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Tuesday, August 30, 2011

FIGHTS... and DANCING!! Results - Silva Dominates and Cane Dances at UFC 134-Brazil!

UFC 134 - Brazil was a tribute to the country that brought the vicious bloodsport that is money fighting into our homes for big bucks and a small fee from the proletariat.  It was a very special edition of 'bread and circus', complete with a little history lesson, ala George Orwell, from our MMA overlords, Zuffa!

The Zuffa UFC re-education went something along the lines of "Brazil is where NHB was born, and they brought it to America for all of us to enjoy.  We owe it to the Brazillians, who do indeed have a great affinity for smashing people's faces with great Brazillian jiu-jitsu technique.

However, Zuffa and Brazil and all Brazillian fighters, don't take credit for Mixed Martial Arts.  Before it was Mixed Martial Arts or No Holds Barred, it was called Pankration.  The Greeks practiced it first, and it was a mix of boxing and wrestling with absoulutely no rules.  Dudes died for the glory of being the best.  It was even an Olympic sport, but too many people died to give it a long lifespan.

With that said, it is time for a modern Pankration featuring the best MMA fighters in the world.  Make it happen, Olympic committe.  Make it happen!  People might actually watch the summer olympics.

And Bruce Lee went to Han's Island and participated in a tournament of martial arts.  Black Belt Jones and John Saxon were there, too.  So was Bolo Yeung.

And if I'm going to bring up Bolo Yeung, Bloodsport came before UFC, too, Zuffa and Brazil.  Yeah, Helio might have been having 3 hour fights in a dive bar in Sao Paulo, but Paco was schooling kung-fu dudes with this Muay Thai.

And, truth is, UFC I and II were flukes meant to promote Gracie Jiu-Jitsu to bring their martial arts style to the states and make money instead of fighting Vale Tudo dudes and beating up tourists on the beaches of Rio for free.

Rorion Gracie put it together.  And though insiders thought Gracie monster Rickson Gracie was going to come in and school everyone with his jiu-jitsu, Rorion made the great business move to make the runt of the Gracie clan, Royce, the centerpiece of the show.  All Royce ever did was surf and borrow money from his brothers.  Also, he did a lot of Jiu-Jitsu and was very small.

And that wiry little shlub of the Gracie clan changed the martial arts world.

Zuffa ended up buying the franchise when Rorion and Art Davie, the booker, had run it into the ground.  And the rest is billion dollar history.

They even played a clip from the last time they were in Brazil, featuring a shot of when future phenom Vitor Belfort schooled a young Wanderlai Silva.  Belfort went on to a hot/cold career.  Wanderlai became big in Japan.

And, of course, good old Royce, who has not seen a UFC match since he was caught for juicing after his noble sacrifice to UFC legend Matt Hughes.

Ben Stiller's stunt double, Ken "K-FLo" Florian took Joe Rogan color duties.  Rogan claimed on his Twitter account he had to stay in LA for 'Fear Factor' taping.  I think he didn't want to get busted at Customs with a buttload of Brazillian Smokey-Smokey.


I think it was wise to not make the show a Brazil vs. US show, so they stacked the card with competitors from around the globe.

The best match of the night was the first fight of the PPV.  It featured a Bulgarian named Nedkov taking on the next big thing, Luis Cane from Brazil.  It kind of felt like they were setting Nedkov up as a can for the Brazillian.

But Nedkov flipped the script, clocking Cane and sending him into a fish dance before mauling him against the cage.

Nedkov/Cane get my Fight of the Night honors, as well as my biggest laugh of the night honors!

And, for your viewing pleasure, the Fedor Fish Dance!

Nedkov celebrated by wiping his bloody nose in his nation's flag.

Then there was that awkward moment when the only translator that was hired ony spoke Portuguese, French, and Tongan, but not Bulgarian.


Though the Brazillian lovefest started with a bit of a boner-killer, the BonerJam was about to begin.  In what turned out to be a lopsided fight, Nog submitted Schaub with BJJ skill, and the rubbing of a million BJJ LoveShafts began.

Oh, wait.  It wasn't BJJ skill that won the fight. It was a KO.

No need to stop rubbing, though.

Then, because the fight went so fast, we were treated to a fight from the pre-show, in which a Catholic Brazillian beat up a Protestant Brazillian.  The winner gave all his glory to Jesus, even going so far as to stitch our Lord and Savoiur's name just above his crotch for his scientific BJJ win.

Oh.  Wait.  It was a KO.


The gutsy limey Pearson was more than Barboza expected, and took the energetic Brazillian to the cards.  The great skill of Barboza's BJJ dominated.  Oh, wait.  They punched and kicked the whole fight with great joy and verve.  It was a good match, and could have gone either way.  Brazil over UK.

Also, never been much for the 'Bad Boy' brand.  I don't like thinking a dudes ass is looking at me.  Kind of creeps me out.


Forrest Griffin brought some Georgia toughness to the fight, but Rua overwhelmed the southern fighter with great scientific Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu.

Oh, wait.  He punched him about the face until the ref stopped him.


Dana loves Anderson.  Then he hates him.  Then he loves him.  Then he hates him.

Lord Douchebag finally figured out you get the best out of Anderson when you book him against a guy that will mix him up on the feet.  Because, c'mon, folks.  If I knew a dude was good at grappling on the ground, champ or no champ, I'm not going to down into his guard.  I don't blame Anderson for the snoozefest some of his fights have been.  It's been masters of BJJ who couldn't bring him to the ground and then used the Murilo Bustamante method of lying on their back until the time runs out or the ref lets you back up.

Like Kevin Nash at War Games, I haven't forgot how Murilo Bustamante lay on his back for 40 minutes in his fight against 'Big Cat' Tom Erikson.  Look it up.  It happened.

So Anderson activated his spider senses and gave Okami the 'Griffin' treatment by standing with his hands down, dodging a punch, and replying with a KO blow of his own.

He even took on a classic martial arts movie pose before KO'ing the Japanese star.

Anderson takes the win, and an entire country goes through a Kleenex shortage.

In the end, it was an alright card.  Watch it online somewhere.  Don't buy it unless you get off watching Brazillian fighters trash people.

Nick Diaz's career counselor should be praised


Bowie Ibarra is the author of the zombie horror series, "Down the Road".  You can learn about his books and network with him at

This has been a Production.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

ZOMBIES/FIGHTS/BLOOD - La Voz de Uvalde article, featuring Bowie V. Ibarra

This is a press release that appeared in a July issue of La Voz de Uvalde.  Special thanks to Louie Neira, senior editor at La Voz, for publishing the release.

