Fall 2012 Raging Monster Issue

Zombie photos all courtesy of: Eric Flexyourhead.
Bio: Eric is from Vancouver, Canada, and he loves all things Volkswagen. He is taken, but you can chat up this brilliant photographer at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ericflexyourhead/
These photos were taken at the 2012 Vancouver Zombie Walk, Robson Square, Vancouver. August 18, 2012.

Poetry Pyre: Featured Contributor

Holly Day

Bio: Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis,
Minnesota, who teaches needlepoint classes in the Minneapolis school
district. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawaii Pacific Review, The
Oxford American
, and Slipstream. Her book publications include The Book Of,
A Bright Patch of Sunlight
, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One
for Dummies
, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently been
translated into French, Dutch, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese.

The Monsters in My Room

The pitter patter of tiny feet overhead sounds
like monsters running through my house, the rustle
of strangers in my room sounds like
burglars. I hold my breath as they come down

the steps, resplendent in their finery:
my best wig, my nightgown, floor-length pearls, the skirt from my gray suit
three sets of high heels snagging on the carpet
nearly tripping their wearers with too-small feet

"your grandchildren are adorable," whispers my neighbor
watching the parade through the open doorway.

        Dreams of Mine

I sit alone and stare
at the wall, I stare at my hands
I think of you. Evil

thoughts rise, embrace me like
a lamprey
jaws fused to my brain, lost
children running

after being locked away
for way too long. I welcome back the

thoughts once banished from my mind
and what will happen
to you. Your

body disintegrates beneath loving
razor-tipped fingers, touch you there, there. other
horrors. Soon

you'll be gone.

Anything to Stop Him from Crying that Way

We can run, I tell him, we can
pack up our things, load the kids
in the car and just go. we can drive
until we get somewhere warm enough
that sleeping in the car won't kill us
some side road through farmland
some road nobody else drives on. We can park the car
and if anyone comes along
we'll just pretend that we're lost.

We can go now, just pack up our things
not tell anyone we're leaving
not let anyone try to talk us into staying
by offering help. We don't have to
stay here, bogged down by the weight of these bills
watch our futures evaporate with each new heating bill,
new plumbing bill, new medical bill. We can just go
drive until we hit some bright coastal beach, or the mexican border
drive until the car won't go anymore
or until our gas money is gone. We'll

set up shop on Venice Beach, sell
t-shirts with clever hand-drawn slogans on them
make jewelry out of paper clips and colored wire
knit sweaters out of plastic grocery bags. We don't have to
pretend we can make it as adults anymore
we don't have to pretend
that we've got our act together, that we're
good role models for our children,
that we have anything but love.


On hands and knees, I drag the rope behind me, carefully
marking out the perimeter of our camp. A rattlesnake
watches me from the slate gray rocks
silent in the heat, wary of our presence.

The perimeter is secure. Inside the rope barricade
we tie down the horses, set up
the ring of rocks for a fire, the sleeping blankets
check our guns for sand and grit.

The night comes and we stretch out
beneath the millions of stars burning holes in the sky
coyotes skulk in the shadows beyond the fire
the rattler recoils from the rough rope on his scales.

If I woke up tomorrow and found
that we were the last people on earth
that everything beyond this stretch of sand was gone
I wouldn't be surprised, and I don't think I'd mind.

        A Warning

Someday, people might think
that what you write is true, that even a story
as improbable as that of a falling star
leading a group of imaginary men to a place
where an incarnation of a creation god
lay in a stable, surrounded by angels, blissful parents
and talking animals

may someday be considered such a Truth
that future scientists, even those claiming
not to believe in your story, will try to name your star
try to place its location in the night sky and in the astronomical timeline
in order to determine whether it was really a comet
or a supernova.

Using careful calculations, they will try to link
your neighbors' exhumed diaries and daily planners
to your earliest drafts in order
to build an imaginary society based solely upon
your collective incoherent scribbles. As writers,
we must be careful
of what we write.

