to get to the point.

"I'm here for the book." I said.

Cocky laughed. A slight hint of fear was present, despite his painfully obvious attempt to hide it.

"What are you talking about? What book?" he said.

He was a terrible liar. I hoped his denial was just an automatic defense response because if he actually thought I'd buy the nervous, panicked load of crap he just threw at me then he must think I was phenomenally naive.

"A few days ago, a couple of representatives from The Order show up at my apartment." I explained, "Apparently, The Vaginomicon was recently stolen from it's chosen holder. The holder reported the theft to The Order and since they're responsible for monitoring the use of powerful relics, they went on red alert.

"It turns out, because of my banishment, I'm automatically a suspect anytime The Order has to do an investigation. So they show up at my place and grill me for a couple hours over a book I had all but forgotten about. When they finally leave, I turn on the tv to try to relax, and what do I see?

"I see an old classmate, Cock Rogers, singing and dancing on some music channel. Only now he's going by Cocky Rocko, and he's apparently god's gift to women, even though he looks like a troll and his music is terrible even for pop standards."

A random fangirl chimed in, "What's this guy talking about Rocko?"

Rocko snapped his fingers. "Hush now, dear."

The moment his fingers snapped, every girl and woman in the room stopped. Their arms went limp and dropped to their sides. Their eyes stayed open, but were glazed over, staring at nothing. They just stood there lifeless.

Me and Cock were now the only fully-functional people in the room.

"Nice trick." I said.

"Just a little something I picked up." He said.

"Bullshit." I replied. "That wasn't you. That was the book."

"Aw, c'mon," He said. "Surely you can recognize a basic stasis spell when you see one, can't you?"

"How stupid do you think I am?" I asked. "A stasis spell that can take out an entire room of people, but not affect the two guys that are standing in the middle of it? You're gonna sit here and tell me that you - of all people - have invented some kind of smart-bomb magic? Bullshit Cocky. Bullshit."

"I don't appreciate these accusations Dick. I think you need to leave." Cock said, trying (and failing, miserably) to give me his toughest I'm-dead-serious face.

"Really? Well you wanna know what I think?" I asked. "I think you stole the Vaginomicon from it's rightful holder and now you're using it for your own petty desires."

He tried to interrupt, I didn't let him. "I think this because I remember you showing an unusual amount of interest in the book when when we learned about it in the academy. 'Oh my god, a tome that grants complete dominion over women?'" I mocked, "'To hell with Chosen Holders, how do I get me one of those!' I explicitly remember you saying that Cock. Then the book is missing and you're suddenly the ugliest, untalented-but-still-ridiculously-successful pop star out there; and you're going to stand here - in the middle of a female-only stasis barrier that I can't feel the slightest tinge of psychokinetic energy off of - and tell me you've got nothing to do with it? Where's the damn book, Cock?"

One of the girls started looking around. She looked groggy, like she just woke up from a hard night of drinking. She started to mutter some random confused syllables when Rogers noticed and put her back on pause with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"Alright, ya got me." He said, his aggravation obvious. "I took the book. So-friggin'-what? It's not like The Order's ever lost a relic before. They probably don't even care; they were just looking into to it as a formality. They'll barely look around a bit, figure 'screw it' and mark it off as lost or destroyed. And the world will carry on as if nothing happened."

"What about the chosen holder?" I asked.

"Aw, screw the chosen holder!" He said. "What's so special about him? What did he do that gives him the right to posses the book's power? Nothing!"

Another girl began to stir and groan, looking around with eyes glazed over. The sounds of her groaning, although faint, were enough to wake up another girl standing next to her. As they both began to look about in their half-awake, half-asleep state, Cock rolled his eyes, sighed, and waved them back into false-sleep.

He continued. "Why should that guy get everything? He doesn't deserve it! Why don't I get to have any fun? I say he's had his time with the book, it's my turn."

"It's not about who gets to have fun with the book." I replied. "It's about balance. Misuse of any powerful artifact could send this world spinning into chaos."

Another batch of girls began to stir. Cock waved them back to sleep. "Screw the balance." he said. "I'm not affecting anything more than the glorious chosen one was.

"And don't sit here and act like you care about any of that crap. You're just trying to get back into The Order's good graces. Do you really think if you return the book to them, they'll release you from your exile? Don't be naive Dick. The Order doesn't care about you, me, or anybody else. All they care about is control, and right now, their panties are in a bunch because they lost a little bit of that control. But they'll get over it when they realize the world hasn't ended, and everything will be WHAT THE HELL!"

A couple more girls were starting to wake up. He snapped his fingers frantically until they were out again. He was starting to get a bit flustered and confused trying to keep them all under.

