Writer: Peter Milligan
Artist: Philip Bond
Publisher: DC Vertigo
I can't make my mind up about Philip Bond -- yes I can: his girls are sassy and his boys are hip, while those worn out from too much living do look completely shagged. Which brings us to Rocky Lamont, ex-lead singer of Idle Hands, now the object of derision from what he perceives as talentless young wanna-bes with the two things he no longer possesses: good looks and time. And perhaps a certain fire.
It's Rocky's sixtieth birthday and all he can think about is the evening the Idle Hands knocked the Stones off the stage - the apex of his life, thirty-five years ago. He's wife and ex bicker, his daughter's direct and the last thing he needs is to bump into those bloody disrespectful buskers. But what's a birthday without a birthday present, and who better to buy it for you than yourself? Locked away all these years in a trunk is a little time capsule, a message from then to now, from one man to another, with a secret; a secret that might be the answer to his prayers.
Milligan polishes off the first part with the last piece to his scenario, a punchline which reminds us why we can't stop reading him, and one I'm not about to give away here. Looking good!
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