Eric Flexyourhead

Flash Fire

MeatloafMM Wittle
“How’s Katie?” Michael asked when he closed the door. His sister, Fran, was sitting on the blue lazy-boy watching a Lifetime movie about a battered woman. 
Fran waited until the commercial came on before she spoke to her younger brother, “In bed. Had dinner a bit late, but she’s fine.”
Michael sat down and sighed. It was a long day made longer because he needed to stop by the hospital for a family meeting with his wife and her therapist. “Did Katie get her homework done?”
“She said she didn’t have any.” Fran focused back on the television. A few seconds later, she added, “There’s dinner in the fridge.”
Michael wasn’t up for a fight. Katie always said she didn’t have homework and then the night before a big project was due, the whole family was looking for pipe cleaners, shoe boxes, and construction paper. Arguing with his sister was pointless. Being a newlywed, she probably wanted to be home with her husband. Michael couldn’t afford to reprimand her.  He didn’t realize he was hungry until Fran mentioned dinner. 
The kitchen was located in the rear of the house. He took off his shoes to muffle his foot falls. Katie’s bedroom was on the way to the kitchen. He peeked in her room. She was sleeping with her pink elephant she named Cosmo. His wife said she got the name from watching all the science shows with Michael. He turned on the light in the kitchen and there resting in the corner of the faux wooden kitchen table was a stack of his wife’s Cosmopolitan magazines.  Katie does spend a lot of time with Michael as he watches shows about The Big Bang theory and the birth of the solar system; however, Katie mostly slept through the show and then he carried her off to bed. 
The refrigerator was covered with important papers about Katie needing money for a school trip to the zoo, her report cards from this school year and all her art work. Buried under those were pictures of Michael and his wife. When he opened the fridge, he saw the tin foil covered plate. He thought maybe it was spaghetti but hoped it was something different.
When Michael and Fran were little, their parents were not very rich. The family lived in a modest home and never needed for anything except the latest modern toy or brand of sneakers.  Dinners were ritualistic in their home. Monday was pasta. Tuesday was chicken. Wednesday was the leftover pasta from Monday and Thursday was the leftover chicken in a new form, usually chicken salad. Friday was pizza. Saturday and Sunday were more elaborate because both their parents were home to cook. Their mom was a librarian and their dad was a college professor so their weekends were their downtime, and they loved cooking together. Michael felt safe when his parents were in the kitchen cooking. Their “specialty” was meatloaf. They would put in green peppers and cheese. Once they made one they named "meat lovers" and put in sausage, bacon, and pepperoni. 
However, each special meatloaf came with a price. The first time they had it, after dinner their parents told them their grandmother died. The next time, grand pop was diagnosed with lung cancer. The meat lovers one meant his mother’s breast cancer returned.
  It surprised Michael when he un-wrapped the tin foil to see a chunk of meatloaf with mashed potatoes and sliced carrots.
“Is she any better?” Fran asked.
Michael fumbled with the plate, “Jesus, you scared me.”
Fran moved to the kitchen table, sat down, and started looking through the pile of magazines. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. I’m just…”
“I know.”
“What kind is this?” Michael sat opposite his sister. She got up and grabbed a glass to fill it with milk for him. When she placed it in front of him, he nodded thanks.
“Try it.”
Michael did. He tasted bacon. A few more chews and he tasted cheddar. Then the Italian sweet sausage popped into his palate. “Oh, God. Now what?”
His sister wiped her eyes, “Philip and me are done.”
“Shit. It’s only been a year.” He put the fork down and really looked at his sister. He saw she was covering her arms and she was wearing a scarf. “You know, I could use your help more now with Janice being at the hospital.”
Fran stopped moving around the tissue she had crumbled in her hand, “Really?”
“Sure. It might help even when she comes home. Having someone else around could help her stay out of her funk.”
With something finally settled, Michael picked up his fork and began swirling mashed potatoes on his fork and said, “Cool.”
Fran smiled at her brother, “Cool.”
Bio:MM Wittle is frantically trying to lose thirty pounds without having to vomit or skip meals of buttered popcorn and fudge. MM likes to knit scarves for people and mail them a year later. Also, when MM isn't teaching, writing or read/napping, MM likes to watch hours of Law and Order: SVU.  mmwittle@gmail.com
Eric Flexyourhead

The White Film, M.W. Fowler

All the perverts have to watch it for fifteen minutes every Wednesday at noon. They gather in their paper coats and shoes out on the grassy lawn, and are seated according to their level of perversion. The worse sit in the front row; the least, who are only turned on by bowls of rice, sit in the last row. The last throws rice at the front row, and the front row throws condoms at everyone. This goes on throughout the previews of all the wonderful places they’ll go once they are rehabilitated.