The zombies that laced the south Texas landscape in Bowie Ibarra’s previous books now take center stage in the state capitol.  “Down the Road: The Fall of Austin” is the third and final installment of the Permuted Press zombie horror series.

“It’s a great, strong finish to the series,” says Ibarra.

But that’s not the only book that has been released in 2011.  A violent superhero story based on an old south Texas legend had its debut in June as well.  “Codename: La Lechusa” puts a modern twist on the classic superhero genre.

“Codename: La Lechusa’ was inspired by social media culture, Batman and Power Girl, and the Uvalde nightlife of the thirty-something crowd,” says Ibarra.

“Down the Road: The Fall of Austin” follows three groups of people as they struggle to survive the zombie apocalypse.  One group is a splintered military fireteam that goes to war with each other in the city after securing the state capitol.  Another is a policeman who tries to uphold justice amid the chaos.  And the third is a gang of released prison inmates pillaging their way through the outbreak.

Fellow author Craig DiLouie called “The Fall of Austin”, ‘Zombie Apocalypse delivered like a punch.”

“Codename: La Lechusa” is a cruel story of a single mother with a double life.  By day, she’s an unassuming secretary who works hard, supports her daughter, and enjoys time away at the club with friends.  But she’s also a superhero working for a US agency as an assassin.  With sharp knives, elevated strength, and high tech goggles that assists her missions (and social networking), a mysterious necklace given to her by a curandera also grants her supernatural power.

“My editor thinks it’s the best story I’ve put together so far,” said Bowie.  “It was inspired by a lady I knew in Uvalde who oozed beauty, strength, and confidence.  The Lechusa character immediately formed in my mind, and I started writing it soon after.”

Bowie is proud of his new works, but it hasn’t come without personal struggle.

“Life’s like a boxing match,” says Bowie.  “You step in the ring and mix it up.  Sometimes you get knocked down, and it hurts a lot.  You can quit.  Or you can keep fighting.  The only way you’re going to get anywhere is by getting back up.  You fight hurt, but you keep fighting.”

Does Bowie think the zombie apocalypse will arrive? 

“They’re us,” he says.

And will La Lechusa save Uvalde?

“I hope so.  I like to imagine her fighting crime, keeping the city safe.  As for the inspiration, she remains only in my memory.”

You can find more information, book trailers, and network at his official website, here:

Thursday, August 25, 2011

ZOMBIES - A FEMA camp is overrun by zombies in an excerpt from "Down the Road" by Bowie Ibarra

George Zaragoza's trip across a Texas filled with the living dead has been interrupted. He is now being held in a FEMA internment camp housed in a highschool football stadium. A bloody battle has just ensued between the commanding soldiers and rival gangs which have formed in the camp...