"I'm not doing this for The Order. I never for a second thought I could get out of the banishment that easily, not after what I did. I'm doing this for them." I gestured towards the girls, who were becoming more and more resistant to Cock's charm. "They're being held here against their will. They may think that they love you and everything you do, but that's just the Vaginomicon clouding their minds. It's not real, it's psychic slavery. And I'm putting an end to it now."

"That's really moving Dick, very noble of you. I, the villain, stole a book of unending power over all womankind, used it for my own personal gain, and now you're here to reclaim the tome and make everything right again." He said.

"A bit dramatic, but that about sums it up." I said.

"Well, the only thing stopping you is me. And an army of devoted fans that would tear you apart if I so much as willed it." He laughed, giving me time to appreciate my situation. Yeah, they were tween girls, but there was around thirty of them. If Cock could turn them against me, I wouldn't stand a chance.

Fortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

He continued. "How exactly do you plan on getting the book?"

"Simple." I said. "I already have."

All the girls were waking up now. Cock could no longer keep them under control.

"Goodbye Cocky." I said as I turned and started towards the exit.

"What do you mean, you already have it." He shouted. "That's impossible! Girls! Destroy him!"

But there was no response. His spell over them was gone. As I moved past them, I heard a few girls commenting that they were bored, that Cocky wasn't that cute in person. Most of them were already on their cell phones, calling their parents for a ride home. Rogers had turned to screaming obscenities at me, but he was harmless. I left the VIP lounge and made my way to the parking lot.

I was in the parking lot long enough to finish a cigarette when Sophia, the receptionist at my clinic, pulled up in her Buick. She rolled down the passenger-side window and leaned over to greet me.

"How ya doin' Mr. H?" She said. "Need a ride?"

"Got the book?" I asked.

"Right here." She pointed to her purse in the passenger-side floorboard.

"Great." I said as I a got in the car. "Any problems finding it?"

"Not at all." She explained. "The guy guardin' Cocky's dressing room is a friend of my brother Tommy. I've known him since we were kids, so he let me in. I snooped around for a few minutes then all of a sudden I felt a huge surge of dark energy coming from one of his briefcases. I checked it out and boom - there's the book."

"The surge must have happened when he enacted the stasis incantation." I said. "As I was talking to him, it became harder and harder for him to keep control of his fans. That's how I knew you had the book. His power became weaker as you got the Vagimomicon further away from him."

"Well now that we've got the book, can I take this thing off?" She asked, pulling a silver necklace adorned with a large ruby pentacle charm out from under her shirt. "No offense, Mr. H, but it's a bit goddy for me."

"Sorry Sophia, but the Vaginomicon is a very powerful relic; it holds immeasurable powerful over all females.  Even without an owner, there's no telling what kind of effect it could have on you and that sigil is the only thing protecting you from it."

She relented, tucked the protective charm back into her shirt, and we left.


A few phone calls, a night's rest, a few planes and a rental car ride later, Sofia and I were in the sitting room of the chosen holder's mansion. We spoke briefly to his assistant and she had us wait while she summoned him. After a few minutes, he arrived.

"You two must be my heroes." He said.

I stood and shook his hand. "I'm Dr. Handsome, this is my assistant Sophia. You'll have to forgive me, I'm not caught up on my pop culture. How should I address you?"

"Just Prince." He said. "The Artist-Formerly-Known-As thing is long over."

I handed over the book. "Well here's the book. The Order insisted that, since I was the one who retrieved it, I should be the one to return it."

The Purple One took the book and looked it over. "I was told that you refused to reveal the thief's identity."

"What he did was wrong, but he doesn't deserve The Order's brand of punishment." I explained. "Life without the book will be punishment enough."

"Very well." He said. "But if he's still out there, you better watch your back."

"I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself." I said.

"Solid." He said. "I hate to cut this short, but now that I have the book again, I have to begin cleaning up the mess left in my absence. Thanks again to you both, and may the Holy Light be with you."

We said our goodbyes and left. As we drove back to the airport and made our way back to Jersey, I couldn't help but think about Prince's warning; that somewhere out there, Cock Rogers was cursing my name.

But that's just how it works, it's the balance. For every good deed done, for every evil defeated, there's a new enemy somewhere in the shadows, beaten and scarred, but reinvigorated by anger and fueled by revenge.

But I know all about balance. Good. Evil. Light. Dark. The innocent, the guilty, and me, somewhere in between. Trying to keep everything in order.

My name is Dick Handsome. I'm a paranormal gynecologist.


Dick Handsome: The Noise

 I wanted to post this earlier, preferably right after Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist vs. the Cannibal Crotch of Cancun was posted, but I haven't had internet access at home for a week now because...actually, I've no fucking clue why, the shit just stopped working. A tech goon is supposed to be showing up today to fix it. However, let it be said here and now that if I don't have internet access by the end of this night, I am firing up The Nightmare Engine (from your friends at The Simon Corporation) and heralding the end of all things.