After the previews, the paper cups with every color of the rainbow dissolvable pills are passed around. Everyone gets the same amount, same dosage, except the front row, who get an extra cup with a shiny black pill. It makes some taller, some shorter, some in between.

The director then sets up in front of the screen. Tossing his cigarette aside, which is picked up by a brown suited janitor, he speaks softly through a megaphone: he has a special treat for them today—a film about romance and adventure, comedy, and a quest to find themselves in the hero. The front row asks with lusty eyes, How much romance? The back hold their cups in the air and cheer for the hero, and the middle rows laugh at their boners.

When the film starts, everyone makes fart jokes, tells the others to pipe down. The audio track is a personal memory of that time that that thing happened, when you know. They drool through every scene. They burn images of themselves onto the screen, into the whitened spaces. Their projections are larger, more vivid, and deeper than the cigarette burns that never come because there is only one reel.

As the credits roll, the perverts weep and stand in their paper shoes stained from rubbing them hungrily on the grassy lawn littered with little paper cups.

Bravo! Bravo!

The director rolls up his sleeves and lights another cigarette. In between frantic puffs, he says over and over again, This is the future.

Bio: M.W. Fowler received an M.A. in Writing from Coastal Carolina University. His works have appeared and are forthcoming from numerous journals, including Jelly Bucket, The Rusty Nail, 
Acappella Zoo, and Little Fiction. He is from Myrtle Beach, S.C.

Full Flash

Porn Stars n Poets, a novel excerpt by Tommy Gunzz

Teri had stopped sobbing but her eyes and nose were still leaking as she sipped at her latte. Candy was impossibly bubbly trying to raise her spirits. She gazed at her wide eyes done up in pink shadow and dark eyeliner and frosted pink lips and wondered how this barbie doll could offer any help. This was the kind of girl that she had made fun of in school. A teenage wet dream with no common sense. Candy placed the tip of her perfectly manicured finger on her chin and raised her face to meet hers, "Honey, just tell me what went wrong?" 

Somehow just saying it aloud made her emotions well to the surface again. She struggled with words but mostly sobbed and just managed, "I am so fucking fucked." Candy giggled and flicked her long blonde hair behind her ear and spoke, "Hush sweetie, you need a job, I can help and OMG you need a better place to live. That neighborhood you’re in is ghastly. I was trying to tell you that before you threw me out of the car."

"I didn’t throw you out of the car."

“You did honey, you barely slowed down. Not that I can blame you, our meeting did have rather auspicious undertones," she giggled, as she shook her body. 

Teri looked over at her and slightly crossed her eyes, auspicious undertones, she thought, I didn't think that she knew any words with more than two syllables.

"Now you need a job. I can help with that."
  "You can? What do you do?"
  "I'm a dancer."
  "You are? Have you been in any shows that I might know?"
  "Not that kind of dancer, hun, I work at the Peppermint Hippo."
  "You're a stripper?"
  "I prefer exotic dancer, but yeah."
  "I'm not a stripper or a dancer."

  "Well, you could be a waitress, but you don’t makes as much money." Candy said and smiled.
Teri wiped her nose and looked down at the assorted shopping bags arrayed on the floor by Candy's feet. Her head was throbbing, and she rubbed her temples. Her eyes watered and burned, and she tried to absorb everything that had happened in the last few hours. 
"My head hurts," she managed.
  Candy dug in her purse and handed a small tablet to Teri. 
"Take this, it'll help." 
Teri looked at it and thought it looked like a Tylenol. She took a sip of her water, swallowed, and said, "I've never been a waitress." Candy giggled and raised her hands to Teri's cheeks and said, "It's not rocket science, and we have to get you out of that apartment, it sucks."
  "You haven't seen it."
  "I know the type, you'll stay with me until you get sorted out. Are you on a lease or month to month?" She picked her cell phone out of her purse.
  Teri sat there a little wide-eyed herself, sipped at her latte and wondered, Who is this chick? Maybe random acts of kindness are their own reward, she thought, as she settled into Candy's car.