          It was an awkward afternoon. A large pile of bodies lay in the middle of Titan field, and the bodies of over a dozen soldiers lay in the aluminum bleachers of both the visitors' side and the home side of the field. For several hours after the morning skirmish, things were quiet. But desperation was beginning to rear its ugly head around the facility.
          With the gang numbers drastically reduced, a truce was called by the Ones and agreed upon by all but the Threes. Then, two hours after the massacre, the Ones, Twos, and Fours united and wiped out what was left of the Threes.
          The soldiers didn't respond.
          Breakfast was not served this particular morning. Many were left wondering if lunch would be.
          Finding an unoccupied medical tent, Misty and George sat and hid. George was probably safe due to the gang truce, but probably not from the guards. That is, the guards that were left. If they decided to search for him, having a place to hide would be a good idea. The medical tent was a good enough place as any, even if it was close to the bleachers.
          Misty had left George alone for a few minutes and returned with some cloth and healing ointments so she could tend to the cut over his eye. She helped him remove his flannel. Sitting in front of each other, she tended to the wound above his eye. His adrenaline was gone, so the pain was very perceptible. He winced, but gritted his teeth and allowed her gentle hands to continue working.
          Her blue eyes sparkled. "You were very brave out there," she said.
          George responded, "I don't know about brave so much as I was pissed off."
          "Just, these people, you know? They can't get along, even when they need to the most. One group thinks they know what's best for the other and insists on babying them -And what a shitty job they've done up to now, huh? The others can't even unite against them. They'd rather divide themselves and fight and kill each other. It's such bullshit," George said, gritting his teeth again as Misty placed a patch soaked with medicine to George's cut.
          "Hush now," she whispered. "It's alright."
          Her voice began to calm him, though he remained a bit grouchy. "Man, I wish it was. I wish we could unite against that shit outside... Those dead things."
          As Misty secured the patch over the cut, she bowed her head. "I'm so sorry, George."
          George sulked. "It's not your fault."
          Misty finished with the primitive bandage. She kissed it. "There, now you're all better." She looked into George's eyes. Her blue eyes were hard to resist. She touched his face. George's hands moved across her thighs. Both began to breathe in a different way; energy began to manifest.
          George gazed into her eyes and felt an almost magnetic pull towards her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to grope her and rub his hands all over her body. He could feel her desire.
          But he was scared. Not of kissing her or anything in regards to his physical attraction to her, but of the reality of the situation. The fear that humanity wasn't going to survive this plague. That they could not unite and help each other. That if humanity united, another segment of that same humanity would rise up and crush them, like they did to Jeff and the barrier people.
          George wondered, Hasn't it always been that way? Divided? Segregated? United, but really not? Even the civil war was one group of people who had the right to separate, but were made to stay together by force.
          George knew it would be hard to get home, but never thought it would be this hard. After today, it seemed hopeless. No vehicle. No weapons. No food. No water.
          George leaned in to Misty and held her. She embraced him as he began to weep. He wanted to see his mom and family again, but was now afraid they were dead, and all this danger he had encountered was for naught.
          Pulling himself together, George shared a kiss on the cheek with Misty. A moist sensation touched his lips as he kissed away a tear from her cheek. She returned the affection with a short, sweet kiss on his lips. She wiped his tears away. He wiped hers. Perhaps she was feeling the same way.
          As they separated, a man pulled open the curtain to the tent. George and Misty's hearts skipped a beat. Misty gasped.
          "Uncle Brandon!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and embracing the man. He was tall and rather big and sported a green John Deere hat. Suspenders held up a pair of worn and dirty blue jeans that were fighting a waist war with Uncle Brandon's prominent beer gut. The gut was stretching his extra-extra large Charlie Daniels shirt to the limit. Misty, in all her dainty charm, jumped and hugged him around his thick neck, cheek to cheek.
          They both smiled.
          Though his gut suggested bad physical conditioning, he seemed to have the strength -if not the power -of a man of size.
          "How you been, sweetie-pie?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek.
          "I've been alright, Uncle Brandon." She turned to George. "This is my friend, George."
          George stood and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."
          "Likewise, good sir," replied Brandon, showing a smile. "I hear you whipped some of them spics' asses this morning. We could use someone like you."
          "What do you mean?" George asked. "If it's about joining a gang, forget it!"
          "No, no, it's nothing like that," he said, pulling out a pack of Red Man and stuffing some chaw in his bottom lip. "Well, me and my son, Brandon Junior, are planning on making a break for it."
          "Are you crazy?" asked Misty. "They'll kill you!"
          "Hang on, Misty," said George. "Hear him out."
          They all took a seat. Misty surprised George by sitting on his lap. They glanced at each other quickly.  George became a bit excited. Uncle Brandon winced, but shook his head and shared his idea.
          "First off, their numbers are low now. A lot of them have been taking off, leaving their posts. Way I see it, they're not unified anymore. And there definitely seems like they have no leadership anymore. Secondly, they're looking for you, George. I heard they're going to do another roundup. Why, in God's name, I don't know. But I'm going to report you."
          "What?!" George gasped, taken aback.
          Misty exclaimed, "Uncle Brandon!"
          Brandon lifted a hand to show he wasn't finished explaining, then continued, "I'm going to report you because when those two guys get over here, we're going to jump 'em and take their guns!"
          "Sounds crazy," George said. The plan was simple -perhaps too simple -but could he really expect for some brilliant strategy to come along? He figured he'd rather do something desperate than do nothing at all, though it was still a big risk. He asked, "What do you have in mind?"
          "We lead them here to this tent and jump them." "With what?" Misty asked.
          "Well, with a brick or some shit. A pipe. Something."
          "Alright, so we find something to bash them with, pound them, then what?"
          "We take their guns, make like we're not carrying anything, and head to the ticket booth. Someone could act the fool and get them to open that magnetic door. Then, we take out the tower guy first, secure the open door, and take out anyone else in the area."
          "Then what?" asked Misty.
          "It's simple. Either we find one of those Hummers with a key in it, or we make a run to our house."
          "Neither of those options sound likely to happen," George pointed out. "First, we'd have to find a Hummer with the keys in it."
          "Well, yeah," replied Brandon. "That's what I said."
          "And, yeah, anyway," George went on, "With the run to the house -wherever that is -the tower guys would pick us off in a matter of seconds. That is, if the zombies didn't get us first."
          "Listen, don't be such a killjoy, George," said Brandon. "What other choice to we have?"
          George thought for a moment. Brandon's plan was full of holes, but George knew that any plan that would get him to San Uvalde was going to be a big risk. And, as he had already decided, he would rather do something desperate than do nothing at all.
          "Well, where's Brandon Junior?" asked George.
          Uncle Brandon turned toward the entrance and called out, "Brandon Junior!"
          A small boy barely four feet tall entered the room. He was wearing blue jeans and a black pro-wrestling shirt, and when he spoke it was obvious that his voice was nowhere near reaching puberty. He said, "Yeah, Pa? Oh, hey, cousin Misty!"
          "Hi, B.J.," Misty replied.
          George was surprised at the age and size of Brandon Jr. He had expected someone a lot older.
          "You ready for this, son?" Brandon asked.
          "Yeah, Pa. I'm ready," replied the short kid, though his red mullet and freckles hardly hid his fear.
          "Alright, Junior, this is what we're going to do-"
          Yet before they could even begin phase one of their plan, several screams broke the conspirators' concentration. Every head turned to the tent opening. George looked at Misty, confused. Everyone rushed outside the tent.
          When they emerged into the open air, they witnessed a mass of people running away from the east end of the stadium near the land of the Ones and Twos.
          Uncle Brandon grabbed one of the people who were running. "Hey, you! What the hell's going on?!"
          The person, a blond man with thinning hair, shivering and scared, cried, "It's the Garrisons! The ones that were dying from bites infected the rest of their family and a bunch of others! Now they're all coming after us! Let go of me!" The man broke loose of Brandon with a yank of his arm and ran off toward the ticket booth.
          George looked toward the end zone where all the action was happening. Sure enough, several creatures were attacking some of the incarcerated civilians and the civilians were fighting back with little to no success. Several people were already being feasted upon, while others were being quickly snatched by undead hands. Teeth sunk into flesh as the zombies feasted and the victims began their transformation.
          Gunfire erupted near the ticket booth area as some of the soldiers tried to stop the advance of the people. But everyone knew that with creatures inside the perimeter, the safest place was in the area with the soldiers.
          George looked to see two interior soldiers slowly walking toward the slaughter, guns trained on the creatures. Already, several of the devoured dead were rising. Close to twenty zombies, including the Garrisons, were marching toward the fleeing crowd. Several ghouls remained, devouring the inhabitants who tried to fend the creatures off.
          It seemed that the brevity of the attempts to impede the zombies from infecting the captives and the non-responsiveness of the guards led to the mayhem. It didn't take long for the chaos to erupt.
The end of the FEMA camp was close at hand. If George and his newfound friends were going to make a break for it, now was the perfect chance.
          "Brandon, this is it," George said. "We have to make our move."
          They all knew he was right. They tensed up as adrenaline coursed through their veins.
          George knelt down and yanked a tent spike from the ground, brushed the dirt from the end, and made certain he had a firm grip.
          Misty found a board. It appeared long enough to do damage, yet short enough not to be cumbersome.
          Brandon found a lead pipe. It was bent in some places, but was good enough on short notice.
          Brandon Junior found a brick.
          The four of them, shuffling through the panicked and clearing crowd, crept toward the soldiers, who had now begun opening controlled fire on the zombies.
          George and Misty overwhelmed one of the guards while the two Brandons did the same to the other. B.J. smashed a soldier's skull to mush as George planted the spike deep in the sternum of the second. George and Uncle Brandon then went about securing the soldiers' weapons and digging through their pockets for extra ammo.
          The creatures began to shuffle toward the retreating crowd, getting closer and closer to George's group.
          A gunshot from the visitors' bleachers tore open a hole in Brandon Junior's chest, exiting out the back. Another tore open his right leg. Another to the arm.
          Quickly, Uncle Brandon aimed the rifle toward the visitors' bleachers and cut down the only two soldiers that were paying attention to the interior soldiers and the zombies on the field. George quickly followed his example, taking out three soldiers on the home bleachers, one of which was firing back. The three soldiers then fell, seriously wounded and unable to fire their weapons.
          Uncle Brandon heaved Brandon Junior over his shoulder with one arm and yelled, "The ticket booth! It's our only chance!"
          As Misty and Uncle Brandon began to run to the crowded ticket booth exit, George got to a knee and took out the guards in the nearest towers with a shot to the head. The soldiers who had been manning the other towers around the facility had already abandoned their posts. Safe from the gun towers, George ran to rejoin his group.
          The zombies, growing in number, began to advance on the crowd. Though they were nearly eighty yards away on the other side of the field, their presence was a new threat. It meant there was now a battle on two fronts.
          After firing and cutting down several civilians, the remaining soldiers gave up and retreated in the direction of the remaining Hummers. The gates began to pop and sizzle as several civilians threw blankets on the electrified fence in an attempt to create a crude insulator. After several group efforts they were able to collapse the gate, causing it to crumble to the ground. Those wearing shoes stepped across it. The barefooted took their chances. Several people fell on exposed areas of the gate and roasted on the metal.
          The zombies on the field were getting closer as one of the Hummers started to drive off. Three or four people jumped on the vehicle. One soldier tried to man the gun, but was overpowered by two men and thrown overboard. Several camp members took the boots to the man, beating him into unconsciousness.
          The Hummer sped to the vehicle entrance, smashing through the first locked gate with ease. A mass of people followed the machine through the crushed entrance. Two people were still on the hood; two were at the guns. One opened fire on the zombies around the fence as the other tried to work his way to the driver seat. The vehicle barreled to the second gate which led directly to the parking lot. The humvee busted through the gate, knocking the zombies in front out of the way like bowling pins and crushing them under the chainlinked gate and the wheels of the war machine. The people of the facility ran right behind it, taking a shot at freedom, prepared to risk the army of zombies outside.
          With the two men on the hood, the driver could not see the vehicle that was still in the parking lot of the stadium. It rear-ended the '98 Honda Accord, sending the two guys on the hood flying. One smashed into the back window of the Accord, jarring his neck, glass tearing into his back. The other flew over the vehicle and smashed his head on the pavement near the handicapped parking sign.
          Both were promptly devoured.
          The driver's head smashed against the window, creating a weblike circle in the glass. The man trying to get in was also sent flying into a group of creatures. They tore into his flesh, his screams buried by the cries of the liberated, yet endangered, facility members.
          The man in the gunner position started opening fire on every thing that moved, both facility people and zombies, before being engulfed by the undead when his ammo ran out. The creatures made a buffet on all the flesh brought down by friendly fire.
          It was a veritable free-for-all as the last mass of people forced their way through the gate, pushing aside as many creatures as they could. The exit was severely congested with people and zombies as the second Hummer, (facility people hanging all over it,) tried to force its way over the mass of humanity bottlenecked at the gate. The entrance was filled with the dead, the dying, and those still fighting for survival. The Hummer crushed a large mass of people, with cries of the alive and the dying overshadowing the howls of the already dead and reanimated.
          The vehicle got stuck as it tried to work its way over the bodies. The tires dug in and ground several bodies of the dying and undead into the asphalt. Blood and bone shot from the tires, spraying the people still trying to escape with a red mist that peppered their faces. Several alive and dying began to roast on the fence near the vehicular and human collision, their flesh turning a dark red, their clothes igniting. Fire danced across the burning bodies.
          Misty could not believe her eyes as the remaining soldiers -the last bastion of American defense -ruthlessly pulverized both the alive and the undead with their vehicles in the driveway.
          As the third Hummer began its advance to the entrance, a clean shot from George took out the gunner, who had been firing upon the last of the inmates who were trying to overtake the vehicle. Uncle Brandon immediately followed with a clean shot to the driver's head, bringing the vehicle to a sudden stop against a concrete post holding up the bleachers. Uncle Brandon then shot the soldier in the passenger seat as George dragged out the driver's body.
          Uncle Brandon opened the passenger door and threw the dead soldier to the ground with one hand. As he threw Misty into the vehicle and George manned the driver seat, a creature grabbed Brandon Junior from Uncle Brandon's shoulder and dragged the corpse to the ground. Uncle Brandon turned around and decked the creature, breaking its spine, sending the monster to the ground, but not before four more quickly took its place. Uncle Brandon slammed the passenger door shut as a zombie grabbed the same arm and bit into it.
          Misty screamed, "Uncle Brandon!"
Wrestling the creature to the ground and stomping on its head, Uncle Brandon yelled, "Forget me! Just go! I love you sweetie-pie!" before another creature grabbed him by the shoulders and bit into his neck. Blood splashed the side of the vehicle and ran down his neck as flesh was torn away from his body. He screamed.  Misty screamed.
          George backed out of the pole and shifted gears, scared and upset. Shifting to first, the Hummer moved out.
           Several creatures had already begun to devour Brandon Junior's body as Uncle Brandon went down swinging. He was able to kick two creatures off his son before he was overwhelmed. He collapsed on top of his son's body, a futile yet noble attempt to protect his son's corpse from the living dead who were waiting and ready to devour them both.

