Blood Splatters Quickly: The Collected Stories
Edward D. Wood Jr.
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Even if you think you don’t know him, you know him. Few in the Hollywood orbit have had greater influence; few have experienced more humiliating failure in their lifetime. Thanks in part to the biopic directed by Tim Burton, starring Johnny Depp and bearing his name, Ed Wood has become an icon of Americana.
Perhaps the purest expression of Wood’s théma—pink angora sweaters, over-the-top violence and the fraught relationships between the sexes—can be found in his unadulterated short stories, many of which (including “Blood Splatters Quickly”) appeared in short-lived “girly” magazines published throughout the 1970s. The 32 stories included here, replete with original typos, lovingly preserved, have been verified by Bob Blackburn, a trusted associate of Kathy Wood, Ed’s widow. In the forty years or more since those initial appearances in adult magazines, none of these stories has been available to the public.
Wood died in 1978, but the legacy of the director of “Plan 9 from Outer Space,” “Glen or Glenda,” “Jail Bait” and so many other beloved screen classics has only grown in importance. Wood speaks—not least for himself—as one of America’s “outsiders” caught up in the struggle to find acceptance inside—and never more directly than in the material in this book.
could no longer stand the pressure of what he believed he saw standing there with the halo of death surrounding her entire body. Ronnie realized what had happened. He had wanted to stick the sharp fingernail file into his heart. He wanted to watch the blood splatter quickly out and all over his cigar ash-stained vest and coat. How very much he had wanted to see the old man quake before the torture when he knew he was going to die. But Ronnie had been cheated. He crossed the room to a hidden
girl. And Emily could care less if he mentioned her by name. It would be something different in her otherwise dull life. It really would be different. And Tommy’s hands went up under her skirt and found the opening in the leg of her pink panties and one finger curled the soft hairs of her pubic region. She started to twist and turn with the delight of the sudden, new sensations. She had fingered the same region herself and had had some of the feelings, but it was nothing like having somebody
be, buster. Nobody fires Flame LeMarr. Flame LeMarr might quit, but nobody fires her. You get that?” “Flame… be reasonable.” She slapped him across the face, a stinging blow which sent him back against the door of the dressing room. He bounced back to his original position and Flame LeMarr, in a swirl of marabou feathers from her pink marabou, floor length negligee, crossed back to her dressing table and sunk down onto the fur covered bench. “I don’t like people slapping me.” “I don’t care
Ain’t nobody going to want to eat there today… not across from where this kind of thing happened. I bet it takes a week or more before anybody wants to eat in my husband’s joint. Sometimes people just ain’t considerate of others. HARRY: Yeah… and I bet that guy gets clean away. Somebody should do something about things like this. There ought to be some way of protecting innocent people on these lousy city streets these days. I tell you somebody’s got to do something. JIM: The horror is that
And when I get that hungry I don’t like to take the cash out of my pocket. I just go on eatin’ and eatin’ until I’m liable to burst… but I don’t burst until they presents me with the bill.” Number four chuckled. “A skinny old rat like you couldn’t eat more’n a dollar’s worth anytime you sit down.” He chuckled again. “Even you, poor as you is gotta have a dollar someplace in your pants.” “I gotta dollar but I sure don’t like lookin’ forward to spendin’ it on all that food I’m gonna need.