The trunk slammed shut and Candy maneuvered her round bottom into the driver’s seat. She turned the car on, pushed the a/c up full blast, and pulled down the vanity mirror. She used her fingernail to trace the line of her full lips, smiled, showed her teeth, pushed her lustrous blonde hair back across her slender shoulders, and pulled onto the strip with barely a glance at oncoming traffic. There was a long blast from a horn behind them, and the sound of someone cursing. Candy giggled pulling further onto the street and smiled. 
"Buckle up honey, I'm not a very good driver."
  Candy dug into the center console and opened a bag of pistachios, "Want some?" She sucked the red nut into her mouth, pursing her lips, and positioning the open groove along her front teeth, as she opened it “hands free” and smiled. Teri admired her dexterity and reached for one, and asked, "Where are we going?"
Candy just smiled and gunned the car a little harder, weaving in and out of lanes. 
"Shopping, babe." 
"I can't go shopping." Teri muttered, "I can’t spend the money."
"The first outfit is on me, sweetie." 
"I can't let you do that."
"Sure you can, and then we will roll by the club, your shitty apartment, and then home, doll." She spoke in a rapid fire staccato rhythm that didn't always make sense, but it did sound commanding.
  "I didn’t move here to work in a bar. I want to work in the music business."
  "You'll meet more people in the music business in a night at the Hippo then you would in a month at the office. This is L.A., doll, the business is all done off hours.
  Teri furrowed her brow and ran her fingers across her temple, and she felt a warm buzz flush throughout her body, Mmm, I don’t think that was a Tylenol. It all made no sense but somehow all seemed reasonable.
  Candy hit the brakes hard, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. 
"Listen, hun, it's very simple, are you ready to drive back across the country or do you want to do what you came out here to do? Things don't always go exactly as we plan them. You have to be willing to uh, y'know, adapt." Her lips moved slowly, as she continued chewing a pistachio, "Honey it's up to you."
  Teri felt another warm rush of relaxation shoot through her body, and she listened as car horns blared all around them. She smiled, pushed her own hair back behind her ears, and said, "Fuck it, let's go shopping."
Her head hurt, eyes burned, and her tongue felt like a funky spaghetti mop. The pillow was soft, and the room was flush with the light of the new morning sun. The apartment was quiet. She was sure that she was alone, but she could feel a pair of dark eyes bearing down on her and the unmistakable scent of dog breath, and then a whippet like tongue licking at her cheek. She sat up startling herself and the dog, who began to bark with a piercing yelp. The dog recovered and made its way back to her side to be petted. Teri heard Candy's voice call out, "Be quiet, Louie. Five more minutes, please."
  "It's alright, Candy, I'm up,” she said, and decided to add nausea to the number of things that she was feeling. She laid carefully back down resting her head on the soft comfortable pillow. She made a mental note that she had to call her parents and fell back into a restless sleep, reliving the past week over in her head. She dreamt about friends, she dreamt about music and her parents, and the choices that we make. 
"I can, mmmmmmm" and sleep came and went.

Candy was sitting in the patio overlooking the strip, smoking a cigarette, and sipping a Starbucks latte. She had on a pink baseball cap and a Juicy Couture sweat suit. They were pink also and matched her open toed sandals. Her eyes were open slightly, and her foot rose and fell to a beat that only she could hear. There was a slight breeze blowing down from the canyon, and she could smell the sweet scent of the eucalyptus trees as much as she could see them sway. She was dreaming too, “Lazy Thoughts” she called them. She was on a beach, sun-drenched and rum-soaked, the water glistened and her eyes sparkled. She smiled.
  Elton John's Honky Cat was playing on the stereo, and Teri heard the words and thought Mmmm the change is gonna do me good. I hope so, and she smiled too.
Teri padded through the apartment. She saw Candy out on the balcony and thought, Does she dress up in her sleep? Candy heard her coming and called out, "There's a coffee on the counter, sweetie." The large glass door slid open, and she stepped onto the balcony momentarily overcome by the bright sun. "Oh wow,” she said, as she rubbed her temple while sipping from the venti cup.
  "Good morning, honey.” Candy grinned, "How are you?"
"OOO hungover,” and she flopped onto the open chair, “my head.” She tried to laugh.
  "I'm not the man they think I am at home," the honky cat sang. "Elton John? Really?" Teri raised an eyebrow.
  "What? You don't like him?" 
  "No, I love him, I grew up on him, I'm just surprised."
  "Well," she pondered, "you're not really in his demo."
  "Oh, I'm not political," Candy declared.

