Alex Bone

Alex Bone

Alex Bone (Michael D. Griffiths) is a man who likes to keep busy, too bad it mostly involves cleaning squirrels. In the past, his writing has been published in numerous periodicals and anthologies sometimes even published by someone else. He was awarded first place in Withersin’s 666 contest, which he was told will later give him the Golden Ticket tour of the third plane of Hell. He is on the staff of The Daily Discord, Cyberwizard Productions, SFReader, and on the Board of Directors for the Society of Advanced Humans that Seek to Live as Viking Ninjas. His series The Chronicles of Jack Primus is available through Living Dead Press. After being bitten by a zombie, his attentions have turned toward the walking dead and he has begun a new Zombie Apocalypse series called the Eternal Aftermath. When he discovered that he was a cloned from Eric the Red’s DNA, he wrote the Science Fiction series Skinjumpers. Later while experimenting with strange fungus, he slipped into a Fantasy world ruled by the mad mage Dalsala Den.

The Daily Discord’s Ten Question Punk Rock Challenge

Punk Hiar

How punk are you? Would you really like to know? With this handy quiz, now you can! Amaze your friends, or disgust them outright. Get kicked out of pubs, or finally get invited back into them! Just hit the read more button, answer the ten questions, and you too could be the next punk rock star, destined to couch surf your way to unemployment.

Plague Outbreak Slows Down Discord Production

Plague Outbreak Slows Down Discord Production
Alex Bone

Collapsing Shack, AZ—The Daily Discord film crew was forced to push back the start date of their soon to be Oscar nominated epic “Belch of the Mogollon Monster.” The latest S.T.Q. blockbuster was slated to be filmed on location in scenic Picture Canyon, conveniently located just outside of Flagstaff, but less than a week before the shoot the site was closed due to an infestation of plague-bearing fleas.

The Discord’s writer, editor, actor, producer, stage hand, prop boy, bar back, driver, and animal trainer, Zano, had this to say: “This is obviously a government plot, which means we are getting close to the truth. What is in Picture Canyon that they don’t want us to see? What secrets are they worried that we will uncover? Oh, and what time is it? Cokie asked me to pick up her dry cleaning.”

Alex Bone, the Discord’s Senior Camping Correspondent, towel boy, and Yig advocate added, “This isn’t going to help us either professionally or personally. Most of us are homeless and needed to camp in the Canyon just to make sure we were there on time. Zano didn’t even want to tell us about the plague and we only found out about the shutdown while we were on a beer run. He wants to start the filming again tomorrow, but I can’t get out of my wet sleeping bag and my body is now covered with purple growths the size of goose eggs. This time they aren’t hickies, honey, honest!”

Cameraman Greg was heard saying. “I wish I had known too. I parked my ride there and the plague infested prairie dogs must have mutated somehow, because they drove away with my car. I found it trashed downtown and the cops told me they had what the kids are calling a Plague Party, which is where the young prairie dogs have fleas bite them until they catch the ‘Black Buzz.’ Then they vomit and crap everywhere, just like Bone. They shit all over my Karman Ghia. Looks like I’ll be sleeping on the broken folding chair in Ballz’ basement again.”

Zano tried to plead with Winslow for more funding for the project, but was told that if he already spent the fifteen dollars allocated for the three month project on beer then he was shit out of luck. After sending photos of our plague infested bodies, Winslow suggested we shoot a zombie movie instead, adding, “Think of the money we’ll save on makeup, Zano!”

We also learned too late that passing around joints and bottles of tequila when some of the people in the room have the Black Plague is a bad idea as well. As we all laid on the floor of the Man Cave counting our black plague boils we were informed by Ballz’ mother that it was time to leave. Stricken and homeless and losing limbs, we hit the streets.

What do you call a punk rocker without a girlfriend?


What do you call a punker rocker without a girlfriend who has the plague?

Gutter Goo.

The show must go on so Belch of the Mogollon Monster will be filmed later this month near Sunset Crater. It will star all of the survivors. It doesn’t help that Winslow pulled our health insurance this year, the bastard.

Paranormal Entities Sue Discord Over Rights Infringements

Alex Bone

From the old sofa in Tony Ballz’s Basement—As our three loyal fans can attest, The Daily Discord’s Search Truth Quest team continues to unravel the truth behind many hauntings and cryptid sightings across the southwest. Just last month we discovered that nothing paranormal whatsoever was occurring over at Hops on Birch pub. We shut this case after dedicating dozens of man hours, night after night, staking the place out. We left no Stone IPA unturned.  

