Threadjacking!

[Hawkmumbler]

Ditto, should have done it sooner. Thanks Molch.

[Frank]

DROIDS OF YESTERYEAR: AN OCCASIONAL SERIES

http://www.jonathancooper.co.uk/michael-j-austin/

Michael J Austin is known for his bold and expressive figurative style, capturing the dynamism and machismo of the animals he depicts. Using a limited palette of only four colours (magenta, ultra marine, yellow and white), Austin paints quickly and with a fluid 'wet in wet' technique. His bold contrasting of vivid and naturalistic hues brings a sense of grandeur and theatre to even the simplest of everyday subjects.

Michael J Austin (b. 1959, UK) lives and works in Devon. In 2003, he was invited by the HRH the Prince of Wales to accompany him to India and Oman as Tour Artist. He has also exhibited at international galleries including; The Eleanor Ettinger Gallery, New York and The Everard Read, Johannesburg.


His dealer appears to have excised drawing Crusade, or any of his other comics work, from the former Mick's Austin's CV. Because of the sometimes seventies styling of his work, I assumed Austin was one of the generation of older artist - like Arthur Ranson and John Burns - who cast up at Tharg's door when the rest of the UK comics industry collapsed, but he was much younger than I assumed at the time he was drawing Dredd. He was only in his early twenties when he was working for Warrior.

Here he is painting and talking about his process: http://youtu.be/QSLakiKobCw?t=1m48s

[The Legendary Shark]

Why I Will Never Make a Con-Man, by TLS.
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I set off in the works van at 6 o'clock this morning on a  cock up inspired trek. The facts were these:
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One of the local salad kingpins who we do some transport for found themselves in something of a bind due to an extensive production line failure. Because of this failure, an order for a national chain of 'restaurants' failed to leave their depot on time. Said national chain was heartily dischuffed at this development as it meant they had no lettuce with which to disguise the core unhealthiness of their culinary offerings and demanded something be done about it. A lot of managers did a lot of tut-tutting, for which they will no doubt be receiving handsome bonuses, and came up with a Plan. The only bar to their Plan was that it required the participation of an idiot. This idiot transpired to be me.
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In the normal course of events, the packaged lettuce would be neatly stacked onto two Chep pallets and transported by my firm to a bigger haulage firm who then split down the order to be distributed by different vehicles with regular delivery routes to many businesses around the country. All very efficient.
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Due to the production line implosion, this regular arrangement fell into that category which distribution managers enjoy labelling "in yer dreams, mate." My boss, on the other hand, being blessed with a "can-do attitude" (or, more specifically, a "you can-do attitude"), opened his 'phone book at the page headed 'Idiots', this page containing only one name, and roped me in with promises of gold, jewels and days off in thanks.
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Consequently, I set off this morning with a van full of boxes of lettuce bound for Wallsend, Gateshead, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Carlisle. Which doesn't sound so bad when said brightly, through a friendly smile. The next time you visit a shopping centre or pedestrianised arcade set like a fabulous island surrounded by yellow lines, traffic wardens, one-way systems and murderous inner-city traffic, spare a thought for the poor delivery drivers. Many of these 'restaurants' also seem to have been deliberately hidden away in unfathomable nooks and crannies or constructed in an area of null-space so that the closer one gets to them the further away they move, like sadistic and more than a little befuddled mirages. Eventually, though, I found all the drops and saved the day. Hurrah for me!
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As the day wore on, and I wore out, several of the branch managers of this chain offered me a bite to eat in gratitude for my single-handedly rectifying the lettuce drought. Being up against it, however, I politely declined and planned to avail myself of a bite to eat from my last drop in Carlisle, when the panic was over.
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The branch manager in Carlisle was on first inspection just as cheerful and teenaged as the rest of them and so I felt I was on firm ground. It was just gone 9pm when I got there, 15 hours after setting off and with still another two and a half hour drive to get home. I deftly inserted these facts into the conversation I had with the Carlisle branch manager and he appeared to be suitably grateful on behalf of his company. I then casually mentioned that the only thing I'd had to eat since 6am was a single biscuit (which was, I kid you not, provided to me by one of your favourite droids - I won't tell you which one, as every good story needs a mystery) and I felt that this was bound to have an effect.
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"Gosh, you must be starving," the manager observed in a corporately chipper fashion. I nodded. He nodded and then, through a smile asked, "Fancy a burger and chips?"
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I nodded again and said that would be most kind of him. He put his best chef on the project, and in between doing homework and fretting about it being past his bedtime, the chef prepared my meal and handed it to the manager who, in his turn, handed it to me.
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"Thanks," I said, "I've been looking forward to this all day."
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"I'm sure," he said. "Seven eighty five, please."
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"What?" I asked. "I thought..."
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The manager raised an eyebrow that would have looked more at home on his top lip. "What? What did you think?" he asked, leaving the words 'you greedy little freeloader' out of the sentence but somehow still manifesting them in the conversation.
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"Nothing," I mumbled and prized open my wallet with the leverage afforded by two spoons and a thick iron ashtray. I handed over two fivers, displacing several moths, took my meal and left in a huff. When I found somewhere to park up and dine, I opened the bag and took in the sickly, warm smell of the burger, which pounced into the cab of the van with all the sophisticated allure of a witch's fart. It was nasty. Even the dog had to visibly force himself to eat it.
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So, in attempting to get something for nothing I failed so completely that I fetched up getting nothing for something and had to make myself some toast when I got home - which was just before midnight.
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I will never make a con-man - I can't even get stuff I've previously been offered.
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In order to make up for it, and to make this post marginally more interesting and relevant to this web site in particular, the first person to correctly guess the identity of the droid who gave me a biscuit (and a cup of coffee) will win -£7.85p.

