Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

By Jeff Strand

UFOs! Bigfoot! Communists!

 

The government has swiftly dealt with many a crisis... But can it survive the diabolical ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES?

 

After a series of bizarre and increasingly horrific attacks from pulpy, red, seeded fruit, Mason Dixon  finds himself leading a "crack" team of specialists to save the planet. But will they be quick enough to save everyone? To save you? You can't run! You can't swim! There's nowhere to hide!

 

THE KILLER TOMATOES ARE EVERYWHERE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Encyclopocalypse Publications
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215935682

Book preview

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES

JEFF STRAND

BASED ON THE SCREENPLY BY

COSTA DILLON, JOHN DEBELLO, & STEPHEN PEACE

All Rights Reserved

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

Copyright © 1978 Finletter Films, LLC

Original screenplay by Costa Dillon, John DeBello, and Steve Peace.

All characters and images subject to Killer Tomatoes Registered Trademarks ® by Finletter Films, LLC

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living, dead or undead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Encyclopocalypse

Encyclopocalypse Publications

www.encyclopocalypse.com

CONTENTS

Preface

Mandatory Sing-A-Long

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Intermission

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 22 (Redux)

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Photo Gallery

Photo Gallery

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Jeff Strand

PREFACE

On October 8 th, 1978, a motion picture was released that would change cinema history forever. Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was met with instant critical acclaim, with Leonard Maltin proclaiming that "it makes Casablanca look like Exorcist II: The Heretic." Siskel & Ebert suggested that they would need thumb-enhancement surgery to sufficiently convey the intensity of their two thumbs up. (Though Ebert backed out, Siskel did in fact get the surgery, spending the remainder of his life with a grotesquely oversized thumb that was prone to infection.) When critic Pauline Kael wrote a review giving it a mere three stars out of four, suggesting that it wasn’t quite as amazing as everybody said, readers were so enraged that they burned down her home with her still inside, and she remains dead to this day.

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was nominated for nine Academy Awards but only won five, including Best Foreign Language Film, a category it qualified in because of the language spoken by the tomatoes. The previous year, Star Wars had won an Oscar for Visual Effects; in an unprecedented move, the award was rescinded, because the sheer spectacle of Attack of the Killer Tomatoes made Academy voters realize that George Lucas’ film was unworthy of the honor.

Even today, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (hereafter abbreviated to Attack of...Killer Tomatoes) tops almost every list of the finest motion pictures ever produced. While classics like Gone with the Wind have lost their luster, Attack of...Killer Tomatoes is timeless, revealing new layers of thematic depth with every viewing. It’s not just that the tomatoes are a metaphor. It’s that every individual tomato is a separate metaphor.

And yet there has never been a novelization.

Pulitzer-prize winning author James Michener had been hired to write one, but found the project too challenging and returned his seven-figure advance after three years of struggle. The project circulated through the publishing community for decades. Judy Blume claimed to have finished it, but an FBI raid on her home revealed that she had only written half of the first chapter. The world became despondent. It is said that Queen Elizabeth II threatened to "start chopping off some [expletive deleted] heads if I don’t get my [expletive deleted] tomato novel," though some scholars feel this is apocryphal.

My first involvement with the project came about twenty years ago, when I had a meeting with the movie’s screenwriters, Costa Dillon, John DeBello, and Steve Peace to discuss writing a book version of their masterpiece. They laughed in my face. I mean that they said, Move your face closer...closer...a little closer...there you go! and then literally laughed in it. Flecks of spittle from all three of them struck my nose and chin. I walked out of the meeting with tears of shame burning their way down my cheeks like rivers of lava.

I vowed revenge, then remembered that I’m too lazy for such things. I forgot all about it until last year, when I made an astonishing discovery: a novelization had been written and never published.

Yes, Ebeneezer Tomatobookwriter had written it in 1979. (Tomatobookwriter was his real name, and it actually dates back to the 16 th century. Ebezeener told me that he didn’t even notice the coincidence until he was nearly finished with the book.)