Why the managers over there weren’t willing to pay for our services remains another mystery and may well be the focus of our next investigation, night after night, staking the place out. We’ll leave no Stone IPA unturned. 

Yet just as we became recognized locally as paranormal investigators our momentum ground to a halt—and that usually only happens when Zano refuses to buy another round. Our team was notified by our CEO, Pierce Winslow, that the Existential Ghosts for Assuming Dominance and Superiority (E—G.A.D.S.) had opened a legal claim against team STQ. Winslow went on to say we were all fired again, except Cokie, and that all of our security clearances at Discord Tower were hereby revoked.

Lucky for us, Winslow never allowed Ballz to officially move in so we could still crash in his basement as long as we promised not to touch anything, make any phone calls, use the internet, eat any of his food, use the shower or the bathroom, or touch anything.

But why were we being sued and by whom? I thought.

After an exhausting phone book search, we found the local chapter of E—G.A.D.S. What is the deal with phone books? The Joogle was down so we went retro. Anyway, I hopped on my bike and rode the fifty miles to their clandestine headquarters. Zano said he would have given me a ride, but a new coffee shop had opened and he needed to investigate some of the expresso as well as some of the baristas.

Upon reaching E—G.A.D.S., I was led through a passageway built from tombstones into a small crypt that served as the office for a lawyer named Ecto P. Lasim. When asked why we were being sued, he said, “We spirits of the liminal nether realms have taken great offence at your lame attempts to expose us via bad puns and the like. But Zano’s ectopilsner theory will not stand!”

When I asked him about all the other ghost busting shows, he replied. “Oh those ones are way off base, but if the secret of ectopilsner were to be made public, we’d be ruined! We might even have to start paying our own afterlife bar tabs.”

Rubbing my brow for a moment, I looked at his floating form and said, “But won’t the fact that we are being sued by ghosts be the one thing that could really prove your existence?”

Then, before I knew what was happening, his head began to smoke and the building shook under my feet.

“Everything I say is a lie. I am lying,” I added. His body pulsed red and cracks appeared in the walls. “If God is all powerful, can he create a nipple so big that even he can’t suck it?”

Lasim screamed as he burst into a thousand ecto-piddled pieces. The headquarters of E—G.A.D.S. collapsed around me as I fled.  It wasn’t too different from that last Discord party at Winslow’s mid-august home—the one we threw without his knowledge while he was on his two year cruise to Atlantis.

Looking around I saw that no evidence remained. If only our cameraman hadn’t been busy making sure all our card decks had fifty three cards in them, he would have been here. We could have finally proven that ghosts do exist. But instead my bike was stolen by elves and I had leprechauns and paranormal serial killers harassing me on the long walk home.

As for the last insult:

I tried to take pictures of them with my cell, but Winslow had already canceled my cell phone service.

Jack Primus Thwarts Conservative Attempt to Reanimate Undead Voters

Alex Bone

Scallywag Tavern—In a bid to clinch the Senate in the coming midterm elections as well as impress chicks, the Skull and Bones chapter of the Republican Party is working out a deal with the devil known as Mamook, a pod of the Migo, and the corpse of Michael Jackson. In a last dying gasp to attempt to hold on to political relevance they have hatched a truly diabolical plan. They aim to stretch out the Day of the Dead until November 4th, pardon the pundit. The Republican Reanimation Attempt to Take the Senate (RATS) is complete and they have that buzzzzz thing from Frankenstein’s laboratory.

I caught up to Congressman William Lynn, and he agreed to answer a few of my questions, as long as I let him sacrifice my dog. I let him as to quote Peter Sellers…that’s not my dog. My first question was whether these republications would be like the flesh-eating undead, as seen on The Walking Dead, or the really athletic ones on World War Z, or pretty much lame and pathetic, like the way republicans legislated while alive.

“We are already favored in the midterms but we’re not taking any chances. This may be our last hooray and we would be reaaaally glad to see Zano wrong about something,” said Lynn.

When asked if undead voters will A. be controllable and B. will be likely republican voters, Lynn said, “This is not an exact mad science. Sure some republicans will be devoured during the release phase but most conservatives will be ready, especially after passing recent Walker Your Ground legislation. When I look at the places we tend to get out the dead vote, they’re packed with unarmed Democrats, prime to be eaten. Hell, Colorado and Washington might not even notice.”