          Knowing the original exit would now be impossible to drive through, George blazed his own trail. Finding a weak portion of the gate, he crashed through the chain-linked fence and concertina wire and then sped away through the parking lot and to the loop road.
          The road by the stadium headed to 35 was relatively clear, with a majority of the creatures congregating around the stadium. Misty was sobbing uncontrollably. George drove, concentrating on the road, but shell-shocked at the horror they both barely survived. George said a quick prayer for Misty's uncle. Had it not been for Uncle Brandon closing the passenger door, Misty and George both might have been killed.
          George reached for Misty's hand.
          She accepted it, gripping his hand tightly, trembling.
          At the stadium, zombies stalked the former military and civilian portions of the FEMA camp, searching for bodies of the recently dead. A feast of flesh was continuing in the parking lot and in the vehicle exit. Several creatures made it to the bleachers and were devouring the dead soldiers. One soldier, wounded from the rounds George fired, tried unsuccessfully to crawl away from an advancing gang. Moments later he was torn to shreds and eaten.
          A small group of zombies was trying to collapse the tower by the ticket booth in order to find the source of the blood dripping from above. They were successful. The ticket booth toppled over, crushing several of their own. With spines broken and bones cracked, the creatures crushed by the tower tried to pull themselves out to no avail. Within inches of their crushed bodies, several monsters began their meal of the tower inhabitant.
          Uncle Brandon and his son were torn and mutilated, their skulls cracked, their chests torn open, their innards devoured. Several zombies still sat around Uncle Brandon, tearing pieces of flesh from his large carcass. Blood dripped from their mouths. The other creatures had left Brandon Junior as a mere skeleton, hardly a speck of flesh or muscle stuck to a bone.

