Palamades Publishing: Get your fix of poetry, ghosts, and soon…giant robots. That’s right: Giant robots motha duckas!

The year is 2173.  I’m part of the first batch of humans that have permanently settled Mars.  I live in an enclosed, four-mile wide dome that’s made possible by a bevy of terraforming technologies.  It’s called Domeville.  Right now I’m hiding in Domeville’s main library, perusing some old comics by Scott Snyder (have you read Death of the Family?  Good lord—no spoilers, all I’m gonna say is the faces on ice blew my mind).  Petty middle manager, Dick of the Colony, and professional Numb-nuts John Fister walks into my quiet space just as I restrain a cheer ‘cos I’m about to see Bruce punch Evil in its stupid, turkey-necked face.  A malicious grin spreads across John’s lips.  “Wayne!  I knew you’d be here, you shiftless malcontent.  Quit fiddling with those coloring books and go break down some hydrazine; I want enough water for my hot tub this weekend.”  I give him an annoyed look.  “I’ve put in my hours and we have enough water to drink and shower with.  Leave me alone.”  John narrows his gaze and snatches away my comic book, holds it up, then begins ripping pages out, crumpling them into balls and tossing them over his shoulder.  “HEY!” I yell.  “THAT’S A CLASSIC!”  I level a quivering finger at him.  “How dare you.”  He shrugs.  “Well now its fuel for the matter transmogrifier.  Get your ass back to the hydro farms.”  I hiss, “I’m not gonna put in extra hours so you can soak in a froth of your dirty, lukewarm microbes.”  We stare at each other for a long moment, then he claps his hands.  Three super-size goons come in wearing spiked, Batman-style gauntlets, smacking their armored knuckles against open palms.  John grins and says, “My brothers.  Together we’re the Fister Four.  Believe me when I say that we live up to our names.  So unless you wanna be sporting a gaper for the next week or so, I’d suggest you go back to the farms, and break me down some goddamned water.”  My eyes flick over to the goons, and John follows up with, “A few more hours on hydro duty?  Or a week wearing diapers because you can’t trust a fart?”  I level a steady look at John.  “There’s another option here.”  He grins.  “What’s that?”  I throw my head back and yell “PALAMEDES PUBLISHING!!!”  Magic flash.  A yoked out dude in a gi comes walking in.  He has no sleeves, no shoes, and wears a red headband.  His right hand glows with otherworldly blue.  “Meet Ryu,” I say with a smile.  “Thirty third degree black belt and Interplanetary Icon.”  Ryu gives them all a grim stare, and says, “You guys are named Fister, eh?  Let’s see how well you honor your names; I’m betting I can beat you at your own game.”  He pads forward, smacking his glowing knuckles against an open palm.  I’m not gonna say what happens next—obscenity laws and all—but SHHOOOOORRYUKEN!

In the event that you too are one day accosted by a malevolent quartet of Fister brothers, give ’em a taste of their own medicine with an added edge of Satsui no Hado.  Palamedes Publishing.  Check out their poetry here:  Machu Picchu Me  They are assisting me with the process of getting Echo Volumes 1 & 2 in paperback.  For now, get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle

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