When I asked him how he planned to get the zombies to vote, he offered to show me and then pushed me off a cliff. Luckily, I am very tall and the cliff was very short. So after getting patched up, I phoned the Stalwart known as Jack Primus to help with this carnivorous conservative crisis (CCC). He was already aware of the problem and glad to help, if I plugged his latest novel on Amazon, here. I met him down at the Scallywag Tavern and, as we each let a few IPAs ease our wounded muscles, he filled me in.

“I got wind of the Republican agenda through a devil I was dating at the time,” said Primus. “I know, I know, dating a devil is weird, but at least we never danced. Besides, she’s really not too different than my last girlfriend. As for those necro-enhanced red dead staters (NERDS!), they are being reanimated through some evil spell with the help from the undulating maggots of doom, the Migo, up in the horrid rolling hills of Vermont. Right under Bernie Sanders’ nose!”

I asked about the constitutionality of such a practice and Primus said, “They claim the constitution is to protect after-life, liberty and the pursuit of brains, the way our forezombies envisioned. So naturally, I grabbed up and few throwing knives, my sledge, a six pack of woop ass, and headed up there. But yeah, there were like two hundred of them and they captured me. I was forced to watch Fox News while they cut my hair and forced me to drop my healthcare plan in the name of freedom. Then they started measuring me for a complete sweater and tan slacks ensemble with a matching flag lapel pin. I thought I was doomed.”

“How did you survive?” I asked.

“Well, I had a little weed on me, you know, just a pound or two. The Republidemons said they wanted to confiscate it, because that’s what the War on Drugs is all about. Then they decided to try it so they’d ‘know what those bastards in Colorado were up to.’ So they took a hit. Then they tried some more. Then they tried a little more. Soon they had switched the TV from Fox News to The Walking Dead, you know, just to get some ideas. While they were all zoned out on the couch I tried to destroy their Magick scrolls, but they had already torn them apart to make rolling papers. Mission accomplished.”

With the aid of liberal amounts of marijuana, Jack Primus stopped the evil Republidemons from destroying the planet or worse, winning the midterms. Well, that still might happen as the forces of evil are everywhere. There might be a moral lesson here, but Jack and I are still zoned out on this couch with all these evil Repulidemons. Send chips! And early voting ballots!

Discord CEO Moves All Reporters Into a 1957 Winnebago

Discord CEO Moves All Reporters into a 1957 Winnebago
Alex Bone

Rest Area outside of Bullhead City—In an effort to cut expenses and help fund his second home in Bermuda, CEO Pierce Winslow has moved the entire Discord reporting staff into the old Winnebago his grandmother left him. No less than a dozen reporters, six children, eight significant others, eleven cats, four dogs, twenty-six snakes, a full bar with keggerator, an eight-foot statue of Yig and seventeen cubic-feet of crawdad traps will be living and working from a space roughly the size of Winslow’s guest’s guest bathroom.

When we tried to reach Mr. Winslow for an interview, he wouldn’t allow us into his office. I did hear him bragging to his secretary’s assistant through the door. “They think this is bad, if that thing breaks down wait until they get a load of plan B. Besides, it’s all part of this team building exercise I read about, or at least a slightly more sadistic version.”

Undaunted, the Discord team has tried to make the best of their situation. “We’ll be like pirates,” said Alex Bone, while strapping a six foot statue of Yig to the hood. “Only dumb ones.”

“Yeah, look on the bright side,” added Zano, “with the Ghetto Shaman in jail, at least we won’t have to deal with all of his chickens.”

The women appeared less enthusiastic. After pulling out enough hair to allow Bald Tony to join an eighties hair band, Cokie McGrath shouted, “All the women are relegated to, big surprise, the kitchen! I’ve already heard enough of, ‘well, since you’re there, Cokie, how about twenty sandwiches and a few pizzas?’ And that’s just Bone’s order. I would call them misogynists if I thought they’d know what it meant.”

I spoke with Mr. Tony Ballz, who sat with three cats on his lap between two adults and two small children on a couch. “I’ve had worse,” he said, before turning away to place an order with Cokie in the kitchen.

Since everyone is now housed in the same location, Winslow cut staff expense accounts even further. He rationalized this by sending the gang a Sam’s Club card with a note that read: BUY IN BULK. Alex Bone Is trying to subsidize the food supply by laying out his crawdad traps each night, but when he got arrested for stealing butter, morale fell to an all-time low.