Her mouth opened slightly, and Teri cocked her head and sipped at the coffee and said, "No, umm uh, I mean his."
"I'm kidding sweetie, I know what demo means, I grew up in LA," and she giggled, flipped her hair behind her ear, and crossed her legs. “I don't know, I listen to all kinds of stuff. Jon, the DJ at the club, he is always turning me on to cool tunes. He's like an encyclopedia of music."
  Teri squinted and looked out over the strip. Her mind wandered to all of the music she grew up with, and she smiled. Candy stood up and stretched, wiggled her bottom, and touched her toes. Her smile was infectious and Teri said, "You're just full of surprises." Candy shrugged her shoulders and giggled, "That’s me."
They sat there in silence for a while, and Candy studied Teri in her too large t-shirt and baggy shorts and thought, I'm going to have to do something about that. Mona Lisa's and Mad Hatters cued up, and she saw her sit up a little straighter and cock her ear. Candy giggled to herself and felt like a mad, mad hatter. She saw Teri's crooked grin and said, "You could be the Mona Lisa."

To be continued...read more "teaser" at Tommy's link.
Bio: Tommy Gunzz is a happily married man of 30 years this October. He is a bon vivant and provacateur who loves his family, friends, pets, basketball, rock 'n roll and words. He is sincere with a hint of pretentiousness. The Gunzz can be followed on http://www.facebook.com/tommy.gunzz.94 or on twitter@tommygunzzexperience.

Constructing a Monster Interview with Tony DeBartolis

Photos Courtesy of Tony B.

       Fall has a familiar smell in the air. I always thought it was burning fireplaces, but now I believe it may be burning flesh...or something that looks like it. Once you meet a creation of Tony DeBartolis, you think you have gone to hell or horror heaven, then he steps out of his costumes. No, he is a fine looking man (I'm not busting on him), but what I mean is...he breathes, eats, and lives movie magic. And when you learn where he gets the inspiration for these wonderful pieces, you will be double-shocked (maybe like the lady above, ha). 
Where do you live?
Eatontown, New Jersey
Where is your Hometown?
Same area, you can’t escape from it. Kind of like Derry, Maine. They all float down here.

               What do like to do with your love when you are not monster-making?
        We are killing the rebel insurgents in the Star Wars Battlefront game. Palpatine shall be avenged. We also enjoy grossing people out at the October Asbury Park Zombie Walk (pic above). 
Our Ezine has to do with The Seven Deadly Sins. Which is your favorite to indulge in?
       I’d have to say Rage. They sent me to anger management at work, and they diagnosed me with a Superhero Complex, because I was picking on the job bullies. I’m still picking on the bullies, and now I’m a Superhero...I guess therapy didn’t work.
       (I also renamed our dogs Envy and Gluttony. I wish I could track down five more of their siblings, so we could have a perfect set. Then again, Lust would probably be humping my leg right now.)
Did you go to school for movie make-up/movie monster magic?
       I’m all self-taught. I did have a great teacher in High School, but he wanted to make only normal stuff like lawn flamingos. Instead, I got together with my buddies and made a bunch of rubber monsters out of a hundred dollars worth of the school’s casting latex. We threw them all over the lunch room. I got my butt whupped for that (this was the 80’s, teachers and parents could hit us)
      Wow, sorry to hear that. Ouch. Were you always creating art and horror props as a child?
       Usually the only time I could get away with it was Halloween. I had a bung-hole teacher who made a big stink, because I was always drawing monsters in my notebooks. Mostly, giant monsters eating hippies. She made me out to be a future serial killer. She was probably afraid of me shooting Dead Heads in a Godzilla costume or something. My parents were not too happy, and I got banned from watching monster movies and doing anything monster related. Years later, things had gotten better, but I still made creatures covertly. 
Who were your idols or inspiration back then?
       I never knew their names until years later, but it was Jim DeMuze and Bill Browning. They had created all the props and art work for The Long Branch Haunted Mansion and Brigantine Castle. Their creations were mind blowing. In fact, the Mansion even had stain glass windows of The Seven Deadly Sins that they made. Unfortunately, both Haunted Attractions were lost to fires in the late 80s.
                 I remember them...R.I.P. The commercials even scared the hell out of me. I will never forget. Did you watch the old “Creature Double Features?”
       Before the A-hole teacher incident, I used to enjoy them without being covert about it. Afterwards, it was easier to watch them at a friend’s house. The best was when the 4:30 Movie had Monster Weeks. The Chiller Theater intro used to make me run to Mommy. But that was a long time ago. About four years ago. 

