Monday, 23 June 2008

Zimbabwe: The Solution

Morgan Tsvangirai picks up phone. Tells world: HEY WORLD -- WE'VE FOUND OIL.

World makes sudden and spontaneous multilateral decision that Diplomatic Attempts To Defuse The Situation In Zimbabwe Just Aren't Working.

World sends-in cavalry to pursue REGIME CHANGE on entirely moralistic grounds.

GROSS RESULT: For a useful week or two trader-confidence in the price of oil soars.

NET RESULT: No more Robert Mugabe and his funny little moustache.

Thursday, 19 June 2008

newuniversal: Conqueror

This here's a gloriously icky one-shot set in Warren Ellis's "newuniversal" universe. Except in 3000BC. It's either a densely-packaged consideration of what it is to be Civilised, a hacky-slashy romp which combines Conan-esque fantasy with good old fashioned superheroism, or a thinly-veiled excuse to write about dribbly monsters, cute chicks in skimpy furs and people being psychically exploded.

I got this gig thanks to the personal hat-doffery of The Ellis himself, who vomits his nepotistic opportunities upon friends like a bulimic gold-swallower.

Solicit Text looks like this:


Pencilled by ERIC NGUYEN

Five thousand years ago, civilization was held in the mighty hand of the slayer called STARR, who defended his kingdom from all invaders. But what were these invaders? Simple monsters…or something more?

In this, the second one-shot story exploring the history and mythos of the NEWUNIVERSAL world, writer SIMON SPURRIER—hand-picked by NEWUNIVERSAL’s WARREN ELLIS—and visionary artist ERIC NGUYEN bring to life a history like you’ve never imagined!

48 PGS./Parental Advisory …$3.99

It's out in August, and despite what the (beautiful) cover may lead you to believe does not revolve around the wholesale slaughter of Furries. Which is a pity.

Friday, 13 June 2008

My Hatings: #1

The first in an occasional series regarding the petty reality-turds that have been squatting on My Tits in recent times. Behold, mindless scum: colonic irrigation for the soul.


I know your game, ASIAN NURSE and PLUMP WHITE-CHICK IN SHORTSHORTS. I understand how your sick need to be WATCHED by the fat shadowpeople (with the venetian blinds further up the street) has prevented you from buying curtains like normal people, in order to cover your stupid windows with their stupid cutout paper hearts. I know you race home every day to switch on every light in the flat so the whole 2nd and 3rd floor west-side-of-the-street community is FORCED to watch you slobbed out on your student-reject sofa like wolfmothers with no hairless pups to suckle. Yes.

But don't you SEE how you RUIN my day? Don't you understand that my desk of BRAINWORKINGS is poised at this window right here to stave-off the mewling sunlessness of The Nocturnal Instinct? Don't you GET IT that your refusal to conceal your own HORRIBLENESS cripples my ability to stare upon MY STREET without Getting All Flustered about the risk of being mistaken for a voyeur? Have you no consideration for my British Reservedness? My inner awk? This is view-sabotage! This is window-blackmail!

But I'll have the last laugh you dirty shitters, oh-ho-yes. Every night when you're drinking cheap wine and watching Eastenders I'm giving you psychic cancer with my T.V. aerial aimed at your eyes. HA.


2) HANGOVERS (See also: Getting Old).

Eight beers max-i-mum, Honest. No mixing. Going slow, yes, yes. No chugging, downing, quaffing or snorting. Big glass of water upon arrival home. Preventative paracetamol administered with same. Easy-peasy. Yes, yes, yes.

No. Half a day written-off with the braincinders. Morning arseraped by Hot Coal Eyeballs and horizontal tendencies. TV too loud, shower too hot, breakfast too vomit-inducing.

I miss the Old Days.



Feathered shitbombing rats of the air. Look at them from head-on and you'll notice their eyes move in different directions at the same time, like chameleons. Who knew? They have magnets in their brain! It's been PROVED with NUMBERS and GRAPHS that pigeons who lose a foot do not find it any harder to find fuckmates, food and shitbombing targets than the ones with a full appendage complement!

To summarise: a species with superior surveillance equipment, sophisticated inbuilt navigational tools and the kind of hardiness we can only dream of - a clear and present THREAT to our dominance - which little old ladies FEED IN THE FUCKING PARK so they get BRAVE and FAT and PISSY and EAT MY FUCKING SUSHI right off the FUCKING TABLE while I'm trying to relax.

(Special HATING EXCEPTION goes to the two males who've set-up shop on the roof opposite my window - above the No Curtain People, in fact - like an avian bordello, where they spend all day strutting, puffing, cooing, and violently raping the one-footed female who keeps landing on the window-spikes because she hasn't learned her fucking lesson. HA!)



The agony.

Stylish or clear? Dark or light? One-sided or doublebacked? Standard horizontal ho-hummery or pretentious vertical smuggism? And oh, oh, oh: The fonts and fonts and fonts. The arranging elements and pithy puns and, look: WHAT single classy beautifully-defined image reveals in a turd-nugget of clarity everything about me? What gradient-filled border-pattern best reflects my political views? What colour scheme CUTS TO THE CORE of my TRUE and SECRET SOUL, unknown to any other but the floating red cube-goblin who used to hover over my bed at night when I was 6 (with the black stockings on his arms and the goggly orange eyes), which will reveal in a single visual EXPLOSION my obvious qualities to the clients/editors/cute chicks in bars back when I was single but not any more no no no/respected peers to whom I'll be distributing these bloody buggering bollocking slices of 87X49mm HATE?

And then it prints wrong. COCKPORRIDGE.