I'm gutted. Maurice Gibb is dead.
The Bee Gees were my life long
idols. Hell, I've based most of my
career around those cheery faced
ex-Liverpudlian Aussies with the
big teeth and inflated egos.
Gutted. Haven't felt this bad since
Murphys Jim died. Still, there's a
silver lining to every rain cloud.
Barky reckons we'll have the new
www.offyourtits.com up and
running by the end of the month.
This is basically a place where
all you stoners can go and upload
all those ideas you have when
you're out of your trees and come
back a few days later and see
that your brilliant idea for saving
the world and promoting world
peace is: "Pineapple. Flatulence.
Polyester and David Soul". I'm so
excited about this project my shit
itches. If you're interested in
submitting something to the site
you'll need to send me lots and
lots of abuse and hate mail
before I'll even consider using
your stuff. Just open an email
and send it to:
Talking of omnipotence, I was
discussing me with some local
youths outside the now closed
down Kursal (there was once a
great band called the Kursal
Fliers. Well, I thought they were
great, so therefore by default
you all like them!) and I was
slightly annoyed and a bit
scared by it all. Annoyed
because they didn't have a
clue who I was and scared
because they were threatening
me with knives and asking for
my money. I eventually
managed to escape with my life
by promising to write them into
my next true life crime drama
and giving them £42 and some
I got a call from Paul at DC
which hacked me off no end.
Basically he's concerned that
I spend so much of my time
down the pub or on the Internet
or up my own arse that the
stuff I'm turning in for DC
looks like it was written
either down the pub or from
out of my arse. I didn't have
the heart to tell him I buy all
my scripts from a translated
Japanese manga script site run
by two or three dodgy geezers
who don't work in comics any
more but know all about nose
candy, if you know what I mean!
So, I told him that my unique
and distinctive visions would
soon be pouring out all over
his desk. We went down to the
local bar and two bottles of
Jack and some of that piss weak
yankie beer and we were back in
Paul's office, with our trousers
round our ankles having pissing
competitions into the mouth of
one of his slave girl assistants.
Heck, Life at DC is like a
Carlsberg advert and I get paid
by the forklift truck load in
nothing but gold bullion, cashew
nuts, large breasts and Pal for
Active Life for the wife.
with someone's tongue up my arse.
> mad signor
Now that was much funnier. If you do another rev, you might consider
mocking Ellis' "No Superheroes Ever (unless I call them transhumans)"
attitude. That's ripe for a good skewering.
Carl Henderson carl.he...@airmail.net
RAC/RACM FAQ http://www.enteract.com/~katew/faqs/miscfaq.htm