Fiction. There's no one better at taking a reader to horror and no one better at making them giggle while there than Mark Romyn. He mischievously leaps into the arms of the living dead. He dares to tell any creepy truth, and even the faint of heart become liberated reading his chilling descriptions of our absurd world and then grateful for the way he has made us laugh. It's difficult to feel any pain while riding his stories' wave of tasty, sex-spoofed fancy. Even his most fanciful entertaining stories pack an insightful whack. Many writers tackle death, memory, conformity, stupidity, but not many with such humorous irreverence. Romyn's stories are your friends. Good friends who don't lie. They outline the grotesque life trap, but they'll reach out to hold your hand, give a squeeze, and then a welcomed, witty wink. In his wild sci-fi, in his hilarious horror, you will find no superficial tonic. You will find stories as difficult as life and thankfully, wickedly funny.