When I visited his home, he showed me the manuscript, bound in gold.

Why didn’t you ever publish it? I asked.

It would always be my greatest achievement, he explained. I couldn’t let my career peak so soon. I needed to wait until I knew it would be my final work.

Are you near death? I asked.

Oh, goodness no, he said. I’ve got at least thirty or forty more years in me.

And in that moment I asked myself: was I prepared to take a human life? For the third time? Yes, indeed I was. I beat Ebeneezer Tomatobookwriter to death with the very manuscript you’re reading right now.

As I write these words, I’ll admit that I’m questioning the wisdom of confessing to first degree murder right here in the foreword. Also, maybe I shouldn’t be blabbing that I’m trying to pass a dead man’s work off as my own. I might regret it later. But I’m feeling kind of privileged and invulnerable, and I don’t feel like rewriting this whole thing, so I will let it stand.

Anyway, here it is, the novelization of Attack of...Killer Tomatoes, hereafter expanded to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes to boost the word count. I hope you enjoy it, and I will wallow in despair if you don’t.

Jeff Strand

Beardmore Glacier, Antarctica

MANDATORY SING-A-LONG

Attaaaack of the killer tomatoes

Attaaaack of the killer tomatoes

They’ll beat you, bash you, squish you, mash you

Chew you up for brunch

And finish you off for dinner or lunch.

They’re marching down the halls

They’re crawling up the walls

They’re gooey, gushy, squishy, mushy

Rotten to the core

They’re standing outside your door.

Remember Herman Farbage

While taking out his garbage

He turned around and he did see

Tomatoes hiding in his tree

Now he’s just a memory.

I know I’m going to miss her

A tomato ate my sister

Sacramento fell today

They’re marching into San Jose

Tomatoes are on their way.

The mayor is on vacation

The governor’s fled the nation

The police have gone on strike today

The National Guard has run away

Tomatoes will have their day.

And I can see you fear-squirm

This song is now an earworm

It will never leave your head

Until the day that you are dead

Wish you’d read something else instead

Attaaaack of the killer tomatoes

Attaaaack of the killer tomatoes

They’ll beat you, bash you, squish you, mash you

Chew you up for brunch

And finish you off for dinner or lunch

Lunch, lunch

Dinner or lunch, lunch, lunch

Dinner or luuuuuunch

CHAPTER 1

Present day (1978)

As she did the dishes, Penelope thought about her childhood friend Herman Farbage. Because kids were always on the lookout for names that rhymed with words that could generate quick and easy insults, he’d gone through life being called Herman Garbage. (Though, surprisingly, children never thought to take it to the next level with Vermin Garbage.) So the fact that he’d died while taking out his garbage was a cruel irony.

Something caught Penelope’s attention.

A whole tomato in the sink. She didn’t remember dropping it in there. In fact, to the best of her knowledge, the entire kitchen had been devoid of tomatoes. Her husband Chuck wasn’t the kind of person who would leave a red, ripe tomato sitting in the sink. She thought about each of her three children: Reginald, Daphne, and her favorite, Elaine. None of them would just leave a tomato in the sink, either; not even Daphne, her least favorite of the three. Not to mention that Chuck was at work and the kids were at school, and if the tomato had been there since this morning, she would’ve noticed it while doing the dishes.

Hmmm. Most peculiar indeed. The only logical explanation was that she was off her meds and hallucinating, which was a source of concern but could wait until the housework was done.

The tomato began to move.

Impossible! Tomatoes didn’t move unless they were manually rolled, placed upon an incline, or pelted at somebody.

It rolled in a circle around the edge of the garbage disposal.

No! This couldn’t be happening! This violated the laws of tomato physics! This was absolute madness that could not be explained by science of the past, present, or future! Penelope wanted to drop to the kitchen floor, curl into the fetal position, and scream at the top of her lungs until the insanity went away, but instead she continued to gape at the sink.

The tomato began to speak.

Not human speech. Nothing like Howdy, ma’am, I’m a tomato. Just gibberish.