Anyway, my bizarre need to post shit on the internet has been sated as it is Friday and there's nothing to do at work.

A Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist story has been written, with plans for more stories in the works, and I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that I did this horrible, horrible thing. I feel this is me sinking to a new low personally.

Dick Handsome was accidentally created in my nightmare mind after reading a comment regarding another one of my bad ideas, SPACEDOOM: A Johnny Explosion Adventure. So this is like a bad idea giving birth to a worse idea. I actually documented the illogical string of thoughts that created this worse idea in an earlier journal post that I would link to here if I was a more considerate person, but I'm not.

When I originally came up with, and posted, the Dick Handsome idea. My intention was never to actually do anything with it. Even with my standards as low as they are, this was a line I had no intention of crossing. For a person who claims to love writing and take it seriously, I already fuck off enough with SPACEDOOM. I was not going to be the guy that actually writes a story about a guy named Dick Handsome investigating haunted vaginas.

Then Apple Inc. released an OS update to the iPhone and iPod Touch that allowed more applications to utilize the landscape orientation.

This is a strong leap in logic, so let me explain a bit. When I initially got my iPhone, I noticed one of the apps it comes packaged with (called "Notes", an app that lets you - wait for it - write notes) and thought might come in handy for writing stories and whatnot on-the-go. I could come up with a story and slowly work on it in my free time, without the need of a computer. I quickly realized that typing anything longer than a few sentences in the vertical orientation (which was the only option at the time) was a pain in the ass and I immediately dismissed the idea of using it as a word-composition device.

Then, just recently, this system update comes along and suddenly the idea is reconsidered. Now that I could turn the phone sideways and type comfortably, maybe I could use the iPhone as a writing tool.

Theoretically, it would work. But I still needed to test it out by actually writing a story on the phone. But since I would be composing a story in very unstable and experimental conditions, I felt that the story itself would have to be simple, short, and - in case this didn't work - disposable. A story idea I had no attachment to and never intended on actually pursuing...

Now, based on the facts I presented above, one could easily make the argument that the existence of Dick Handsome can be blamed on Mr. Steve Jobs.

Now I'm writing this story on my phone, viewing it as a disposable test run thing, and something terrible happens: I get into it. Suddenly, I'm putting thought into it, creating an alternate version of America's history injected with Lovecraftian elements and Cthulhu mythos while trying not to explicitly say "This is Cthulhu mythos". I'm coming up with ideas for other Dick Handsome stories and discussing the character with friends. I'm making in-story nods to Johnny Explosion.

I'm creating a character I'm starting to like.

Actually, by the time I'm nearing the end of the story, I'm finding myself regretting his name and occupation, wishing I had only taken the paranormal mysteries aspect of it. I'm conjuring up a paranormal/Lovecraftian Sherlock Holmes set in modern times. See? That's a good idea. Why didn't that come to me before the whole gynecology thing?

But what's done is done. Dick does provide me with countless fun fuckoff stories with ridiculous set-ups, and I do enjoy writing nonsense. I could always use the more serious idea later. I'll implant it into my brain/hatebox and see if it gestates into a good, usable premise.

As much as I surprisingly enjoyed creating this nonsense story, this is the first time I stopped mid-writing and asked myself, "What in the hell am I doing?". Despite my usual joy in taking a horrible idea and running with it, regardless of what horrible places it may take me; several times I found myself questioning whether or not I had crossed that line set by my already low set of standards and morality.

In the end, I don't think I did. That, or I did and I don't care. Either way, I enjoyed it, and I plan on writing more in the future.

After I finish SPACEDOOM: A Johnny Explosion Adventure.

And only on my free time of course. This shit will never take priority over real projects.

Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist Vs. The Cannibal Crotch of Cancun

Note: This story, having been written against my better judgement and composed entirely on my cellphone of all things, has not been proofread or edited in the slightest. Professionally, I feel I should look it over, but personally, I don't think a story with a premise this ridiculous warrants that much attention. In other words, this whole thing is so stupid that I'm not going to waste anymore time working on it. I wrote it, and that's enough.

Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist Vs. The Cannibal Crotch of Cancun
by jayesbee

Another stormy afternoon in Jersey. Looking outside my office window, I could see people scrambling in every direction, umbrellas and newspapers held high trying to escape the rain.

I was sitting at my desk with a glass of scotch, nursing a hangover and working on a new one at the same time. People say I shouldn't drink so much, that my liver'll rot before I'm thirty, but when you do what I do - when you've seen what I've seen...

