📚 Tale Teller Club Press (TTCP)

Love in the Time of Goo Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror/Romance (B-Movie Style) Tagline: "It oozed from the swamp… and straight into her heart." ACT I: The Swamp, the Scientist, and the Soda Jerk It’s 1959 in the steamy backwoods of Cypress Hollow, a nowhere town where nothing ever happens—until Dr. Veronica Flame, a chain-smoking exobiologist with a tragic past and a PhD from "a European university that definitely exists," crash-lands her government jeep in the middle of Swamp Sector Z. She’s investigating strange seismic readings and rumors of glowing frogs. Meanwhile, Johnny Rocket, a square-jawed soda jerk with a leather jacket and a motorcycle named Freedom, dreams of rock 'n' roll stardom and escaping his dead-end job at Big Bob’s Milkshake Haven. They meet when Johnny finds Veronica passed out next to a steaming crater, cradling a glass vial of neon green goo. He takes her to town, ignoring the throbbing, ominous hum from the swamp that makes dogs howl and mi...

Blood on the Typewriter The narrator speaks in a raspy voice-over: It was the kind of night where even the moon wanted nothing to do with the city. Rain hit the sidewalks like it had a grudge. I was halfway through a bottle of something cheap when she walked into my office—heels clicking like a metronome of bad decisions. Her name was Velma Vane, and trouble wore her like a second skin. “You’re Rex Malone,” she said, voice like smoke through a saxophone. “Private eye. Washed up. Broke. Bitter.” “You forgot handsome,” I replied, lighting a cigarette with a matchbook from a bar I didn’t remember getting kicked out of. She laid a photo on my desk. A man with a crooked smile and a hole in his forehead. “That’s my husband,” she said. “He used to be a jerk. Now he’s just dead.” I didn’t like the way she smiled when she said it. She wanted me to find out who killed him. Said she was innocent. Innocent dames don’t usually carry snub-nosed .38s in their purses—especially ones that still sme...

   Love Slime from Planet 9. Narrator speaks, in a deep deep, gravelly voice: "In a world where love is dangerous… and tentacles are legal…" It all started when Betty Lou Buckminster, assistant librarian and part-time UFO blogger, saw something crash-land in Farmer Milt’s cornfield. "I swear on my coupon book, that ain’t a weather balloon," she muttered, adjusting her cat-eye glasses and strapping on her rollerblades. She skated toward destiny—and probable alien infection. Inside the crater: a glowing pod, pulsing like a disco heart. And out of it slithered him—tall, green, and gelatinous. With eyes like limpid pools of lime Jell-O and a voice that sounded like Barry White underwater. “I… come… in love,” he gurgled. She gasped. “You speak English?” “Downloaded from satellite… reruns of Baywatch Nights.” They locked eyes. Or, eye and eyes. Something clicked—possibly her kneecap, she landed hard in the mud. That night, in her trailer full of Beanie Babies and conspira...