16 maps of Hell

Andy Nowiki had posted a photo on Instagram. The photograph was of the front cover of the book named Vice of kings – highly recommended by Nowiki. Also its when I first came aware of the name Jasun Horsley.

So naturally being an inquisitive stalker that I am (only by night). Interested by Nowicki’s recommendation I thought who’s this cat on his soap box taking a pop at the superculture?

Deciding to pursue this Mr Horsley guy to the ends of the internet. Obviously for my own self interest to see what this fellow had to say.

Searching the web. Leaving no stone left unturned. Listening and watching countless podcasts that he appeared on. I was beyond intrigued with what Jasun had to say. The guy was full to the brim of information and ideas that blew my mind.

He came across to me as some mystic teacher who I had been searching for all my life. Every youtube video I watched of him from the early years up to the present. I became in awe of the chap and what he had to say. The guy seemed genuine. (Okay. I’ll resist fangirling anymore) 

When I staggered across this video below. Is when he had my fullest interest:

*Jasun Horsley & The Skrauss on the parallels between Roman Polanski & Jeffrey Epstein: Polanski’s rise to prominence in Hollywood & proximity to the underground Hollywood*


Without hestitation I headed to his website and I ordered myself a copy of 16 Maps of hell. I was an addict. And now I needed to get high to his new supply

Days into reading 16 maps of hell strange happenings occurred at my humble abode. The oven caught fire three days before Christmas. Now you can call it coincidence or possibly sods law. However I’m not ruling out that maybe it could’ve been stranger dark forces are at play.

The morning after I came downstairs to find the boiler had also decided to pack in. I was welcomed by a puddle of water. It not only ruined my morning but it put me right off my porridge. This was definitely without a shadow of any doubt a curse on my house because of the gift I had purchased from Jasun Horsley?

16 Maps is a book which not only makes you question the inner workings and the dark underbelly of Hollywood. But also it will make you also question your identity. Who am I? Who are we? Of course this has troubled a lot of people from the dawn of time and without any doubt still does. I know it has bothered me from when I can first remember.

16 maps has everything.

From the Manson murders. Rich Boys clubs, incestuial pop artist, secret soceities, a possessed Heath ledger, wild S&M sex parties, the Gay mafia.

Harvey Winstein to Jeffery Epstein. Not forgetting vietnamese vampires. Yeah you heard me correctly, goddamn, shit-sucking vietnamese vampires! 

This is only part of the book and its bursting at the seams full to the brim of tonnes of information you can get your teeth into.

I found myself completely immersed. On many occasions I googled the references that the book provides. Again plentiful and I found to be useful.

When it came to the personal sections of the book I enjoyed Jasun’s honesty. This on many occasions occurs quite frequently throughout the book. Especially when Jasun has a close encounter with David Thewlis. 

I don’t want to spoil this book for anyone. Hence why I am choosing to keep this review quite short and vague.

I don’t want to give anything away. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. Or maybe I have come across something that’s so frightfully delicious and you aint having a slice of my share. Its my precious. So you can go and get your own copy. 


I encourage you to go and get yourself a copy of 16 maps of hell. Take the plunge on a journey to the depths of mystery and depravity. 

Instead of consuming your time scrolling aimlessly in Zuckerberg’s playground. Forget that place and bomb off the diving board straight into the pool with an open mind.  You might just learn something. I know I have. 

So you don’t wanna fork out. You can borrow my copy. Yeah right, on your bike. Get your own.

Who’d appreciate this book? 

I’d recommend this book to anyone who is intrigued about Hollywood and its suspect history and inner workings

It appears the author has done his homework and has done, brilliantly. And as I have said previously in this book it has got me to question my own identity. I’m now under the impression after all these years that I have been mis-sold. Was this Jasun’s intention? Who knows your guess is as good as mine. If so how did he do that you ask? Well I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself.


https://www.altrightnovelist.com/ Andy Nowiki.



The awful woman screams at me.
In the queue behind her there’s some impatiently foot tapping customers who huff, tut and clear their throats with a fake cough.

Perhaps in doing this it would encourage the other sale assistants to hurry up with the customers they’re already dealing with.

The yelling and the finger pointing carries on from the awful screaming woman. I cant fathom what shes trying to convey. Its as if shes bored. Maybe her husband doesn’t stimulate her anymore in and out of the bedroom. This is how she gets off now.

I often think wouldn’t it be great if for once as the customer was moaning I went off script and said…

“Go fuck yourself, cuntface”.

To see their face in complete shock. Or how about,
Slam their complaining face over and over again into the counter.
And when I have finished beating their skull on the hard surface. Say,

“I don’t get paid enough for your shit”

It would be great if the whole retail sector went on strike.

To witness the whole country have a massive shit fit.
Not gonna lie I think it would be well worth seeing. I’d even pay for a front row seat.
A load of angry consumers unable to get their fix. Like penniless drug addicts.

It would be like black Friday meets zombie apocalypse.
The doors would be closed, yet they would persist on getting inside in their droves. Like rage fueled apes.

I always feel for the sales assistant. Witnessing them getting verbally assaulted.
The public can be a vicious ill mannered piece of freshly laid dog turd

The only defense for the sales assistant who all day gets bombarded is to put on a polite smiley face.

Their cheeks must hurt from smiling all day as the soul destroys minute by minute as they say “Thank you, have a nice day.”