Well, let's just say there's worse ways of kicking the bucket, and I face them every day.

My name is Dick Handsome. I'm a paranormal gynecologist.

The rain started to come down harder, you could hear it pounding against the walls of the clinic. It was so loud, I almost didn't hear my receptionist Sophia buzz me over the intercom.

"Mr. H, you have a Mrs. Velvet here to see you."

I checked my schedule, all my appointments were done for the day. I usually avoid walk-ins but it was a slow day. So, against my better judgement, I told Sophia to send her in.

We she came in, I took one look at her and could immediately tell something was wrong. She had a large scarf covering her hair and a pair of dark sunglasses taking up most of her face. (Typical incognito apparel. I see it all the time, ladies never want to be seen coming to my clinic cause if they're here, theve got something bad. Otherworldly bad.) There were two long streaks of black mascera running down her face from behind her sunglasses. The rest of her make up looked like it was put on absent-mindedly. She was two steps away from catatonic.

"I...I don't know what's happening. I heard about you online. I didn't know where else to go."

I had her sit up on the exam table and told her to try to relax while I looked over her chart. Veronica Velvet. Married. Age thirty-two. No childern, but did have a miscarrage at age twenty with no notable after effects. No recent irregularities in menstrual cycle. Reason for today's visit: unspecified.

"Unspecified" is never good.

"Okay Mrs. Velvet," I said, trying to sound professional and comforting, "what brings you here today?"

"It's only 'Miss' Velvet now I'm afraid. I'm a widow now." She pulled a tissue from her purse to dab away the tears in her eyes. "That's why I'm here actually. I think I... I... Oh my god..." and she began to sob hyserically.

She couldn't get it out but I knew what she was trying to say. She killed her husband. The moment she told me she was a widow I had a hunch that the reason why would be directly related to whatever brought her to my clinic. Now I just had to find out the details.

"I need you to relax and tell me what happened. I can't help you until I know the whole story." I said, trying to soothe her out of her hysteria.

"Well I...I was...no, I can't. You won't believe me. Hell, I don't even believe me."

Another thing most of my patients have in common momentery disbelief. They think what they're experiencing is so out-of-this-world that no one will believe them, or they think they dreamed the whole thing. They don't realize that their paranormal is my normal, that their worst nightmares are my job. So I constantly have to reassure them.

"Look," I said, "I know what you're going through is pretty scary for you, but believe me, I'm the best in my field. I've seen it all. There's nothing you can say that will shock me."

This was only true by a technichality. There are countless individuals involved in the paranormal - either by study or practice - but I am the only practicioner who specializes in gynecological paranormalcy. So technically I'm the best.

I continued. "I know it's hard, but I need you to tell me what happened."

She fought back her tears, regained her demeanor, and began. "It happened three days ago, I had been away from home for several weeks on a business trip, and when I got back...well I had been away from my husband for a long time. And...uh..."

"You returned from your trip and you were intimate with your husband."

"Yes. And while were in the middle of...being intimate, my uh...you know..." She gestured to herself shyly.

"Your vagina?" I asked.

"Yes. Well it...uh...it...it ate him."

Now we were getting somewhere. I asked her for details.

"It was so chaotic I couldn't tell what was going on." She said. "One second, we were being passionate. The next, he was screaming and there was blood everywhere. I remember clawed tentacles and a deep, inhuman voice." She paused, fighting back her emotions. "It was horrible. It was like he was being fed into a wood chipper."

As she explained her predicament, I was tapping into my encyclopedic knowledge of vaginal paranormalcy, considering all known causes of man-eating-vaginosis. Problem was, that's a symptom for at least seventy-five percent of all documented issues of vaginal paranormalcy.

Looks like I was gonna have to get my hands dirty with this one.

I had her disrobe and climb into the stirrups so I could take a closer look at what I was dealing with. After just a glance, it was blatantly obvious. Hanging like a stalagtite from her pelvic region was a football-sized creature that appeared to be of deep-sea origin. It's main 'body' was covered in a dark green shell with jagged spines jutting out every which way. At the bottom of it's body was a large beak which concealed row after row of needle-like teeth. I had a feeling that, if I were to stick my hand in there, it would be flayed to the bone in seconds. Above the beak was one milky-white eye that, although blind - seemed to be fixed on me. An if all that wasn't enough, it had seven tentacles sprouting from it at various points; each one roughly three to four feet long and ending with a large, nasty-looking hooked claw.

Mrs. Velvet neglected to mention this on her patient form.

She must have read my mind, because she immediately said, "Oh yeah, I also have this...growth...thing. I think it may be what killed my husband."

"So I noticed. How long have you had it?"

