To go with the regular Inter-Review Sunday offering, we have a guest post by Jeremy C. Shipp… or well, at least it came from Jeremy’s email address. I have a feeling Peanut has escaped the attic.

Click on through to enjoy!

Peanut: Before we start the interview, can I get you something to drink? We have Smurf blood, unicorn drool, angel tears.

Jeremy: No thanks.

P: Would you care for something to eat? We have moldy marshmallow peeps, candy corn maggots, double rainbow pie.

J: What’s in the pie?

P: Just apple slices dyed every color of the rainbow.

J: That sounds good.

P: Would you like extra leprechaun pus or the usual amount?

J: Can I have it without any pus at all?

P: You mean you’d prefer to replace the pus with bile?

J: Never mind. I’m not hungry.

P: But you sound hungry. Just listen to your stomach ringing!

J: Isn’t that your phone?

P: Yeah, and it’s your stomach calling. He says he wants you to eat pus until you explode.

J: That’s a horrible thing to say.

P: You’re right. Do you want me to punish him for you? I have a stomach torture kit under my bed with your stomach’s name on it. Your stomach’s name is Bob, right?

J: He doesn’t have a name. I mean, it doesn’t have a name.

P: You don’t even think of him as a person? No wonder he’s acting out.

J: Could we please just get on with this?

P: In a minute. First let me answer my phone. Hello? Grandpa Slappy? Yes. Yes. Yes. No! I hate you too. Goodbye. I’m so sorry, Jeremy, but I have to go. My Grandpa Slappy, may he rest in peace, just reminded me that I’m late for an interview with some stupid writer. His name is Germany Shipple, I think, and he’s promoting this dumb book called Mushrooms of the Spleen, or something like that.

J: Um. I think you’re a little confused.

P: I’m a lot confused. How could Germ get published in the first place? His writing stinks as much as my Grampa’s breath, and Slappy’s been dead for 8000 years. He died after Bob dared him to eat pus until he exploded. Anyway, I promised Germany I’d interview him today, so I’d better hit the road.

J: I’m actually the one you’re supposed to be interviewing.

P: I’d much rather interview you than some dumb old writer, but a promise is a promise. On second thought, the heck with Germany! He’s probably dead by now anyway.

J: What do you mean?

P: I poisoned his cereal this morning.

J: You what?

P: Hold on. I need to take this call. Hello? Bob? Yes. Yes. Yes. No! What do you mean the Lucky Charms are making you dizzy? Yes, I suppose you should head into the light. Alright, I’ll catch you later, tum tum. I’m so sorry, Jeremy, but I have to go. Bob is feeling under the weather and I need to go buy him some rubber chicken noodle soup.

J:…

P: Jeremy?

Jeremy C. Shipp is the Bram Stoker nominated author of Cursed, Vacation, and Sheep and Wolves. His shorter tales have appeared or are forthcoming in over 50 publications, the likes of Cemetery Dance, ChiZine, Apex Magazine, Pseudopod, and Rosebud.

While preparing for the forthcoming collapse of civilization, Jeremy enjoys living in Southern California in a moderately haunted Victorian farmhouse with his wife, Lisa, and their legion of yard gnomes. Thankfully, only one mime was killed during the making of his first short film, Egg.

You can visit Jeremy at http://www.jeremycshipp.com