“But at least we have some space,” said Zano. “That tall freak took up as much room as all the pets put together.”

What does the future hold for the Discord crew? Only time will tell. But as long as they can sponge enough money to keep gas in the tank, there’s no limit to where they could be reporting from next week…as long as you let them park in your front yard…and, maybe, use your shower occasionally. Yeah, that would be really cool. Tony’s starting to smell. Oh yeah, and do you have Wifi? This article needs to be sent to Winslow A.S.A.P. or we won’t get our next food allowance.

Parmesan Cheese Newest Tool in Battle Against Drug Addiction

Parmesan Cheese Newest Tool in Battle Against Drug Addiction
Alex Bone

In one of the most unexpected moves of his presidency, Barack Obama announced how America’s Drug addiction recovery funds will be transferred to a new and radical drug treatment that involves the use, and misuse of Parmesan Cheese. The FDA is now parmed and dangerous as methadone treatment centers and the like across this grate country are being supplied with high grade parmaceuticals.

The main premise: all drugs and craving will be replaced by the use of parmesan cheese. “If you used to smoke meth, now you’ll be encouraged to wean off with an 8-ball shaker of parmesan cheese,” said Dr. William Lynn, CEO of Bristol-Myers-Kraft. “If you’re hooked on heroin, now you can snort all the cheese you like on the Feds! No cops, no hassle and at nearly 100% off the street value. What a deal for everyone, especially those folks at the Cheesecake Factory.”

Vincent Drake, owner of Hidden Shadows Pharmaceuticals, was quick to adjust his company’s approach, “We’ve already created a fresh batch of products and got a Twitter page for our new line of parmaceuticals.  Our mottos, Just Say Roman-No and Parmesan: the Other White Meth are being well received. We believe such parm reduction models will go a long way to winning the war on drugs.”

Field reporter Cokie McGrath added, “If you snort enough parm, you can just sneeze onto your pasta and voila’, you’re ready for dinner. Just sneeze for more cheese…I like that.”

Meth-Head-Moe felt less certain of this approach. “Maybe it’s just me, but besides the horrible burning sensation when you snort it, parmesan cheese just isn’t the same at all, man. I’m still jonesing really hard. Say, you got a couple of bucks? Otherwise I’m going to knock off a Dominos for their parm shots.”

After Zano, Ballz, and I tried some, Ballz got so sick and moved into Winslow’s bathroom, which is still three times the size of Ballz’s house. Zano just curled up into a ball and started rocking uncontrollably, which is not that dissimilar from most nights. I thought it was okay as long as you filled the bottle with macaroni first.

Time will tell if this will move our addictive hordes to less dangerous substances.  Critics question whether or not this is just an insidious plot to save the American cheese farmer. Is Obama’s plan to retire in Wisconsin just a coincidence? Is there a connection between this initiative and Big Parma? Or is this another insidious plot concocted by the makers of Lipitor?  

The Forces of Yig Gain Major Foothold in the Crawdad Apocalypse War

The Forces of Yig Gain Major Foothold in the Crawdad Apocalypse War
Alex Bone

Lilly Ponds, AZ—The crawdad menace is finally subsiding. For the first time in six years the delightful chorus of frogs can be heard echoing up from the Lilly Ponds, an area near the top of Sycamore Canyon—well, as long as you kick a few people to keep their snoring down.

The High Priest of Yig had this to say, “Ever since the Migo introduced crawdads into the Lilly Ponds, Yig’s loyal followers have done everything in their power to eradicate this invasive species and also win as many horseshoe games as possible. Now, after six years of struggle and hundreds of man hours, the frogs have begun to return to this beloved paradise. I…” The big Viking of Yig paused and then burst into girlish tears, “I really (gulp) love those frogs, man.”

The crayfish spokesman, Kenny the Crawdad, was less pleased with recent developments. “This is a travesty! Why should ingenious life be handicapped like this? It’s survival of the Crawiest out here. We deserve to eat whatever the hell we please, even if we wipe entire species. This is ‘Merica, damnit! Besides, we promote life too. With frog populations dwindling, mosquitoes and black flies have never been more abundant.” 