If you enjoyed this excerpt from Down the Road, purchase the paperback at to read the entire exciting story here.

Go to to network with Bowie and see other great titles, book trailers, and more!



It's Austin, Texas vs. the Zombie Apocalypse.  The magnum opus of the "Down the Road" Zombie horror series is here!  Read an excerpt below:

A single mom deals with work during the day, and working for a clandestine government organization at night in the action/adventure story, "Codename: La Lechusa" by Bowie Ibarra.
Read an excerpt here:

Superheroes vs. Zombies?  Permuted Press author Peter Clines does it best.
Check out his interview here:

This has been a Production.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

FIGHTS/BLOOD - Excerpt from "Codename: La Lechusa" by Bowie V. Ibarra

Bowie V. Ibarra
(From the opening chapter.  Story now available here in paperback and ebook for as low as $4.99.)


Her heart was strong.
The large and tested muscle was beating against her breasts like a large drum pounding through an ancient Central American jungle.  It was as if a stout and dark-tanned warrior struck that drum with the skill of an artisan, stoking the fires of bloody conflict in the souls of his fellow fighters.  The music resonated through their bodies, preparing them for battle, girding them for pain, grooming them for death.
            The drum might as well have been in her chest as she looked out of the open hatch of the stealth plane, because it was doing the same for her.  The San Uvalde night was dark and cloudy.  The feminine moon hung full in the sky, gently illuminating the bed of clouds that shrouded San Uvalde in darkness.  The canopy of suspended condensation always gave her missions an extra edge, as if her fall through the moist aerial pillows would send her straight through to the ground.  That illogical fear made her heart beat stronger.  The jungle drum. 
            Breath was released from her body in steady, healthy rhythms, making her perfect breasts rise and fall like two round apples riding the waves of a washtub at a Halloween party.  They hid behind a sleek black and green experimental body suit, hugging her from her neck to her ankles.  A stylishly set peek-a-boo window exposed her cleavage.  Long black boots with green trim stretched from her toes to just above her knees.  State-of-the-art goggles held fast around her eyes.  Antennae for the internet-ready goggles stretched just behind her ears, allowing the brown hair of her Hispanic heritage to fall around it.  The antennae looked like ears.  Or horns.
            The excitement of the moment aroused her, and that fact did not escape the grateful gaze of the cabin supervisor, the man that was going to tell her when to jump.
            The people, especially the men, of San Uvalde knew her as Paula Belle Luna.  But she was known by the clandestine organization that assigned her to her missions by her code name: La Lechusa.
            “Why do they call you La Lechusa?” asked the man.
            “Well,” she said with little modesty, “I do some of my best work at night.  You don’t want to whistle at me.  And I can be pretty scary.”
            “I’m not scared of you,” said the man with a sly smile.
            “You should be,” she replied, matching his gaze with a dangerous wink.
            On the screen of her goggles, an internet alert popped up:

            You have a new What’sUp Message.

