Author Archives: Tony Single

SPAM® Sushi #1

Dear Readers, we’ve seen many mad things made from SPAM® such as costumes, musical instruments, and even sports gear. However, we like to do even madder things with it. Is it possible to make something crazier than Sir Can-A-Lot or Can-Jo? Yes. Making answers to spam comments! Welcome to The Night of the SpamEaters®! (Don’t forget to put your bibs on!)

Baby security gates aгe typically made use of on staircases, entrances and somke uneven openings in thе residence.
—Zane

Thank god for those security gates, eh? Babies are monsters, and they must be contained! Let’s stay vigilant so that we can escape this residence of evil alive!
—Tati & Tony (of the SpamEaters® Initiative)

(Anybody need seconds?)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Oops!… We Did It Again (callipygean clasp)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017-2018

100 WORD SKITTLE // Keb’s Descent

Do you remember where you were the day the red god fell? Like a cannon shot from the heavens it was, and I was only six. Ma was bouncing me off her knee. She stopped that quick smart. A lot of things stopped that day. My childhood for one.

I couldn’t possibly comprehend all that this singular moment of deity impacting earth would take from me, but I’d soon come to. I’d learn that suddenly pa was gone, that I’d have to ‘step up’ and be ‘the man of the household’.

There would be no more pony rides for me.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

GUEST POST // Interlude by Gordon Flanders

I didn’t smoke weed, and I didn’t drink, but under the fluorescent lights of Canal Street Station I feel like a thing that slithers. Somehow my fingernails got dirty. I was walking with the girl who I was formerly obsessed with, and I was telling her what I thought was a very interesting story. What I know was an interesting story, in fact, from her gasps every time we hit a pivotal point. And then, in the middle, we ran into some old friends of hers she hadn’t seen in a while. She’s from here and she’s popular, so this happens a lot. There were eight of them. Normally I would just smile and shake everyone’s hand and all that, but I just couldn’t give a fuck about these people and how they knew each other and anything like that, so I stood off to the side and waited for her to ask for her bag so she could go with them. I enjoyed the breeze and I checked my phone. Finally she called me over and her friends were like wtf why are you just standing over there! Meanwhile she had just asked minutes ago why I never do what I want. So that was the thing I wanted, to not talk to these people. I was really fine with her leaving with them, very convenient escape for me, but I did not want to meet them all for no reason. But I did anyway because what kind of asshole would I have to be to hand her her bag and say goodbye and nothing else. So I shook hands with every single one of them. There were people she didn’t even know and I shook hands with them, too. One guy said now repeat our names back to us. I said, I value you guys as people but I don’t have a memory like that. Everyone thought that was funny. You had to be there. So now I look awesome. From weirdo to awesome in sixty seconds. After five excruciating minutes where everyone tried to pretend that we could have an inclusive conversation, they ask what’s up next. I hand my friend her bag and say goodbye, shaking hands with enthusiasm and warmth and real kindness in my eyes. Eight people I will never see again, now they all have a piece of my soul. The train just won’t seem to arrive.

by GORDON FLANDERS
© All rights reserved 2017

Dog Nights (Postcard Set #1)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017