Zoltan Komor
Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ Author
Born
in Debrecen, Hungary
Genre
Influences
Franz Kafka, William S. Burroughs
Member Since
April 2014
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Urethra Ballerina
3 editions
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published
2016
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Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
2 editions
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published
2014
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Tumour-Djinn
2 editions
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published
2014
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Turdmummy
3 editions
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published
2016
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Nácik a dÃnók ellen
by
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published
2015
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The Radiator Boy and The Holly Country
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Kaparós punci és mellbimbós kólaautomata
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published
2020
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A migráns Krisztusok támadása
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²Ñ²¹²µ²â²¹±ô´Ç°ù²õ³úá²µ
2 editions
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published
2021
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Fekete ​Múzsák - avagy mesék a varjakról -
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Jun 22, 2023 12:47PM
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“A hobo walks by in a suit made of today's newspaper. A guy chases him, shouting. "Wait! I haven't read the business section yet!"
Oh, the economic news. The most honest, trustworthy, freshest goods you can get—apart from ripe fish. With its gorgeous headlines it shakes out the mirror’s lost reflections: The fountains are lobbying for more water in this pyromaniac city. Buses with electric chairs are running through the streets. Passengers ask for tickets to Heaven, then take their seats. Eyeballs jump out of their smoking skulls. "No littering in the vehicle!" growls the driver, adjusting the hat on his horns.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
Oh, the economic news. The most honest, trustworthy, freshest goods you can get—apart from ripe fish. With its gorgeous headlines it shakes out the mirror’s lost reflections: The fountains are lobbying for more water in this pyromaniac city. Buses with electric chairs are running through the streets. Passengers ask for tickets to Heaven, then take their seats. Eyeballs jump out of their smoking skulls. "No littering in the vehicle!" growls the driver, adjusting the hat on his horns.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
“The girl didn't notice that her boyfriend's head had transformed into a big microphone. So when she whispered her secrets into his ear, her words echoed trough the city. In her embarrassment, she ran out of the house to hide somewhere. And what she saw scared her: couples with microphone heads walked the streets hand in hand. What a sad new world this was, where everybody had to learn how to hold back from saying things.
Sounds of slammed doors echoued through the city. Apart from this, there was only silence.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
Sounds of slammed doors echoued through the city. Apart from this, there was only silence.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
“Every now and then, a small plane arrives from nowhere â€� as tiny as the head of a match-stick â€� it flies around my head, buzzing, like a pesky little fly, then disappears into my ear. Later, it lands on my throbbing heart. Excited tourists get out of the plane, constantly clicking their cameras, watching the narrow chasms open-mouthed.
After some time, the pilot tells the passengers to get back on the plane. The storms are unpredictable here, he warns. So the small plane flies out of my ear, and as I watch them leave, I wish I could go with them. But I know that's impossible. My fear of heights keeps me in the deep.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
After some time, the pilot tells the passengers to get back on the plane. The storms are unpredictable here, he warns. So the small plane flies out of my ear, and as I watch them leave, I wish I could go with them. But I know that's impossible. My fear of heights keeps me in the deep.”
― Flamingos in the Ashtray: 25 Bizarro Short Stories
Topics Mentioning This Author
topics | posts | views | last activity | |
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Bizarro, Splatter...: The Ballad of TERROR TINY TIM & Other Tales of Unkindness | 3 | 14 | Jun 28, 2022 06:41AM |
“Some bratty boys from the neighborhood decide to make a secret clubhouse in my skull. They don't ask me about it, but I have no argument against the plan. So, every afternoon getting home from school they occupy my head. The kids laugh loudly, and crack their chip bags. Sometimes smoke flies out of my ear. I suspect they are experimenting with their first cigarettes. Of course, I was just like them when I was their age, so I'm not going to tell on them; that’s for sure. If only they wouldn’t leave such a mess every time. It can be really awkward, when having a conversation with someone I begin to shake or nod my head and suddenly a crumpled porn magazine falls out from my ear.
Soon, the parents get wind of the secret clubhouse, and they step into my apartment swinging a bone saw. They insist on looking in my skull; telling me they have the right to know what their boys are up to behind their backs.
Now, the kids and I are both punished � they are grounded in their rooms, as for me, the parents won't give back my skullcap. It's quite embarrassing. Going to work in the mornings some cheeky brats on the bus are having a great time pushing spitballs and chewed bubble gum between my brain wrinkles when I'm not looking.
That’s enough, I decide one morning, I have rights too. So I knock on the mother's door, who has my upper head.
She just stands there in the door, smoking, holding my skullcap in her hand, which looks like a half hairy coconut, and she flicks the ash into it. After I’m done with my speech about human rights, she slams the door in my face.
I have no time for a second round I must leave to work. Scratching out a used ticket from my brain wrinkles I catch the next bus. A young couple whispers and chuckles behind me. I quickly get off at the next stop, before they could plan a secret date in my occipital lobe.”
― Tumour-Djinn
Soon, the parents get wind of the secret clubhouse, and they step into my apartment swinging a bone saw. They insist on looking in my skull; telling me they have the right to know what their boys are up to behind their backs.
Now, the kids and I are both punished � they are grounded in their rooms, as for me, the parents won't give back my skullcap. It's quite embarrassing. Going to work in the mornings some cheeky brats on the bus are having a great time pushing spitballs and chewed bubble gum between my brain wrinkles when I'm not looking.
That’s enough, I decide one morning, I have rights too. So I knock on the mother's door, who has my upper head.
She just stands there in the door, smoking, holding my skullcap in her hand, which looks like a half hairy coconut, and she flicks the ash into it. After I’m done with my speech about human rights, she slams the door in my face.
I have no time for a second round I must leave to work. Scratching out a used ticket from my brain wrinkles I catch the next bus. A young couple whispers and chuckles behind me. I quickly get off at the next stop, before they could plan a secret date in my occipital lobe.”
― Tumour-Djinn

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