What do you want out of bizarro fiction? Go ahead. Think about it for a minute. Not an easy question, is it? Actually, it’s not even a fair question. The question itself goes against the nature of bizarro. Bizarro fiction is built on its unwillingness to be pigeonholed, its defiance of genre. So what do you want out of bizarro? Everything. You want everything, and you want it in surprising, unprecedented combinations. You don’t just want these stories to raise your eyebrows, you want them to blast your eyebrows into fucking orbit. You want creepy comedy that destroys the concepts of death and birth?
Andrew Wayne Adams has you covered. Unrepentant B-movie madness? Check with G. Arthur Brown. Quiet, sexy, Midwestern road trip weirdness? Look no further than Justin Grimbol. Next level celebrity obsession? Airika Sneve is here for you. Seriously, it’s all in these pages. What more are you looking for? Oh, maybe lovelorn dismemberment, sword-slinging abscess creatures, surreal takes on the whole “was it all a dream?” motif, goo-spewing art anuses, witches fighting Jehovah’s Witness robots, cyberpunk mind-transferring love pentangles, motivational bigfoots fighting space pigs?
You want everything. You got it. Right in your hands. Dig in.