"Not that long, I don't think. I first noticed it on my way home from the business trip, in the airplane bathroom. Do you have any idea what it might be?"

I had some theories, but before I could question her further, the barnacle/squid/stalagtite from Hell began to speak.


I was pretty sure what it was now, but I had to make sure.

"Where was this business trip you went on?" I asked.

"Cancun." She responded. "I went there to negotiate a company merger."

Time for the tough questions. "When you were in Cancun, were you sexually active at all?"

"I...I..." she stammered.

I pressed harder. "I know it's embarassing, but I need you to tell me everything. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm a paranormal gynecologist; I've heard it all."

And with that, she burst into tears again. "I'm really not a bad person. I had never done anything like that before."

"What did you do Veronica?"

"We had just finalized the merger and me and some of the girls went out clubbing to celebrate. We were dancing and having margaritas...too many margaritas...I saw a group of cute local guys and I was drunk and one thing led to another and...well..." she fell silent, looking for a way to put it.

"You were in a gangbang with a couple Cancun frat boys." I provided.

"Yes. There were about twelve of them I think." She admitted, quickly adding, "I swear I've never done anything like that before. Up until the twelve-on-one gangbang, I was completely loyal. I loved my husband."

I didn't care about her loyalty to her husband. You can't really be part of the morality squad if you want to make it in my line of work. All you can afford to concern yourself with is what you're dealing with and how to get rid of it. And now I had that problem out of the way.

I explained: "When Columbus first came to The New World, he inadvertantly brought with him members of a secret society that worshipped the Old Gods; beings from beyond the realm of sane mortal comprehension. As America flourished, so did the cult. By the nineteen hundreds the were multiple independent factions spread all across the country, each with their own unique practices. Despite their differences, all of the various sects generally got along with each other. Except for one group: The Order of the Child-God. Apparently they were trying to get a lesser god to mate with a mortal woman, believing that she would give birth to some sort of hybrid being."

"Is that bad?" Mrs. Velvet asked.

"According to the majority of The Order, yes. Their main belief was that they were chosen to bring about the reawakening of The Great Dead Elder God; who, upon His return, would 'drive the world into the mouth of madness'. They felt that The Order of the Child-God's attempts at making a being of both mortal and nightmare-god would create a disruption in their prophecies. So they began to hunt down and murder anyone involved with the Child-God sect."

This was all obviously flying over her head. "I don't get it. What does a fugitive cult have to do with my vagina?"

I continued. "Most of the members were wiped out, but a small group managed to aviod capture by fleeing the country. They wound up in the area we know today as Cancun. There they continued their work."

"What happened?" She asked. "Were they successful?"

"Yes and no. In the nineteen-forties they somehow managed to get a minor god to rise from the sea and bed a maiden, but it didn't impregnate her. Instead she was driven mad, as all mortals are when they encounter The Old Ones, and she got pubic lice."

Veronica was understandably confused. "She got crabs from a god?"

"Basically. Not normal crabs though, 'miser pubic pestis' the wretched pubic creature. Pubic lice from beyond the realm of sanity. That's what she got, and that's what you now have."

I probably shouldn't have been so blunt, cause she didn't rake it well. "I have nightmare crabs?! This can't be happening!"

"Actually it makes sense. After the maiden was contaminated, the sect disbanded, but miser pubic pestis continued to spread throughout Cancun, growing more powerful, drawing spring-breakers and other potentially permiscuous mortals to it so it could spread. You getting infected was actually more plausible than you would think."


It's clawed tentacles were darting about randomly. It looked like an unfathomable monster's version of a nervous tic. This thing was getting agitated.

"Do you mind if I...?" I asked Verinica, point to the parasite.

"If it will get this thing off me, do whatever you need." She replied.

I kneeled down to be eye-level with the creature, it's tentacles darting dangerously close to my face. Looking into it's one sickly eye, I spoke.

"Curse fiend of Ckanthak'ai, please forgive my frail vessle of flesh as I humbly request your audience."


"I am well-versed in the arts of the arcane, in magiks both common and forbidden, in tongues long dead and older than time itself. I have a working knowledge of the beastiary hidden within this world, beyond this world, and beyond this realm. I have learned the secret history of mortals and gods and I have stood toe-to-toe against the daemons that lurk within the thin spots."


"Indeed I do." I replied. "Is there anything I can do to appease you?"


"What exactly does that mean?" Veronica asked, surprisingly offended.

"It's saying that you're not a big enough slut." I explained. "The creature's ideal host would be a woman who is more explicitly sexually active with multiple partners. That way, it can spread more efficiently."

"Oh." She said. "Thanks, I guess."

I turned back to the creature: "Very well, I can get you another host, but you have to promise not to kill Mrs. Velvet when you make the switch."