            La Lechusa smiled, poking in the air in front of the prompts that matched the location of the image in her goggles.  The cabin supervisor always smiled as she pushed, pulled, and poked in the air in front of her face.  Her poking opened the message in her goggles, revealing a photo update from her friend, Yvette.  She read the caption describing the drunken revelry of the picture.
            “Stooopid,” chuckled La Lechusa, closing the window and minimizing the screen.
The man gulped, then had the cheek to make a bold proposal.  “You have got to let me take you out to dinner sometime,” he said.  It was almost as if he was going to purse his lips and blow La Lechusa a kiss.
            Lechusa turned to him.  She stared back at him with the sultry dark brown eyes of a temptress behind her visor.  She was a woman who not only relished the company of men, but brought out their animal in the bedroom before devouring them.  Looking into his youthful eyes, she could detect she was too much for him.
            La Lechusa moistened her lips before moving toward him.  “Cook breakfast for me and my little girl before you take her to school, do our laundry, and pick her up, and I might consider it.”
            The man’s face contorted in fear.  It was not the face of fear a child gets when he sees a monster or when a man tastes the silver steel of an ax in a slasher film.  It was the face of fear in the heart of many a man of the modern age: responsibility.
            She moved closer to him.  He could feel her breath on his lips.  She could taste his fear. 
            “And remember,” she continued, “if we were to ever get together, I like it long.”  She paused, pulling out a large Bowie knife.  She lifted it between their faces.  Streaks of silver danced up and down the blade when it caught the moonlight.  “Long and hard.”  She closed her eyes, passing the thick knife along her full bottom lip before tapping it playfully against the lips he so wanted to kiss.  She opened her eyes and stared into his as she licked the length of the flat end of the blade.  Even the oil of the well-maintained blade didn’t faze her.
            The man trembled, submitting to her charms when he got word over his headset it was time for her to jump.  He shook from his ecstatic trance, the green light that signaled go-time extinguished their red flame of lust.
            “Go,” he yelled with a bittersweet cadence.
            La Lechusa smiled and laughed, flying out of the plane into the open air, waving a coquettish farewell to the blue-balled serviceman.
            Men are so stupid, she thought to herself as she hit the canopy of clouds with a silent splash.  For several moments, she was in total darkness.  The vaporous rain laced her visor and lips with water.  She broke the cloudline, and the lights of San Uvalde came into view.
            The wind massaged her exposed face.  The visor automatically initiated the application that cleared off any lingering water from the clouds as she drifted down.  In her visor, a digitized altimeter displayed her decent.  When it reached a certain number, she activated the glider wings strapped to her back.  As the wings caught the wind, her acceleration slowed down.  The altimeter disappeared from her visor, and an arrow blinked in the goggles near her left eye.  She turned her head to the left.  The arrow turned into a flashing circle, marking her target among the glowing buildings of the distant but approaching San Uvalde nightscape.
            “Rexault Pharmaceuticals, her I come.”
            Rexault Pharmaceuticals was the state’s leading producer of the Swine Flu vaccine.  It was producing a cheaper and more effective vax than other government sponsored vaccine companies.  CEO Barry Bravo was making a killing.  Covering the state of Texas, it was garnering a huge cut of the vax dollar across the nation and the world.
            But intel she had received from her handlers stated that Bravo was also running weapons to Mexican drug cartels along the Texas border.  RPGs, AKs, and even body armor were being filtered into the country through an underground network of crime and global profiteers, bankrolled by Bravo.  The money earned from multiple vax projects was then laundered in the stock market, where he was culling cool profits on insider info.  He lived on the top floor of the thirty-story facility, claiming it as a nice write-off on his taxes. 
            Knowing the roof was the only vulnerable point of Bravo’s modern castle, two guards stood on either side of the roof.  It was the easiest job the duo ever had until tonight.
            Shifting the glider downwards to get the proper momentum, La Lechusa swooped down and grabbed one of the guards, knocking the gun out of his hand and carrying him over the edge into the air.  She hadn’t held him more than two seconds when she let him go, dropping him onto the unforgiving concrete and stone of the San Uvalde street below.
            Swooping back down, she glided onto the roof with all the skill and silence of a true nocturnal predator.  The same nocturnal horror she emulated.  Her wings retracted and she clicked them off of her back.  She then unstrapped the accompanying backpack that looked like two fire extinguishers strapped together.  She stuffed the tanks into a shadowy corner of the roof.
            The deadly woman knew where her next target was, but turned on the FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared Radar) on her visor.  The heat signature would not only reveal the location of her next target, but where he was vulnerable.  She lay flat on her belly on the ungrateful gravel roof and searched for her target.
            The large air conditioning units shone a bright white in the FLIR cam.  The streams of expelled heat from the spinning fans sent warm waves above the unit.  Through the visor, they vibrated in the air like ghostly apparitions rising from a white tomb.
            And then a figure turned a corner.  Its heat signature revealed a heavy cold helmet and body armor.  A white arm contrasted against the cold black machine gun it held in its hand.  The warmest portion, at least in white, was the neck and face.
            La Lechusa slowly rose to a knee, pulling out a small throwing knife from a row of them strapped to her right thigh.  She also unsheathed the Bowie knife from her left hip.  Crouching, she prowled closer to the enemy, invisible in the dark shadows of the large air conditioning units.  Her soft steps across the gravel roof were hidden by the industrial hum of the heat-huffing fans.
            Switching the visor to night vision, she stood and tossed the knife.  The time-honored projectile took flight and struck its target with legendary precision.  The sharp missile cut straight through the sentry’s hand, knocking the automatic rifle from his grip.  Had the handle of the assault rifle not been placed firmly in the hand, the knife would have flown right through.  Instead, it stuck in the appendage, like a flesh and steel “X”.
            The man was about to let out a cry of pain, but was literally cut off by the woman.  She wielded the long and thick knife like a major league baseball player swinging for the fences.  The sharp and hungry blade cut through the man’s neck with the clean efficiency of cold, tempered steel.  The head flipped into the air like a token used at a coin toss before a gridiron football game.  Unfortunately, for the head and its former owner, its fate had already been decided.
            The head hit the gravel roof as the woman fell to a knee and sheathed her weapon.  From her utility belt, she pulled a length of heavy-duty string with a spike on the end.  The string was pulled from a retractable spool from her belt.  She picked up the severed head, then stabbed the head with the spike.  She pulled the spike through the head and tied the head secure.  The length of string retracted to the utility belt, securing the head to her waist as she prowled to the body.  From the neck of the decapitated body, blood pumped onto the roof in an ever-expanding puddle of crimson.  She pulled the throwing knife from the pierced hand before using it to cut the hand off at the wrist.  Taking another length of heavy-duty string from another retractable spool, she secured the hand and let it retract to her waist by the head.  Standing, she dashed to the roof entrance.
            Taking the head in hand, she lifted an eyelid to allow the retina scanner to work its technological magic.  The robotic female voice said, “confirmed,” through the night air.  She then yanked the head off her belt, reaching for the severed hand.  She placed the severed hand on the scanner, which quickly confirmed its legitimacy in spite of the blood.  The door swished open and the woman entered the stairway down, tearing the hand away from the wire on her utility belt.  She knew the trip downstairs would register as irregular to any security that was observing the comings-and-goings of the personnel.  So she had to act quickly.
            Spinning down the first turn of the staircase, she was taken by surprise to see a guard at the door to the CEO’s living quarters.  Fortunately for her, the hired hand was at a post that was clearly low maintenance.  The man was updating his blog on his WhatsUp page on a laptop.
            Opting for the Bowie knife, she threw it at the guard.  It whistled briefly as it cut through the air, striking the man in the forehead with medieval cruelty.  It cut a savage line through his skull and brain, punching through the back of his head and tapping against the metal wall behind him like a nail through a thin board.  Pieces of skull and brain jutted out from the back of the head.  Blood dripped down the back of the guard’s neck.
            The weight of his fall forward allowed La Lechusa to pull the knife free as he hit the ground.  The large silver blade looked like the obsidian knife of an Aztec High Priest sacrificing prisoners to the gods.  It was slick with blood, brains, and bone.
            There was nothing high-tech locking the large exquisitely carved brown door set against the sterile steel of the stairwell.  It was a simple bolt lock that Lechusa clicked open before turning the golden knob, entering the elaborate and ornate inner-sanctum of CEO Barry Bravo’s Rexault Pharmaceutical home.
            In spite of the darkness that caressed the interior of the living quarters, the lavish excess was still notable.  A stone grotto gently poured water over the rocks into a pool below.  A stone satyr seduced a mortal woman on a center pedestal, forever teasing each other with a kiss in their naked glory.
            The neoclassical statues stood in contrast near a modern dining room.  Earthy line paintings surrounded a long table where evidence of dining was spread across the table.
            A voice emanated from nearby.  Lechusa turned and followed the noise, turning up the ambient audio in her earpiece to get a better reading of where it was coming from.  She turned on the x-ray vision application on her visor, following what was clearly moans of ecstasy.
            A hallway led to a dark room that poured the gentle light of candles into the dark passage.  She edged to the entrance before peeking around the corner.
            In a highly crafted living room combining modern sensibility with statues of neoclassical design, the CEO of Rexault was banging his female guest for the evening on a luxurious couch.  His pale and muscular body contrasted against her luscious brown Hispanic beauty.  It was clearly not his wife, who was away on yet another well-documented shopping spree in Milan.  The assassin watched Barry’s hairy-bobbing-man-ass bounce as he pounded the Latin sex object.  Her legs were held firmly against his shoulders.
            Dammit, thought Lechusa, This is not what I needed.  The longer the pair had sex, the more the dangerous revelation of her infiltration would grow.
            Fortunately, the man soon cashed out, much to the assassin’s relief.  The two lovers shared meaningless words before the man rose to his feet and walked away from the couch of consummation.  The woman was left alone like a toy left by a child that had all the fun it was going to have with it.
            What an asshole, she thought as she crept around to follow him.  At a turn in the hallway, she watched him enter a bathroom, and soon followed.  The man was an uncouth barbarian in spite of his aristocratic status.  He left the door open as he relieved himself into a toilet. 
It left him totally exposed to the assassin, who gladly finished him with a pitiless slice to his neck, lopping the head off as he finished his bathroom break.  His head bounced off the wall before falling into the toilet filled with his own urine.  When his body fell, the auto flush went off, cleansing the toilet of the urine with a fresh bowl of water.  The jet of water splashed against his face, sending splotches of liquid over the edge of the bowl.  The new water quickly turned red with the blood still oozing from the head.  For a moment, Paula remembered the human head actually remains conscious for just under a minute after decapitation and wondered just how far Barry was able to live out his final moments getting a ‘swirly’ in his own urine and blood.
With the job done, it was time to leave.  She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror.  She blew a kiss at the image of the bloodstained killer before leaving.  “Sexy beast,” she whispered, prowling out of the room.
La Lechusa dashed back into the shadows of the hallway, passing the living room of sin.  She caught a glimpse of the lady, then quickly realized the identity of the trick on the couch.
Oh, shit. Nora? She thought to herself, smiling.  You bitch.  I knew you were fucking someone.  She chuckled to herself as she dashed to the exit.
With the stealth of the professional she was, she reentered the stairwell and dashed to the roof.
The head and hand were not needed to exit, and the door swished open.  She stepped out and did not anticipate seeing a guard standing dumbfounded over the maimed body her second victim.  He was reporting to the security team his findings when he looked up to see the woman.
“Fuck,” they both said in chorus.
La Lechusa dashed and tumbled for cover behind one of the air-conditioning units as the man opened fire with his company issue MP-5.
           “So much for subtlety,” she whispered, activating a flash-bang and tossing it over the large air-conditioning unit toward the man. 