And then it bounced out of the sink, launching its circular form directly at her.

Penelope’s parents had never instilled in her a fear of tomatoes. It hadn’t been necessary. They were so small. So harmless. Who, deathly allergies notwithstanding, had ever been hurt by a tomato? You were far more likely to accidentally cut yourself dicing one than you were to be attacked by the tomato itself.

Were they gross on the inside? Sure. But so were humans, if you really thought about it.

Because Penelope had not been trained from an early age to distrust tomatoes, her reflexes were slow. The tomato smacked directly into the center of her forehead.

Then it dropped to the kitchen floor, where it didn’t splatter as much as she would’ve hoped.

The tomato launched itself at her again. But how? It had no legs! It had no wings! 

Penelope cried out in pain as the tomato smacked into her stomach. 

Once again it dropped to the kitchen floor, un-squished. It babbled at her. Penelope thought it was saying: Just stay calm, my darling, and await the sweet release of death, but she didn’t speak tomato and couldn’t tell for certain.

No. She would not await the sweet release of death. All manner of vegetables, from artichokes to zucchini, had been chopped up and cooked in this very kitchen. Not once had the tables been turned on the humans, and sentient or not, this tomato wasn’t going to change that.

It launched itself at Penelope again. This time, she ducked out of the way.

Ha! she shouted. Not so—

The tomato bounced off the wall and struck her in the face. Penelope lost her balance and fell to the floor. The tomato quickly rolled toward her, babbling with homicidal intent.

Penelope sat up. Gritting her teeth and summoning every ounce of strength that she could manage after her minor tumble, she got back to her feet before the tomato could bump into her.

She stood next to the counter. The counter contained drawers. The drawers contained kitchen utensils. Amongst the kitchen utensils were knives.

She opened the nearest drawer. It was full of dish towels and oven mitts. Argh! She should’ve known not to choose that drawer. But she wasn’t doomed yet; there was still time to open at least one more drawer.

The tomato bashed into her ankle, making her cry out.

Penelope opened the second-nearest drawer. This one was filled with knives. Enough knives that Daphne often said, Jeez, Mom, why do we have so many knives in this drawer? People are going to think we’re a family of serial killers! It was not the reason Daphne was Penelope’s least-favorite child—that was a hair-color issue—but it didn’t help.

Because the tomato was actively bashing into her legs, Penelope did not have an opportunity to thoroughly review the knife selection and determine which one was best suited for tomato defense. She just grabbed one. A steak knife. The perfect tool to kill a beefsteak tomato. 

Die! she screamed, crouching down and thrusting the knife toward the tomato.

It rolled out of the way in the nick of time.

Die! she screamed again, thrusting the knife toward the tomato’s new location.

It rolled out of the way, again in the nick of time.

Penelope decided that perhaps screaming Die! was cluing the tomato in about when she planned to strike. So she crouched casually for a few moments, hoping the tomato would think that she’d decided there was no compelling reason to try to stab it again.

She thrust the knife at it.

The tomato rolled out of the way in the nick of time.

Then it launched itself at her again. Somehow Penelope knew this attack was different. This time, the tomato would not just bounce off. This time, Penelope, like Herman Farbage before her, would meet her tragic fate.

Penelope screamed and screamed.

The official dead body photographer took pictures of Penelope as a pair of detectives studied the crime scene. There was no evidence of foul play, and the majority of household accidents occurred in the kitchen, but Harry always hated to call something an accident. It just seemed lazy.

What do you make of it? asked Joe.

I don’t know, said Harry, writing in his notebook. No weapons, no motive, no clothes.

No clothes? She’s clearly wearing clothes. They’re right there on her dead body.

Not in the sketch I’m making. But I have no idea how this could have happened. All we’ve got to go on is this bloody corpse.

Joe knelt beside the corpse, ran his finger through the blood, and tasted it. Harry had often wanted to do something like this, but had always worried that the other people on the scene would judge him for it. He admired Joe for his courage in deciding what he wanted and going for it, with no fear