[TordelBack]

I'm sure there must be a German word for laughing at another's misfortune while simultaneously not taking any pleasure in it.  Brilliant tale, TLS.

By way of an aside, in the late 90's I worked on what seemed a long succession of pub extensions for a brace of successful millionaires (as was the fashion at the time, that and tying an onion on your belt).  Often we'd make use of the breakfast usually served in the extant pub (proper site welfare facilities were still some years off), and at the close of work the crew would frequently repair to the extant bar for a drink, sometimes more than several.  In all that time neither I nor any of my workmates was ever once offered a complimentary cup of coffee or a slice of toast, never mind a pint.  But at least we weren't offered a pint and then asked to pay for it.  There are degrees of bastardy, it seems.

My guess for your mystery droid is Colin MacNeil, 'cos he always seemed the type.   

[JOE SOAP]

My guess for your mystery droid is Colin MacNeil, 'cos he always seemed the type.

I can imagine him with a permanent pouch full of short-breads for weary travellers.

[Bubba Zebill]

FLESH COMPUTER
http://vimeo.com/108751357

[Bubba Zebill]

MOUSE X
https://vimeo.com/channels/staffpicks/86766083

[ZenArcade]

Ah C'mon Shark, lettuce know who it was? Z. 

[Bubba Zebill]

This has made my day - "...warm smell of the burger, which pounced into the cab of the van with all the sophisticated allure of a witch's fart. "

[The Legendary Shark]

There need to be more guesses, Zen, before I reveal the truth...
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Glad you liked my witch's fart, Bubba!

[Spaceghost]

Frazer Irving?

[Dandontdare]

I'm still marvelling at the idea of "Salad kingpins" - shady underworld figures manipulating the lettuce consumption of a nation for their own nefarious ends.

I feel for you - I did some KP in a Greek restaurant years ago - after my first night of scrubbing greasy pans and preparing squid I was knackered - manager offered me a beer from the bar but thend charged me their usual rip-off price

[The Legendary Shark]

Grating, isn't it? There must be a law against it, or an old charter, or something.

[Frank]

My guess for your mystery droid is Colin MacNeil, 'cos he always seemed the type.

I can imagine him with a permanent pouch full of short-breads for weary travellers.

Racist.

[Spaceghost]

WHERE THE HELL IS MY DAMN PROG?

AGAIN?