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My favourite ad in viz was the "Andrex" one which had a picture of a couple of cute little kittens, and the copy read,

"Gets shit off your arse, and you won't put your finger through it".

Inspired.

Almost as good as the issue that had a "Free cut out and keep 42 leaf jamrag" on the back cover (with wings). The aforementioned cut out and keep sanitary towel had, in tiny print, at it's very centre,

"Caution, this print may come off on your twat".

Still makes me laugh.

Enjoying 'Snow Crash' by Neal Stephenson. Started clunkily (over elaborate descriptions of hardware etc)  but soon got into it's stride. It's a good read.

Got the 3rd '100 Bullets' TPB yesterday and I thought I'd just have a quick glance at it before I nodded off last night. Fat chance. Slept straight through my alarm this morning. Awesome comic series. Risso's art is so clean and economical and yet lush and atmospheric that it makes me go back and look at panels just to get another hit. The dialogue is some of the best I've read, graphic novel or otherwise. If you haven't read these do yourself a favour and get them.

Picked up another Heath Robinson collection on ebay as well, I've got far too many of these now. Oh well.

Evening Zarjazzer, I'll sort out the new comp this weekend.

Unless there are any objections, the next comp will be for short stories of 500 words or less and the subject will definitely be crossovers (2000ad/non 2000ad). Mike gives a good idea of what he has in mind in his post above.

I propose that we keep things pretty much the same voting wise for this one and hope the response is a little better than the first comp (less people voted than entered stories, go figure), the 500 word limit should help there.

The comp will run for a couple of months.

And you're only 22!

Bald by 30.

Unlucky.

Cheers Emporer, one of these days I'm going to catch up with this information at your fingertips malarky.

Does anyone happen to know what the title of the 6th Goon TPB is? I can find volume 7 no problem and I've got volume 5 but I'm not sure if 6 is the Chinatown story or 'Goon Noir' or something else entirely. Cheers.

Ohhh.

You despicable pervert.

Do you seriously think I'd whack out a pun like that on this illustrious forum. I'd never pull it off.

Heh. I was wondering which superlative to use, and after typing that one realised it hadn't come out quite how I'd intended. So I left it. There's always space for an involuntary fart...pun in my posts and I'm proud of it. Parp Parp. Nurse!

Cover - A musclebound zombie in speedos saying "Can I eat you?". What's not to like?

Dredd - Cracking one off.                            

Savage - The dialogue still seems weirdly stilted, and the points Pat wants to make appear to have been hammered into the script with no consideration for the flow of the story.  Roundabout way of saying I got bored with this years ago.

Zombo - Henry Flint is a national treasure, confiscate his passport. Al Ewing's script is a corker, absolutely no idea where this is going but I have many theories, all no doubt as wrong as wrong can be. Zombo is shaping up to be my favourite new character for a good while. A giant flesheating zombie with a nice line in sarcastic wit who can only be controlled with high voltage shock pants. Genius.

Cradlegrave - Creepy and claustrophobic. The story and artwork are perfectly matched in another highly promising new strip.

Nikolai Dante - Is that it? Nice while it lasted. Still not sure what to make of Arkady, is he on anybody's side other than his own? Maybe Si Fraser will get a couple more pages of his 'Lily Mackenzie' web strip posted before he's back on Dante duties. Hope so.

Good prog, really impressed with the quality of the two new strips and the Rennie/Dyer Dredd was a real treat, I'm a sucker for a Mega City madness one off.

How do Pablo.

Sounds good to me Mike.

A 500 word limit is also a good idea, I was pretty much leaning that way myself. It's gonna make it tougher but like you say that's not a bad thing.

Don't forget to let me know what you want for your prize Mike.

Tough, tough choice.

1. Gibson Quarter.  Crikey.
2. Ant O'Donnell.  Nice work Ant.
3. Jim Campbell 2.  Top notch inking skills Mr.Campbell.

HM. Radiator.


Ridiculously high standard of entries. Another cracking comp Jim and it's great to finally see some of your work fella.

My enormous thanks to everyone who participated in this competition. I know it's not easy to find the time for these things and I'd like to thank you all for your efforts. Cheers.

We've had 15 excellent stories and one about fishmen (sorry Mr.Lovecraft) to enjoy, and some of the writing has left me gobsmacked. Funny, thrilling and shocking stories that all showed great imagination and creativity. Well done to one and all.

So without further ado...and I'm almost certain this is right...

In 3rd place.

One of the funniest things I've read for a long time, the comedic masterpiece that is,

THE LEGENDARY SHARK 2. "THE QUIP".

Hi, your old pal Samantha C. Slade here. The C stands for creek, crap and canoe – but not paddle, which is pretty much par for the course. Today ain't no exception.

