Brett Rutherford’s “The Lost Children”

Lost Children
Sometimes it’s okay to judge a book by it’s cover.  Look at that image.  Doesn’t really tell you much, does it?


What if I told you that the skeleton, broken doll and book title are all beveled and embossed?

If you’ve ever read a mass-market fiction book from the ’80s, you’ll recognize those details.  Much like a soft white cover–with an oval cut out of it to reveal a hand painted portrait of a shirtless guy and a swooning woman–will let everyone know that a book is about fucking…  that embossed skeleton on black background tells the ’80s reader exactly what they’re getting into. 



What you’ve got here is a cheesey premise sketchily linking together a bunch of horror-ifying scenes.  Seriously.  Just look at that list of Tags down there.  This thing hits all the bases.  And it executes them all flawlessly hilariously.

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Fuckin’ Heat.

Woah woah woah… that title can’t be right, can it?  Who complains about heat on New Years Eve Eve?  I’ll tell you who…

The fucking guy that’s been changing out the cylinder head on his piece of shit overheating car all week.  The guy that’s spent the last two nights trying to repair his brother’s overheating Xbox 3Shitty.  The fucking guy that can’t play videogames on his computer every other week because the fucking thing overheats any time Tuesday is an even numbered day of the month.  And, of course, the guy that lives above the (probably) home grown dope shack that has to keep their temperature at a bare minumum of 30 motherfucking degrees Celsius.
Oh wait… all those assholes are me.
Fuck you, heat.  Fuck you.

This Heat sucks too.
Seriously though.  I’ve had to sleep without covers, like, 6 times this winter already.  I fucking hate sleeping without covers.  I like to curl up… not sweat out.  If you’re reading this Wayne:  Turn the fucking thermostat down.  15 degrees is fine.  20 at the most.  If it’s -10 outside, and I’m turning my heat off because yours is too fucking high… then yours is too fucking high.