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Friday, August 19, 2011

BLOOD... from David Tennant! - #SPOILERS# ZBF2.0 Reviews the Fright Night remake...

Let me start by saying I wasn't going to see this movie.  Fright Night?  Nope. Not for me.  In fact, I might need to requalify for my 'movie expert' card for not seeing the original.  I was young, and I thought the movie poster was dumb.  Scary clouds above a house didn't tell me anything about the movie.  Was it zombies?  Was it ... what was it.

So that's what I felt when the remake came out.  Because I didn't like the first one, I wasn't going to give this remake a chance.

That is, until a buddy I used to do improv comedy with named Jay Olson (who works in Chicago living the improv dream), posted a Facebook update that talked about the first trailer and how David Tennant was in it.


For those not in the know, David Tennant is the stellar actor that completely rocked the Doctor Who world with his portrayal of the legendary UK sci-fi hero.  Not since Tom Baker has there been a Doctor as popular as Tennant.  His work was the most powerful and moving I had ever seen.  His work as a Shakespearan trained actor brought amazing strength and truth to his role as the time traveller.  He upped the ante of Christopher Eccleston before him and Matt Smith after him, who, in my opinion, has not come close to Tennant's work.

Apparently, Tennant was in the first trailer for about one second.  I immediately thought, "Oh, David's got a bit role and is going to do the j-o-b to Colin Farrell. 

But it later became apparent that he would be featured in the movie as one of the main characters.  It was then and there that I decided I would buy a ticket.

Here's the synopsis, ripe with spoilers.  You have been warned.

The kid played by Anton Yelchin and his mom played by Toni Collette wonder about this guy who moved in next door played by Colin Farrell.  They live in a subdivision just outside of Las Vegas.

One of the kids buddies played by Chris Mintze-Plasse, "McLovin" from 'SuperBad', tries to tell the kid that his neighbor is a vampire and is killing all their friends.  He doesn't believe it, and McLovin ends up caught by Vampire Farrell.

After a while, the kid figures out Farrell is, indeed, a vampire and tries to enlist the help of Tennant, who plays a bitter illusionist.  His character is kind of like Chris Angel, but with a heavy vampire-killing theme to his shows.  He refuses to help the kid.

But when the Vampires make a move on Tennant's Vegas stronghold laced with antique vampire-fighting weapons, it forces Tennants character to look inside himself.

The kid makes a move on the vampire's lair when his girl, played by the girl from 28 weeks later, is captured by Farrell during the crisis.  Tennant has a change of heart, becoming the unlikely sidekick to the kid, and they enter the lair to take on the ancient beast into the climax.

I have to admit I enjoyed it.  I didn't think I was.  But they stuck to a good story with a simple formula following the dramatic structure.

The trailers have Colin Farrell looking like he mailed in his performance.  But watching his performance in context made what I thought was smarmy mugging during the trailers something different.  It became a patient arrogance of someone with a kind of strong omnipotence.  Colin could smell the characters, know they were near.  He was restricted by traditional vampire lore, but also had their super strength and speed.  I thought his character went beyond just plain creepy to sinister. 

I think Farrell upped his performance to make sure to take the scenes with Tennant in the flick.  As his performance in the Doctor Who series, Tennant brought a Shakesperean-trained performance to what was a standard Hollywood action script.  The dialogue was nothing special, but in the hands of a master like Tennant, gained a resonance that the lines would not have had with other actors.  Only Tennant could make the phrase, "Get the fuck out of my house" powerful on a RSC level.

And his dialogue was a strong American departure from his Doctor Who role.  His lines seemed to have been written by Samuel L. Jackson, as he used the 'F' word a lot.  I would have like to have seen more British slang used, like "Fuck all" or "Bollocks".

As the professional Tennant was, with all the potential to steal scenes, he shared them.  People like me that showed up specifically to see him will be happy to see that with his material and with the script, he was able to bring a strong performance for his lovable character.

