Falcon Presto. Alfonso Crept. Frances Ploot. Preston Falco. The four of them crack reporters in a cracked world. These people bring you the stories no one else dares to.
Presto - former Marvel employee, fired for knowing too much. Has a really big nose.
Crept - ex CIA agent and bullshit world record holder. Picks at his feet.
Ploot - sophisticated, buxom, an arse to kill for and an ability that we can only talk about on www.sexmeupbaby.com.
Falco - one of the other three writing under a bad pseudonym.
These are Spoof Central - be afraid or just piss off!
Ever watched a house fly? Or is that housefly? Aha, no green line. That means the original spelling has transformed that sentence into something altogether different, almost weird.
Have you? Have you ever watched a housefly? Or for that matter a house fly?
All over the place they are. It’s the weight you see. Houses weigh so much it’s pretty difficult for them to get themselves off the ground in the first instance and when they’re up there flying about it only takes a strong gust of wind and they’re in all sorts of bother. But, they’re all over the place all the same.
You could say that this is a great metaphor for comics. However, you’d be likely accused of being a wanker and talking out of your pretentious arse. So imagine how I felt when I was looking for inspiration and a new toaster and stumbled across this: “Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door”.
Did I just step under a bus?
Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door. Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door. Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door. Nope, doesn’t matter how many times you say it, it still suggests that its author, one Grant Aloysius Morrison, has either been taking too much LSD or is so far up his own arse he’s having (semi) intelligent conversations with his larynx. I’m sorry. Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door. This is the man who writes the X-Men. The man who gave us the Invisibles – which you’ll be constantly reminded, was the inspiration for the bloody Matrix, yawn, yawn, yawn. The demi-god with the white suit, the shaven head and the girlfriend with nay brain (well, come on, Eric, she can’t have a brain or she wouldn’t be going out with a man who looks like a cross between Legolas and Moby, would she? I mean.).
But isn’t this one of the problems with on-line columns from your favourite writers and creators?
No, it isn’t. But starting a sentence with a ‘but’ is a bit on the rum side. (Oh, we’re a bloody editor now, are we?)
Surfing around Grant’s column I was amazed by these (made up) words: When I wuh a nipper, I was a bug fan o’the Smuffs, speshly that blue’en. This wuh the inspiration fuh the new X-Men character I bin an created. Hes blue an furry, wears a wee white cap and sings sweet harmonies and can teleport into gullie’s brens, exploding their heeds.
What?
I contacted Mr Morrison after obtaining his telephone number from the telephone book.
“Hello Grant Morrison?”
“No.”
“Just what is it all about? Eh?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well you bloody ought to be, you bloody charlatan. How many people do you think you’ve cheated with this bollocks, eh?”
“Excuse me, this is Oakhampton 565434. Can I help you?”
“Just what in Hell’s name man does Another month seeps in like a fairy fart under a cellar door actually mean?”
“I… I don’t know? Who are you? What do you want? I’m old and frail.
“Stop acting like a wimp man. You’re a hero to millions and Scottish, so start bloody acting like it.”
[longish pause]
“Look. I don’t know who you are but you’ve really upset my elderly father. Just what do you want?”
“Grant Morrison?”
“No.”
Click
I think you’ll all agree that was pretty conclusive stuff.
Moving on. Comics Blogs. Are they really anything more than just a load of words strung together on the Internet? Could it be that sometimes someone who’s been involved in comics might write these ‘blogs’? Aha, I’m beginning to see a pattern here aren’t you? It’s a slightly Campbell tartanish effect just up in the top left hand corner of your screen. Look. See.
Comics Blogs. If ever something unbelievably anal was needed to give people even more reason to spurt junk from their gobs like jizzum from an over-active penis, comics blogs were it. Take that man who can give good humour but can’t take it, Peter Aloysius David, writer of stuff and nonsense. He has a blog and here’s an extract from it:
This Sunday was Caroline's christening. Being of different religions, Kath and I discussed way at the beginning of our relationship what would happen if we had a child… etc, ad nausea ad infinitum ad sales tax. Bleh! Who are these people? Why is he discussing them? Do we know them personally? We want to know if Captain Marvel is going to get a gay sidekick not about some kid’s baptism. But instead we get: Shana and Gwen returned from their trip to Cancun and had to make their connection at GBA. Do you know I’m so glad you told me that Peter? Otherwise my life wouldn’t have been complete. Next time I bump into Shana or Gwen I’ll be able to use this as an anecdote. I just wish you’d bothered to tell us if Supergirl is ever going to go soft porn. In fact, ever considered approaching DC and doing an adults only Supergirl?
Can you guess what’s coming next?
So, perturbed about this worrying trend I decided to phone Peter David up and ask him a few questions of my own, thank you very much!
“Hello Peter David?”
“Yes.”
“… Yes?”
“Yes!”
“Just what is it all about? Eh?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well you bloody ought to be, you bloody charlatan. How many people do you think you’ve bloody cheated with this bloody bollocks, eh?”
“Who is this?”
“Oh, I think you know who this is. I represent the people of this fine country.”
“What country is that, you sound vaguely South African?”
“If I say ‘I’ll hit you with mah crickit bit, blick min’ it sounds even more South African.”
“What do you want?”
“For the world to love me.”
“What do you want?”
“Who are all these people?”
“What people?”
“All of them. The ones you nonchalantly drop into conversation.”
“With who?”
“With who what?”
“Look. I’m a very busy man who gets angry at the drop of a hat, so you’d better explain yourself fast or I’m going to write a series of seven But I Digress columns abusing you in every instance.”
“You’re just avoiding the answer. I’ll give you one more chance to answer me or I’m hanging up.”
Click
I think you’ll agree that was pretty conclusive evidence.
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