I almost reached out instinctively to shake it's tendril, but I quickly realized what I was doing and stopped myself. Then I went to my desk and buzzed Sophia on the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. H?" she asked.

"I'm gonna need your help on this one." I said.

"Oh dear. I'll be there in a sec." The intercom clicked off and we listened to the clicking of her high heels coming down the hall until she arrived.

Sophia's a good girl. A college student working on a degree in paranormal studies, she showed up at my door a year and a half ago looking for an internship. I gave her a shot and she's been here since. She's a little ditzy, but she's good with the patients and her airheadedness lets her take everything in stride. Nothing my job entails seems to phase her.

"Okay Mr. H, whadaya..." She broke off, seeing the thing bonded to Mrs. Velvet's pelvis. "Oh dear, you went to Cancun, didn't ya?"

"Yes." Veronica answered.

"Don't worry hon, we'll get ya fixed right up." Sophia said. The. She turned to me, "So whadaya need me to do doc?"

I instructed her to stand in view if the crotch-monster, but remain safely out of it's reach. Then I turned back to the creature.

"Esteemed nightmare parasite, I present your new host: Sophia."

"You can't do that!" Veronica protested. "I mean, I want this...this thing off of me, but I couldn't live with myself intentionally giving it to her."

Before I could say anything Sophia stepped in. "Sweetie, relax. Mr. H and I know what we're doing. We're...uh..what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Professionals." I offered.

"That's it; we're professionals. So you just sit back and try to relax and we'll have ya signed out and heading home in no time. That a deal?" She was all smiles and comfort, and although she was noticably still reluctant, Mrs. Velvet gave in.


Sophia once again stepped up. "Honey, I guess you didn't catch the name plate when Mrs. V drug you in, cause if you did, you'd have seen that it says 'Sophia MacGuyver'. I got four brothers and five sisters. And everyone in the tri-state area knows that nobody parties harder than the MacGuyver sisters. Or are you afraid I may be too much for you?"

I knew exactly what she was trying to do, and it was working. It was getting pissed.

"INSOLENT WRETCH! YOU WILL BE MINE!" It shrieked as reached out with its tendrils, dug into the tile floor with its claws, and began pulling itself off of Veronica's pelvis. There was a wet, fleshy sucking sound like pulling a plunger off a side of beef. I kept an eye on Veronica. But she seemed to be handling herself well. Planting her feet firmly in the stirrups of the examination table, she was pulling in the opposite direction with all her might. It was like childbirth crossed with tug-of-war crossed with pure horror.

Finally, whatever unspeakable biological construction that the creature used for attaching itself gave way and the two of them snapped apart. As it promised, aside from some mild irritation and puffiness around the vaginal area, Mrs. Velvet was completely unharmed.

The thing was now plopped on the ground, slowly dragging itself towards Sophia, who had backed up against the wall, putting as much distance between it and her as possible. Smart girl.


The parasite was laughing hysterically, its one milky white eye fixed on its new host. Sophia was doing great, keeping it focused completely on her so I could slip into the exam room closet and get the equiptment I needed.

The equiptment in question was a flamethrower I lovingly named 'Excelsior'. Believe it or not, but a good, easily transportable flamethrower is one if the most commonly used tools in paranormal gynecology. A good rule of thumb in this and any other field of paranormal investigation is this: if the hostile entity you are confronted with is of the physical plane - ie flesh and bone - then nine times out if ten you can torch it into oblivion.

And based of my observations, the miser pubic pestis was most definitely of this plane.

Excelsior in hand, I dashed out of the closet and back to the girls. When I got there, the set up was perfect; Veronica was still on the table, Sophia was back against the wall, and the creature was in the center of the room, slowly dragging itself towards Sophia. Where it was, I could blast it without doing any damage to the girls.

It was go time.

"Hey crotch monster!" I shouted.

The creature stopped and turned to me. It was hard to tell, bit I'm pretty sure the look on it's...face was probably surprise.

"Take one of these and don't call me in the morning."

And with that, I unleashed the full combustible fury of Excelsior upon the creature. It flailed it's barbed tendrils wildly in protest, but there was nothing it could do. It's vagina-infesting, husband-eating days were over.

It managed to get out one final "CURSE YOU PHYSICIAN!" and then it was gone; nothing left but a small lump of charred black meat. I turned off the fuel on Excelsior and turned my attention to the girls.

"Always with the flamethrower." Sophia said. "You boys and your toys."

"Hey it works, doesn't it?" I said. "You handled yourself amazingly, by the way."

She started to blush. "Thanks Mr. H."

I turned to Mrs. Velvet, who was understandably flustered by the pyrotechnics. "How are you Mrs. Velvet? Are you okay?"