All the other actors did well.  And in all, it was a great performance.

It wasn't anything groundbreaking.  But it was a good action/vampire horror story worthy of watching on the big screen.  And, to be honest, Tennant's performance is worth the price of admission.  Farrell as a great heel is just icing on the cake.


Bowie Ibarra is the author of the zombie horror series, "Down the Road" from Permuted Press and Simon and Schuester.  His most recent story, "Codename: La Lechusa", is a superhero action story with a paranormal theme.

For more information and networking, go to

This has been a production.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

BLOOD/FIGHTS and ABSURDISM - Book Review: Rico Slade will Fucking Kill You by Bradley Sands

If Eugene Ionesco had a threesome with two reels of 80s action movies, the baby would be this book.

Bradley Sands puts together a purely absurd action romp featuring the cruelest buffoons you will ever read about outside of "The Bald Soprano" or "Jack, or the Submission" by Ionesco.  As a fan of absurdist works of Ionesco and Beckett, this book was a true tribute to the avant-garde style of the 1940's.  I loved it.

Hilarious, outrageous, and a lot of fun.  I bought it for my Kindle, and it was worth the buy. 

If you like ridiculous humor with the hands-down wildest action you will ever read, this is your book.  Get it today at


Bowie Ibarra is the author of the zombie horror series "Down the Road" from Permuted Press and Simon and Schuster.  His most recent book, "Codename: La Lechusa" is an action adventure superhero story.  You can find more information at

This has been a Production

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

ZOMBIES - The Moody Mastermind Shawn "Rotting Corpse" Riddle

"I'm sorry ensign, there's nothing more annoying than a corpse with a mind of its own" Constable Odo-Star Trek Deep Space Nine

Full Name: Shawn M. Riddle
Code Name/Alter Ego: Shawn 'Rotting Corpse' Riddle
Primary Specialty: Horror/Zombies
Secondary Specialty: Horror

Q – Shawn, you were really excited to be a part of “Holiday of the Dead”. What inspired your story?

I was definatlely stoked to be a part of "Holiday of the Dead" It's a real honor to have the first story I ever wrote placed in such elite company. It's hard to say what inspired the story, my lady kept on me to write something and i used people and places from my daily life, the rest simplay wrote itself.

Q – Zombies are big these days. When were you first exposed to zombies?

In 1978, i was 7 years old, my mother took me to the theater with my step brother and stepdad, she put me and my step brother into "The Secret of Nimh" and her and my stepdad went into the "Dawn of the Dead" theater. After 20 minutes of a really boring cartoon, my step brother and i snuck into "Dawn of the Dead" I loved it, I guess you can say i was sick and twisted since childhood.

Q – When you’re not writing, what do you enjoy doing?

Im a real movie buff, I enjoy watching horror as much as I can, i also am an avid gamer, again mostly in the horror genre.

Q – Have you always wanted to write?

No. I didnt even like to read until just a few minths ago, I read "Hater" by David Moody from a friends suggestion. I liked it so much i started expanding into other books and authors, my FB group is what really inspired me to start writing back in January.

Q – You are one of the people responsible for the “Moody’s Survivor” Facebook group. Why did you put that group together?

After reading David's work and searching for a fan group for him, I couldnt find one and was shocked he already didnt have something in place. I emailed David and asked his permission to start the group, he very graciously allowed me to do so, and it just took off from there. I put it together strictly as a fan group for David, but as anyone who is now part of the group knows it has evolved into much much more. It is still based onn his work, but we now have many fine authors and good people who participate, i think its a real success.

Q – “Moody’s Survivors” is probably the most active group I am a part of. Why do you think the people of the group are so passionate about their zombies and horror in general?

It's hard to say for sure, most of us in the group are passionate to the point of fanatical about the horror genre, zombies in particular. As to why we are all so passionate? Perhaps we skipped our therapy sessions as kids and are still a little sickj in the head. Lol. Seriously though, i think the group is so active because we have an atmosphere of no holds barred fun among us and everyone is very cool and respectful, little to no bickering or infighting.

Q – You are a champion for the works of David Moody. What Moody title would your recommend to the uninitiated?

Thats a tough one, I would have to say "Hater", it's the book that launched me into being such a fan of Davids work. Its gritty and hardcore protrayal of the end of civilzation as we know it draws you in and keeps your attention 100% of the time. Excellent book!

Q – What makes a good zombie horror book?

To me its the atmosphere the author creates and the interaction of the characters. David Moody is a MASTER at creating atmosphere, as well as Iain McKinnon, Wayne Simmons and Bowie Ibarra. They all draw you in and force you to read after page one. If you have a lame atmoshere and dry characters, it ruins ANY written work.

Q – You don’t have to name titles, but has there ever been a zombie horror title you think fell short?

Yes, there have been a few that just didnt do it for me, the author tried to set a tone, but just didnt quite make it.

Q – What would you say to authors to help them with what readers are looking for?

The most important factor for me is, locate and identify your target audience. Whether its males 18-35, or females 12-19 it doesnt matter. Put yourself in the mindset of your target audience and do a first draft of your work. Find several people who will give you honest feedback and are part of your target audience, let them Beta read your work and take all feedback into account on your first revision. It is still your story, but if 5/6 say theres a problem you may want to rethink something. No one is ever going to get 100% positive feedback, so dont even try. Take all opinions into account on your next draft but aleays remember it is YOUR story, do not change something that you really love unless you are absolutely sure it is for the best.

Q – What is your weapon of choice for the Z-Poc?

Good old fashioned military grade machette, sharpend so sharp it can cut paper.

Q – So, Zombies, Fights, or Blood?


Q – What celebrity would you like to watch being dismembered and eaten by zombies?

Wow, thats a long list, but if i had to choose one it would be Paris Hilton.

Q – Where can people find more about you and what you are doing?

Join my FB group "Moody's Survivors-The Last of the Living" I am always in there and anything you need to know about me can be found in there.

Q – Any last words for the readers?

Never stay in one place too long during a ZPOC, itll just draw the Pus-Bags in and youll end up surrounded.
You can join the Moody's Survivor's Facebook fan page here and interact with a real cool crew of horror lovers:
Moody's Survivor's Facebook group:!/groups/maddicts/


Bowie V. Ibarra is the author of the Permuted Press and Simon and Schuster zombie horror series "Down the Road".  His newest release, an action-adventure story called "Codename: La Lechusa" is now available as low as $4.99.  You can purchase his books and network with him at

This has been a Production