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Saved by the Quantum Bell
This is a sequel to 'Passenger Screech'. You don't have to have read that first, but everything will make more sense in you Mr. Belding, played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, enlists Dustin Diamond and Alyssa Milano to help save Bayside High. The worst shit in the universe is coming. Dustin has to revisit his role as Screech and Alyssa becomes Kelly. With Kevin the robot they journey through the 'Pearlescent Colon of the Universe' traversing many parallel universes, with the intent of stopping Pinhead from finishing his sinister plan. Filled with words and endless action shit, lets not spoil everything in this super awesome 4,400 word adventure. If you love Elizabeth Berkley, you've just discovered heaven.
35 pages, Paperback
Published November 24, 2019
1 person want to read
About the author
Bridget Chase
202 books1 followerBridget Chase was an author, artist, and clone. He was born in 1934 and died in 1944. Bridget was a clone of Redhat Dick and was created- fully grown- in a underground scientific laboratory in France.
By all accounts Bridget Chase was a villain. From robbery, to kidnapping, and theft of all kinds; he seemed to never find satisfaction in following rules. Dr. Stan Fantastic, Bridget's psychiatrist, deemed his activity as one born of a troubled mind.
In Dr. Fantastic's own words, "How could one blame Bridget? To be born a clone must, by all accounts, be a terrible tragedy. To not be original, a sovereign individual; well, the country itself should be held accountable. For it was shown in the case of Natalie Hotdayum, that clones are doomed from their very creation."
Bridget Chase did find some peace of mind in creating art and writing. His books are vast and follow similar patterns to his counterpart Redhat Dick featuring qualities such as weird sensibilities, bizarre story lines, and misogynistic over tones.
Bridget Chase was sought after for the death of Redhat Dick in 1943. Redhat Dick was found frozen on the snowy banks of eastern Pennsylvania. Bridget was never convicted but family and friends were never convinced of his innocence.
Bridget Chase died the following year in just as questionable of circumstances. His body was discovered in the bushes of a vacant home in Pennsylvania. The only clue being a note in his jacket pocket from an unknown entity calling themselves Instant Bunny. The note included an invitation along with a six digit number.
Redhat Dick and Bridget Chase on many occasions co authored stories. Yellowhatdick Magazine gained legal control over Bridget's work when the acquired Redhat Dick's. In 2015 Yellowhatdick Magazine began to publish their works under the publishing company Chase Entertainment.
Excerpt; Zombie Thriller
In a den of darkness, he sat.
Primordial forms slipped through the cracks which framed the door to his troubled mind.
The fireplace’s flickering torments struck harshly at the house of his soul. The licking flames built shadowy dreams along his mansion’s walls.
Shelves displaying morbid treasures were no consolation to the sadness that imprisoned his black heart.
Memories played over his pinpoint pupils. Rob Zombie’s eyes looked into infinity. Death... you bastard.
The smoke from his joint drifted in languid spirals from between his pinched lips.
Long white dreadlocks and a white beard framed his old face. Wrinkles of time, imprinted in permanent paths, scarred his features.
Rob’s high back leather chair hugged his body. Its size- making him small like a child.
And like a child, Rob was fantasizing. His dreams were a multifaceted carousel of hallucinatory images- around and around and around they went.
The tightly wrapped joint was released from his fingers and placed in the ashtray. Fire light gripped part of the chair. Rob sat in its dark shadow. Tendrils of smoke rose- dissipating into the eternity of the invisible quantum planes.
A crumpled receipt lay atop the side table, finding a home on its dark wood surface. Next to it, sat a box of single edged razors.
By all accounts Bridget Chase was a villain. From robbery, to kidnapping, and theft of all kinds; he seemed to never find satisfaction in following rules. Dr. Stan Fantastic, Bridget's psychiatrist, deemed his activity as one born of a troubled mind.
In Dr. Fantastic's own words, "How could one blame Bridget? To be born a clone must, by all accounts, be a terrible tragedy. To not be original, a sovereign individual; well, the country itself should be held accountable. For it was shown in the case of Natalie Hotdayum, that clones are doomed from their very creation."
Bridget Chase did find some peace of mind in creating art and writing. His books are vast and follow similar patterns to his counterpart Redhat Dick featuring qualities such as weird sensibilities, bizarre story lines, and misogynistic over tones.
Bridget Chase was sought after for the death of Redhat Dick in 1943. Redhat Dick was found frozen on the snowy banks of eastern Pennsylvania. Bridget was never convicted but family and friends were never convinced of his innocence.
Bridget Chase died the following year in just as questionable of circumstances. His body was discovered in the bushes of a vacant home in Pennsylvania. The only clue being a note in his jacket pocket from an unknown entity calling themselves Instant Bunny. The note included an invitation along with a six digit number.
Redhat Dick and Bridget Chase on many occasions co authored stories. Yellowhatdick Magazine gained legal control over Bridget's work when the acquired Redhat Dick's. In 2015 Yellowhatdick Magazine began to publish their works under the publishing company Chase Entertainment.
Excerpt; Zombie Thriller
In a den of darkness, he sat.
Primordial forms slipped through the cracks which framed the door to his troubled mind.
The fireplace’s flickering torments struck harshly at the house of his soul. The licking flames built shadowy dreams along his mansion’s walls.
Shelves displaying morbid treasures were no consolation to the sadness that imprisoned his black heart.
Memories played over his pinpoint pupils. Rob Zombie’s eyes looked into infinity. Death... you bastard.
The smoke from his joint drifted in languid spirals from between his pinched lips.
Long white dreadlocks and a white beard framed his old face. Wrinkles of time, imprinted in permanent paths, scarred his features.
Rob’s high back leather chair hugged his body. Its size- making him small like a child.
And like a child, Rob was fantasizing. His dreams were a multifaceted carousel of hallucinatory images- around and around and around they went.
The tightly wrapped joint was released from his fingers and placed in the ashtray. Fire light gripped part of the chair. Rob sat in its dark shadow. Tendrils of smoke rose- dissipating into the eternity of the invisible quantum planes.
A crumpled receipt lay atop the side table, finding a home on its dark wood surface. Next to it, sat a box of single edged razors.
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