The internet has just introduced me to the works of Andy Remic, an author so bad that he represents absolute zero on a scale of authordom. It is simply not possible to be any worse than him. Fans of language should look away now:
Glancing up, The Mongrel saw the office light go out and he smiled, a grim smile, the sort of smile which can only appear on the face of a man who’s had two fingers blown off by a grenade.
Ben had a look on his face, but it was not confusion. It was far from confusion. It lingered in the realms of terror and pelted apples at the windows of disgust.
And above the world as this deadly virus spread, Mankind suddenly realised that He was cursed, and that God was Laughing and it was a Long Laugh and the Humour was Black and there was No Cure and No Help and No Redemption and the Pit and the Void Welcomed Unwary Travellers with a cool pint of SNOT. In a straight glass.
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