There are increasing reports of giant crawdads as well, which has alarmed local rangers. “When a crawdad is taking out some of our sheep, we have problem,” said Ranger Pete. “Though we haven’t exactly confirmed crawdads are responsible, it still makes the most sense. We hired the Discord’s Search Truth Quest team, but they’re theory involves alien Bigfoots…yeah, and that was the part that made sense. I think we wasted good tax payer money employing those hippy assholes.”

Mad scientist and crawdad sympathizer, William Lynn, said, “Do you know how hard it is to dump crawdads into every body of water and stream in a whole state? Importing fish from Louisiana helps, but we mostly use the flying fungi of Yuggoth. First, I have to open a portal to another planet, coax them through with honey, eggnog, glow sticks, and naked pictures of Diane Sawyer. After all that, most of them eat each other before we can deliver them. I’ve ordered one hundred thousand tiny rubber bands to address that problem.”

Saint Poncho had this to say, “All life is sacred, except those damn Palo Verde beetles.” After a ten minute discussion, he was redirected back to the topic of crawdads. “Killing is always wrong, unless it is something you don’t like, such as crawdads, or lawyers, or the Cleveland Browns, or Palestinians. Oh, and did you know that if a crawdad pinches you, you become a zombie? The disease has a very slow onset so most people aren’t even aware this is happening. My studies suggest it’s all part of the couch potato epidemic occurring in our county. In a couple of decades we may lose an entire generation to zombieitis.”

Reports suggest the servants of Yig have a long way to go before the ponds and streams are cleared of this invasive menace.

“We have calculated the beer and ice runs alone could run into the thousands,” said Search Truth Quest Captain, Mick Zano, who preferred to remain anonymous.

Still this is a good day for the frog. The outlook is less grim for the children of Yig. Soon the lands may return to their natural state of beer, babes, Frisbee golf, and huge clouds of marijuana smoke drifting through the pines…oh yeah, and frogs.

Breaking: Alex Bone Has an Alien Chest-Buster Living Inside Him

Alex Bone

Collapsing Shack, AZ—This week, quiet unexpectedly, Alex Bone called for a press conference at the Discord Tower and almost four people showed up, well, if you count Ballz and Zano. Once they had settled into Mr. Winslow’s bean bag bunny chairs, Boneman cleared his throat and addressed the historic assemblage:

“I am announcing today that I have been infected with an Alien Chest-buster,” said Bone. “As you may know, these beings typically gnaw their way through a person’s chest in a matter of hours. I, however, have survived with this one living inside me for over three weeks now!”

He raised a finger, as if to emphasize a point, but then quickly lowered it and raised a bottle of IPA instead. “How have I done this, you ask? How have I succeeded where others have just burst apart by now? (Burp.) It’s simple, it involves eating the right combination of beer and hamburgers. I’ve found that as long as I drink about forty beers a day and eat ten hamburgers an hour, the little guy seems content enough. In fact, I have named him Snookie-wookie.”

He stopped to rub his tummy, slammed down a hamburger in three bites, and then chugged two beers. His eyes then misted over a little. “The rest of you men have no idea what it’s like to feel a life growing inside of you. It is a magical… oh, we have a question. Yes, Zano.”

“Is this why all the communal beer has gone missing this week?”

Bone mumbled something, before saying, “Next question.”

When no one asked him anything, he looked at Ballz and said, “You had a question?”

“No I didn’t.”

“No, I think you did.”

After an awkward pause, Ballz said, “Don’t the aliens grow pretty quickly after they burst out of their victims? Why hasn’t this one just grown through you?”

“A very good question… I have no idea. Maybe it loves its new mommy.”

“And my beer,” added Zano.

After Bone kept his audience from wandering away with a promise of sharing his cheeseburger stash, he said, “So I’m sure all of you are wondering what’s next from here.”

“Were you?” Zano asked Ballz.

“Not really.”

Bone hurried down another hamburger and then chugged an IPA, before he held up a glossy covered book that read An Alien Inside: Skip the Beer and Stand Clear.

“We are going to have a book signing tour!” said Bone. “After the talk show circuit I plan to… Hey, come back, I’m not done yet. Maybe you guys could try to dress up like Aliens when I open my new hamburger chain. Can you guys sing Ragtime Gal, by chance? I’m calling it Buster Burgers and each burger comes with a side of a highly corrosive acid for a dipping sauce. Get it? And you should see what we’re using instead of fries. Guys… guys? Oh, can someone run down to Diablo Burger and the Pay-n-Take? It’s kind of an emergency.

Breaking: Alex Bone has an Alien Chest-Buster Living Inside Him