"I can't believe it. It's over. It's really over!" Before I could protest, she ran up and threw her arms around me, squeezing me tight. "Thank you doctor! Thank you so much!"

"I'm just doing my job." I said. "Whenever you're ready, Sophia will take you up front and provide you with any follow up info you need."

"Okay." She said. "And thank you again."

She composed herself and followed Sophia out to the receptionist's area. Just another client. But there was something she said that stuck with me. "It's finally over". Sure, for her I guess it is. But for me, it will never be over. All across this shakey mortal realm, women are under constant threat and most of them don't even know it. Forgotten nightmare-gods, daemons, sex curses, unimaginable terrors from all planes of existence, hell, even extra-terrestrials; all after mortal females.

But when the most vile of the paranormal creep into our world for their nefarious purposes, they know to creep lightly, or they'll find themselves face-to-face with the one person who even the nightmares fear.

My name is Dick Handsome. I'm a paranormal gynecologist.


Dick Handsome will return in Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist Vs. The Vaginomicon.

Explosions, Alcohol, and Porn

Spent the 4th of July weekend in Indiana, experiencing firsthand the beauty of My Fellow Americans demonstrating their pride in this wonderful country blowing up gasoline-soaked fireworks and watching hardcore porn with The Salem Crew. The Salem Crew can be described quite simply; epic and violently homoerotic. I was up till about 4 in the morning, and I had a little bit to drink, so my recollection of the events probably aren't as vivid as they could be, but fortunately the night was documented and is currently stored on Martin's Facebook.

This is the only image that doesn't have me in a compromising position with another dude.

Notable moments from the night include:

-Arriving at Martin's to be greeted by a row of pale white asses.
-Pety conducting a very scientific experiment involving gasoline, gasoline-soaked fireworks, and fire. It is a very educational experiment and you should try it at home. With your children.
-Discussing an awesome comic idea with Martin.
-Convention planning with Brodie.
-Discovering the horror of an alcoholic soda-based concoction known as "Dr. Comfort".
-Realizing more people were interested in Wayward than I had originally thought.
-Watching porn. Not just porn though, but horror-spoof porn. Thanks Tiffanie.
-Somehow not getting killed or dismembered.

God bless America. I swear I'm not gay.
[Meanwhile, back at The Simon Corporation]

I tried, but it doesn't look like I'm going to have my shit ready for a table at Wizard World Chicago this year. Wayward 2 is done, but due to both cash and time issues, there's no way going to be able to get enough books printed in time, and I don't see the point in getting a table when I've only got Wayward 1 available. But there are plenty other conventions coming up, so I expect to be out pimping my swill sooner than later. I'll still be at Wizard though, just not at a table.

Against my better judgement, I'm currently working on a Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist short story. Mainly, it's an experiment to see how plausible it would be to compose stories on my phone, but I'll probably end up posting it here when I'm done. As for the experiment, it seems that - now that both landscape orientation and copy/paste are (finally) available - word composition on the iPhone isn't as painstaking as I initially thought. Obviously, it's not as good as a full-sized keyboard with actual buttons, and it is completely primitive compared to writing with my Brainfucker Mind Probe, but it works pretty good for writing on the go.

My first Dick Handsome story, Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist vs. The Cannibal Crotch of Cancun, will be posted soon. I apologize in advance.

Tomorrow (well today now, considering it's 12:30 AM now) is Nicole's birthday. I was going to get her a rocket-powered Cadilac with an automatic cake dispenser installed, but unfortunately The Awesome Store was out of stock, so I got her some Uglydolls instead.

If you get a chance and have the means of contacting her, drop her a line and send her warm birthday wishes and gratuitous large cash prizes.


So I was planning on writing this last Tuesday, but my internet connection died because Comcast is dogshit. Then Dead Space came out Wednesday, and Dead Space takes higher priority than posting nonsense on MySpace. Then, trying to finally sit down and write it today, fucking Safari fucking crashed while I was fucking writing it. This fucking entry will be posted so help me god.

So a while ago, I posted the first chapter of my still-ongoing study of retarded-awesome verses common sense, SPACEDOOM: A Johnny Explosion Adventure. I've been handling SPACEDOOM the same way I handled Todbob: by throwing in whatever horrible idea comes to mind regardless of whether or not it actually works. Thus far, the only idea I've omitted from the story is Johnny's rocket-powered surfboard was originally going to be a horse-sized, flying, fire-breathing wienerdog. I am not making this up. Also, being the self-destructive little troll that I am, I get a sick pleasure out of obliterating what little artistic or literary credibility I may have established.

