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Welcome to Mondo Perverso, the twisted world of Peter Caffrey.

In the late Spring of 1962, black clouds gathered over London Town. As the thunder rumbled and jagged shards of lightning pierced the heavens, down below, in a shabby hospital ward, a sour-faced woman opened her legs and guffed out a human form. Bloodied and urinating, Peter Caffrey entered this world in a manner he intended to continue.

The son of an Irish immigrant, Peter grew up in a household where fanatical obedience to the church came only second to ritualistic corporal punishment. As the sole male child amongst an army of girls, he endured the beatings owed to his sisters, as well as those he’d earned himself.

To escape the mundanity of prayers and whippings, Peter became a voracious reader. He devoured every book in the house, including medical reference works, and quickly learned the trick of having several library accounts with deviations on the spelling of his name. To supplement his reading, he started writing his own stories. Sadly, when his parents found one of his stories they mistook it for a threatening letter to a neighbour, and he received another beating and was sent to confess his sins to the Parish Priest.

When the first opportunity came to gain independence, Peter seized it, leaving home to work in an abattoir. His teachers tried to persuade him to go to University, but work meant a wage, and a wage meant freedom. He left the family home and took a room in a house inhabited with ne’er-do-wells and drunkards.

After a short time of slaughterhouse drudgery, Peter decided he didn’t fancy lugging animal carcasses around for the rest of his life, so he quit and took himself to University. After getting pieces of paper to tell strangers what he was capable of, he started a career in journalism.

Despite wanting to work as a war correspondent in a significant world conflict, the world decided it wanted to be at peace, as the ‘shoot, bang, fire’ had fallen out of fashion. As a result, Peter existed by focusing on mainstream reporting, but continued to write fiction. He would fill notebooks with words, then fill drawers with notebooks, and then fill the bin with the notebooks which filled the drawers.

After many years of discarding his fictional writing, Peter wrote The Devil’s Hairball in 2019. For once, he actually published the book, and then promptly forgot about it. However, little did he know the world was about to change.

When COVID-19 struck, Peter’s work became office-based. Bored and with too much time on his hands, he penned a series of short stories about AI-enabled sex robots. These were published by a number of magazines, before being brought to together in a collection with the novella, Whores Versus Sex Robots.

The various lockdowns afforded Peter more time to write fiction, but just as the pandemic ended and the world of real work once more beckoned, Peter was diagnosed with cancer. It was as if the Gods decreed he shouldn’t give up writing filth. After learning how arduous the treatment and recovery would be, he stopped work to concentrate on losing his hair.

Peter has recently completed his second year in remission. He has written a lot more filth, and continues to do so. He still hasn’t bothered going back to work.