Angels With Bloody Faces: Revised Edition

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The results are in. I recently chose my bloody prom king and queen and two fine morsels they are too. Totally deserving of such regal status, nobody in the business works harder to give their followers exactly what they desire, that being blood and skin and, more often than not, in exquisite synchronicity. As you may be aware, the Keeper of the Crimson Quill has been bestowed with the supreme honor of weaving my seductive prose around their masterful galleries and, as First Knight of the TOK Family, I do so with vicious voracity. My sword is unsheathed and my chin held high, ready to march forward into bloody battle.

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First my beloved Grueheads, be excited. Feel the dark energy swell in those quills and quims as the ultimate banquet is being lovingly prepared for our consumption. This feast comprises of the most tender of loins, the second chapter in their brutal book of blood. The Orphan Killer: Bound X Blood is closer than you may realise, green lit for filming to commence in the fall and it will ramp up the salaciousness on every level, believe you me! I can say no more as the First Knight has sworn his oath but I can say this; it will not be some half-assed cash-in or regurgitation of the first, that is for damned sure. The Orphan Killer is akin to a blood-sopping tulip. It has only begun to unfurl and will take you in directions never before taken.

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Little do you all know, but you have all played a chief part in its structuring process. Like all monarchs should, they listen to their followers and take on board every wish list. Think of them as bloody santas, only instead of candies and toys, they bring with them tidings of harsh brutality and a hefty sack filled to over spilling with delightful grue and busted body parts. So I have established that the sequel is something to salivate about, nay bleed from your eyes over. But many of you are newcomers to the carnal pleasures of Bloody Brother Matt and Baby Sister Diane so it will delight you to know that you don’t have to wait for the film’s release to sink your teeth into fresh content from our deities. In fact, you will never have to wait. Period!

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Their souls are fully invested into their art and, moreover, into giving their growing legion new inventive content, not just recycled trash like some. And with their First Knight honored with supplying regular chronicle, they have recruited the best to bring you fine Grueheads what horror has woefully lacked, certainly since the eighties. Social media is something I previously despised but through these channels we can reach out to each and every one of you. Without further ado, it is time to dip into their darkness and explore what makes them our Mighty King and True Scream Queen of our cherished horror.

Let’s start with Mr Matt Farnsworth, the blue-eyed boy. It matters not whether you’re looking at pics of him from ten years ago or bang up to date, he just doesn’t have a bad anything day. And is it just me…or is he just getting hotter? Those daily oats seem to be nourishing him. The fact is, if I woke up each morning to wipe the humidity from the mirror and saw Matt Farnsworth’s facial coordinates glaring back at me intently, I’d jump back and kiss myself JB-style.

Ladies, you know underneath those generously cupped hands is a serpent with cobra-like expanse. Girth not dearth! It would no doubt probe like a dentist’s drill and hit pay dirt with every donation of love-pollen. So not only can this dude write, direct, choreograph, edit, produce, act, fuck, paint, inspire…but he’s hung like a Shetland pony too. You try getting a saddle on his back!

He may look akin to a bronzed Adonis but, believe it or not, he is actually human. That’s right, he lives, he breathes, he laughs, he probably don’t cry much but you get my gist. Being in his company, whether typing or skyping is always a joy. We wax lyrical, laugh like nincompoops, and I often feel my balls growing larger just by absorbing his fiery passion and belief. I have become a far better writer through feeding from this man’s over spilling mental goblet. Sharing is caring folks and we feed from each other. Remember we are primal creatures at our core and sharing his passion and drive, not to mention hearing his belief in my own aptitude, has given me access to the bloody wings of a fallen angel.

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Which brings us tidily to the True Scream Queen, our Lady Die. Don’t get me started on this flaxen goddess as there’s no finer lyrical to wax than when the topic is our illustrious, not forgetting utterly salacious, divine majesty. This isn’t just a roasting hot piece of ocular confectionary before us, it’s a distinguished and noble patriot, clad in the finest suit of armor conceivable, her tender skin. She can get down and dirty without once coming over trampy and exhibit class without the faintest whiff of arrogance. And she’s full of love, so full in fact, that it bleeds out of every millimeter of her nibbleable pelt.

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Such inexplicable beauty, a face to have your ashes scattered over, eyes like voracious whirlpools with undercurrents of passion, a pair of lips that would no doubt cause cardiac failure through excess of dark pleasure simply by pressing against your ear-lobe. The figure of a succubus, able to devour you whole. With the most honorable intent, the most stunningly projected nipples I’ve ever seen and below a cove of shaven moist pleasure Aladdin would keel over in. I’m being decidedly frank of course, but I know that refreshes our queen, as she sees no reason whatsoever for me to mince my words. I can have no airs and graces because anyone less than entirely truthful could never harness the integrity to drag horror kicking and screaming into the future after such a sorry run of form for the past two decades.

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I have compared her to both Marilyn Monroe and Katherine Hepburn which is no small compliment, but study this Grueheads. I’ve compared her to BOTH!!! Justin Bieber may well prance around like a dick on a stick, attempting to emulate MJ, but he’ll never possess the skills of MJ and Stevie combined. Get a fucking eye dog boy. Diane takes two icons and absorbs qualities from both, without ever pillaging. She is Diane Foster; and that again is the loftiest compliment Keeper can pay.

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This particular angel looks simply resplendent with a little blood on her face, her neck, her sternum, running in a rivulet down to her navel, dripping from her haunch. She wears deep red like absolutely no other and does so habitually. Anywhere they go, they always have a length of hose handy for those post-bloodbath wash downs, and take any opportunity available to them to provide us with eye-opening optical stimuli. That is what truly sets them apart, their committment to the cause is beyond admirable and we damned well need that going forward. Horror has been screaming out for a shake up for too long and finally it has a pair ballsy enough to really put themselves out there to the people who place their faith in them without exception. Angels, the pair of them. Sure their wings may be broken and bloody but who said angels have got to be holy anyhoots?

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Click here to read Dinner Date With Lady Die

 

Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Revised Edition 2015)

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