It's fun not having to try; not having to explain how a barbarian can also be a private investigator, or how this can exist in the near future. I don't worry about having to be descriptive in my writing for SPACEDOOM. I've yet to even say what Johnny looks like (although, being a barbarian detective, I always picture a muscle-bound, long-haired, barbarian stereotype wearing nothing but He-Man-style leather underwear and an old-skool detective fedora). I've also discovered that you don't actually have to describe the setting in a futuristic story so long as you put "neo" in front of everything.

Despite the fact that it's terrible, I enjoy writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. Although I don't know how many people are actually reading it as the only feedback I've received regarding it is from America's love child: Randy Pease. But even if Randy is the only one reading it, that's okay 'cause Randy's my boy. Let the record show that the rest of you are ungrateful twats though.

I'm writing about SPACEDOOM because something happened while writing this that provided me with the perfect opportunity to describe the horrible thing that happens in my brain that I pass off as "the creative process".

Here's the scenario, I write all the SPACEDOOM chapters at work because 1: my job is that boring, and 2: the time restraints and distractions keep me from proofreading and putting too much thought into the story. If I actually put thought into SPACEDOOM, it wouldn't exist. Anyway, I had just posted the first chapter and went on with my job-related duties. Around the end of the day, before I was getting ready to go home, I decided to check my MySpace. There, I saw Randy (voted sexiest man by Spin Magazine in 2003) had posted the following comment:

I read this, signed out, and left work. The following is my line of thought that took place in the time it took me to get out of the office and to the bus stop:

-Hmmm. I had originally planned on SPACEDOOM being a one-time thing, but the idea of a prequel telling the retarded-awesome adventures of Johnny's barbarian forefathers may have some potential.
-But what would Grundig's story be? Obviously, a "barbarian + other profession" model is the format I would want to follow, but I shouldn't make Grundig something similar to a detective, because that would be too similar to Johnny.
-No, Grundig would have to have a profession the complete opposite of badass, something completely opposite of detective and unfitting of a barbarian, but he should still find a way to use his barbarian skills, thus resulting in awesome. Barbarian pastry chef? Barbarian meter-maid?
-Grundig: Barbarian Gynecologist! That's fucking terrible! I gotta run with this! He's an everyday gynecologist, but he keeps getting in bizarre, gynecology-related situations that require his barbarian know-how. Vagina's that are possessed by demons or some shit, which would make him a...
-PARANORMAL GYNECOLOGIST! How the fuck did I manage to get a woman to marry me? This is horrible, and potentially offensive to women everywhere!
-Okay, so I absolutely love the idea of a "paranormal gynecologist", but I think that barbarian paranormal gynecologist may be too much. Let's drop the Grundig part and focus on the paranormal gynecologist bit, this has to the potential to be it's own separate thing; I'll work on Grundig later.
-Okay, we've got a story about a paranormal gynecologist, taking care of ladies' junk and using his paranormal expertise to handle vagina-based cases of the supernatural. If you're a lady, and you have a vagina, and your vagina has some affliction that can't be explained by conventional science and medicine, you go to this guy. He's the best there is at what he does, and what he does is battle haunted vaginas.
-I am so disgusted with myself as a person right now.
-But who is this guy? He's gotta be tough-as-nails, he's an expert paranormal gynecologist; he's seen some shit.
-Since this whole thing has the potential to be horribly offensive, I should go ahead and go all out. This guy has to have an extremely sexist, pro-male name, something like...

Creating this image has to be the single most terrible thing I've ever done.

And thus, a horrible idea is created.

This is how my brain works. Now, I don't know if I'll ever write this story any time soon, if ever, so if anyone's interested, I've decided to donate this idea to you, the readers. If anyone want's to destroy their lives as much as me, feel free to write a Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist story. The setup is stupidly easy: chick has supernatural vaginal issues, and Dick Handsome is on the case, using his paranormal expertise and streetwise know-how to solve the problem and get the girl. There's a story right there in that horrible cover I created, it's so obvious it almost doesn't need writing.

If anyone is stupid enough to take this on, let me know and I'll offer the fullest extent of support, while letting you have as much creative freedom as you want. My only suggestion is that you use thick, noir-style narration (that's Sin City style narration to you thickies) for added hilarity, but that's optional. All I ask is for some minor credit, and if you get rich and famous for it, sending some cash my way would be cool.

If I have the time, I'll be posting more Dick Handsome: Paranormal Gynecologist ideas (along with horrible covers) up here and I may take a stab at writing one myself someday, but for some really bad reason, I'd like to see this become a community project with multiple authors in multiple mediums. Write a Dick Handsome story and get banned from fanfiction.net, make a Dick Handsome comic and get banned from all cons, make a Dick Handsome short film and get banned from YouTube, the choice is yours!

If anyone's stupid enough to be interested, you can contact me at simon1428@gmail.com