       Wow, your ma must love that, ha. Have you worked on any other movies in the past (or recently) besides Rug Muncher and Midnight Show?
       I worked for Deadly Spawn’s Ted Bohus on Hell on Earth. I supplied the Demon puppets, Devil staff and a Necronomicon style book. The stunt man couldn’t make it, so I volunteered to be one of the Hall Zombies. I was in a group of five Zombies, and we would compete to see who got the most kills. Chopped Charlie won with two main characters killed. I came in second, with one kill and one maim. I had so much fun, that I wish there were Hell on Earth reunions.
I also made a Necronomicon for Scott Bunt’s Sea of Dust. I never got a chance to work on the set, but I wish I did. It had Tom Savini, Ingrid Pitt, and even some ex-cast members of the Long Branch Haunted Mansion. The film is absolutely nuts, I loved it. I was not into some of its political statements, but I enjoyed it as a trippy period piece with a hint of the old Hammer Film’s style.
       So, I met you on the set of Midnight Show's Rug Muncher. How did you meet Newt Wallen and Shawn Caple?
       Newt was looking into shooting a film in my friend Eric’s Haunt in Wildwood, and he liked my stuff, so Eric hooked us up on Facebook. I met Shawn and the rest of the Underbelly Crew when we did the first creature shoot. They are all great guys! Sometimes they start busting on something, and it’s like a live Underbelly skit. It was great! 
       How did you decide what were the best monster designs?
       Newt liked my Shoggoth Boiler Beast from the Wildwood Haunt, so I used that for the basis of the Rug Monster. One of my biggest problems is that I’m an idiot savant monster-maker, so no two things I ever make look the same, and I can’t work off a design. The Underbelly crew still loved it. 
    I know you use a lot of found items...can you tell us about your process?
       My best supplies are from the dumpster at my day job. I also raid the curbsides during “clean up week”. The big grey Robot is made out of 90% garbage. It also doubles as a “walking tank” at paintball events. The bay side of Sandy Hook also has some great foam pieces that broke off the docks and creepy driftwood that I use in a lot of my stuff. I’ve spend most my life as a construction worker and maintenance man so my methods usually involve knowing how a material can be used for emergency repairs. This gave me a good feel on how to make things structurally sound and a lot cheaper than using Hollywood supplies.
       When and where can people see the Rug Muncher Trailer?
       I always keep an eye on the Midnight Show Facebook page or on Underbelly. I think something is coming up soon.
      I heard you had a book coming out. Can you tell us more about it?
       Yes, I do have a book coming out with John Edward Lawson that takes place in the H.P.Lovecraft mythos. It’s tied closely to his story The Whisperer in the Darkness. Our book is called the Verminomicon, and it’s a field guide to the creeping abominations of Yuggoth. I sculpted several dozen creatures along with a planetoid backdrop for the project. It will most likely be coming out in October.

Thanks, Tony, and especially for attaching my favorite pic at the top (that lady's face is classic).

PFI Gear Shelves 
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Come Visit PFI at the Collingswood Book Festival: October 6, 2012@ the Stormwatch Comics Booth

NEXT ISSUE: Winter: Jan/Feb
We Are Not Holding Our Breath, So Why Should You...
PFI prides itself on speedy responses and open minds. Keep on submitting. We are taking them on a rolling basis, even though the issues come out once a season (with a tiny Summer breather). 
Minos is eternally waiting to wrap his tail around your tale...if you dare.
Photo Courtesy of:Eric Flexyourhead:http://www.flickr.com/photos/ericflexyourhead/

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