When really all they want to do when they are getting used as a verbal dart board is grab the tantrum objectionable shit stain and suffocate them with a 5p carrier bag.

Humans like to consume.
I’m guessing a strike of any kind would never happen.
Even people who work in retail, consume.
Its hard not to these days.
When everyday is Christmas with Amazon.

Having dealt with the screaming woman. She is on her way to tell her friends how she kicked and shouted until she got her own way against someone whose getting paid minimum wage.


As I arrive to work he’s there. Standing like a Superhero. With a creepy, fucking annoying smile that only someone of his shitheadedness could possess.

Only instead of Clark Kent, its Clark Kunt and he’s come to ruin the fucking day.

As I enter he makes some stupid remark;

“Oh, ur in are ya”

I mutter cunt under my breath.

He always arrives to work extra-anally-early. Its so he can be the first one there to open up the place. Its his A-Word quirk.

Once entered he switches the lights on and deactivates the alarm system. He tells me he can have all of this done under 5 seconds.

Before I’ve even hung up my jacket. He’s bothering me.

Hovering around like a fly trying to find a place to land.

Invading my personal space with his breath that reeks of the owners arse.

More people arrive to get on with the job at hand. They also receive the same annoying welcome.

I don’t choose to be here. But dreams don’t pay the bills.

The pay is dogshit and I loathe the public. Having to put on a fake polite performance all day is tiresome. The customers sap my mental capital – although I’ve learnt to tolerate them. I call this – coming to work meditation.

I’m trying to enjoy a cup of coffee, and low and behold, he’s there again.

Popping up like whack a-mole. If only I could find the rubber mallet.

Continuously informing me of the benefits of Camomile tea. I DONT CARE! He carries on regardless.

Afternoon. Lunch Time.

I’m eating. He comes in and also starts to eat.

He begins to start talking with a mouth full of chewed up chicken. God only knows what he’s saying. It’s inaudible. Talking about his hobbies maybe.

Could be some new innate knowledge that for some reason, he thinks he has to share. Whatever it is, it’s probably pointless dribble.

He persists.

With every bite he snorts. Resembling a hungry tramp who’s wolfing down lukewarm chips that they’ve found from out of a steel litter bin.

I spend the remainder of the day trying to avoid him wherever I can just to run down the remaining hours.

Work Finishes. Finally. Another day, Another dollar.

We all leave. I head off. Got a bus to catch.

See ya later.

I walk towards the busy rush hour road. Traffic whizzing past in both directions. I need to cross over, so I can catch the bus that takes me the fuck home.

Finally, there’s a break in the mad- mundane – everyone – darting home – so – they – don’t – miss – an – episode – of – Eggheads – traffic.

I take one step.

It hits me. A speeding car not an epiphany.

Crashing into me, I get knocked off my feet and tossed into the middle of the road.

I hit the floor. Now don’t get me wrong the pain is fucking excruciating.

Paralysed I’m lying in the road. I hear commotion from the driver.

“He just stepped out, I didn’t see him, is he okay????”

As I lie there I begin to see a light, and its more than likely from the headlights from the car that has tore me a new one. Every part of me is motionless.

Like speckles of rain that land on a car windshield the darkness gradually starts to disrupt my vision.

Its here, the final curtain. My time is up. Death has arrived and it came in the form a Nissan Micra.

Numbness comes to the grand finale. I feel the last beat of my pulsating heart. As the air leaves my body I deflate like a broken bouncy castle.

I hear a voice. Could it be God himself? No.

It’s Clark Kunt;

“I don’t think he’ll be in tomorrow”

Why you should free yourself from your current job


Don’t quit, not straight away, don’t be a shitstick, not advocating that. Especially if you’ve a family to provide for, bills to pay, etc. If you’re a free spirit, then you can get your coat. But before you dash for the door, showing your boss the middle finger, and saying
“Fuck you, you tight arsed shit-cunt, I QUIT!”
Here’s some things you might want to consider.

Start Observing

Time; you should observe how much the job you’re doing is sapping up most of your energy and time, preventing you from doing the things in life you want or should be doing.

Happiness; don’t stay if the job you’re in, is emotionally dragging you down.

MONEY; always ask for more money don’t stay if the money is shit – know your worth. Ask for a rise. Remember, you have bills to pay, children and yourself to feed.

One way in which you could to ask, no screw that, demand – not petulantly, but seek for that rise, and also more perks. Get what you want to say to your employer, prepared and ready to go, and say it with some balls. Especially if you’ve been there for a while on the same wage. If they come back with some nonsensical excuse, such as there’s no money in the company, or times are hard, you say;
“No, shit!”

Don’t let them fleece you of your capital for their gain.

Still having doubts about leaving, maybe because;
“But… I have friends there…
Oh we have a laugh, proper great banter…
My boss is a nice person, i’d feel like I’m letting people down”.
Fuck em!
Look after number one – think of your own interests. Better yourself. Know your worth. You are more than just a number. Or of course, stay there trapped, stagnant and continuing to gather dust, living out the rest of your days, wasting away like part of the furniture. Its your choice.

Now, before you forget, in no typical order here’s the Three vital components;

TIME = You not only have more minutes but you will have more energy to do the shit you care about.

HAPPINESS = Happiness

MONEY = Show me the money

If these three ingredients aren’t tell signs or giving you the slightest of an incline that its time to royally fuck off or change your current situation. Then the only person getting exploited is you, and you’re doing it to yourself.