Today I've been mostly hanging upside down from a meat hook, coiled from collar to calves in a carbon cord and hoping the next C in my itinerary ain't gonna' be cemetery. I kinda' came in at the middle there, so here's a recap:

There's this tin-pot R&D lab down the road from my office called the Fuzzlewit Advanced Robotics Team, run by a geek with a massive IQ and no appreciation of acronyms. The MD, Marvin Fuzzlewit, called me in on "a matter of ultimate delicacy" that "might have unfortunate consequences for civilisation" and, when I arrived, spent the first hour explaining to me in great detail how the first series of an old 2D show called Start Wreck was superior to all later series. I wasn't really listenin', it's hard to pay attention to somebody dressed like a fictional starship captain. He had this weird wig, see, and...

Anyway, long story short, FART developed something called a Synthetic Intelligence Node, a genius robot to you and me, and they're quite proud of it. Going to change the world, he said. I shoulda' gotten out of there right then because things designed to change the world tend to get antsy when they go nuts.

SIN had been driven nuts because Fuzzlewit locked it up for six months while lawyers tried to work out what it was. FART used robotic, cybernetic, bionic and human synapses in its construction and so nobody knew how the hell to classify it and, since unclassified robots aren't allowed, SIN found itself in a cupboard. It didn't think this was a good use of its time and busted out. Fuzzlewit kept quiet but SIN decided to play the stock market and made a big enough fortune to destabilise the whole economy, which is bad. Apparently. So they hired me to find SIN, which I did, and which is why I'm hanging upside down from a meat hook in SINs secret lair. These things love their secret lairs, I've been trapped and imprisoned in all kinds so I know what I'm talkin' about here, and this one's a doozy.

SIN bought up gold bars with its profits. There's racks and racks of the stuff on every wall, a ton on each rack. I'm hangin' off one of 'em thinkin' how this must be the most expensive dungeon I've been trapped in and wondering if things can get worse when, predictably, they do.

"What'cha' doin' up there, Sam, huh? Keep fit?"

Hoagy looks up at me like a brain damaged tractor and I'm foolish enough to be encouraged. "Get me down before SIN gets back!"

"Okay, Sam, uh-huh, no problem. Say, Sam, before I do that, can I do the quip, huh?"

Something like a rat trapped in a biro runs out the shadows and climbs up Hoagy's leg. "Ay, ay, ay, Hoagy! The Señorita has been capchored again!"

"But, I want to do the quip, Sam. How about it, huh? Just this once?"

"What in all the Twelve Tarnations are you talking about, Hoagy? Get me down!"

"At the end of every case you do a quip, Sam, uh-huh?"

While Hoagy stands there talking nonsense, Stogie springs onto the wall and climbs. "Haff no fear, Señorita, Stogie to thee rescue!"

"You know, Sam, like, um..." Hoagy's scratching his head but I'm watching Stogie, who's climbing like a good 'un. "Like, uh, 'he got the boot' and 'I think he got the point,' Sam. You know?"

I'm not paying attention because Stogie's arrived. "Thee meet hok, she is a seemple magnetic deevice..."

"So I thought, when this case is over, I could, uh, do the quip? Whaddoya' say, Sam, huh?"

Hoagy's voice is just noise by now, my attention suddenly drawn to the eight feet of nothing between me and concussion. "Stogie..."

Of course, it's way too late and there's this really quiet but ominous little click. "I sweetch her off, Señorita, you are free!"

For free, read free fall.

"Gee, Sam, you want me to catch you, huh?"

* * *

I come 'round still tied up because Hoagy's useless. I tell him to get a move on but he keeps chunnering on about wanting to do the quip and I say okay so's he can concentrate both brain cells on the knots. It don't make any difference.

"Bwa-ha, ha haaa!"

Oh great, SIN's back. The cleverest robot on the planet an' all I got's a carbon cord corset and idiots. The Slade brain cells spin and come up with a plan that won't work but it's the best I got and so...

"Take that, Señor SEEN!" Stogie pulls the lever that keeps the racks straight and they fold, spilling gold onto SIN and crushing it like an egg.

I look at Hoagy but he just looks back at me. "Well? You wanted the quip, so quip."

"Hmmm, harder than it looks, Sam, yup."

"Hoagy – this one's easy! The gold that SIN earned fell on him and crushed him to death. How hard can it be?"

His brain rattles while he thinks about it. "Well, Sam, uh, I guess that's like the golden handshake, huh?"

I'm still tied up, so I can't slap my own forehead.

"Caramba, Hoagy! That ees stupeed! The queep, she ees obvious! You look at SEEN croshed by his wages and you say; 'That's what I call a credeet cronch!'"

Maybe the C stands for cursed.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In 2nd place,

Transdimensional madness from the master of late night disaster. An apocryphal tale of capes, chins and mustachioed motorcycles.

GODPLETON 2.

BATMAN/JUDGE DREDD V: THE WAGES OF SIN

Judge Dredd and Guthrie were on a motorbike ride. Or rather, Judge Dredd was on a motorbike ride. Guthrie had recently had some new modifications made to his robotic body so that he was now capable of transforming into a motorcycle. It was Dredd's job to make sure there were no problems with Guthrie when he was being ridden as a motorcycle or Lawmaster.

"Y'know Guth, I was sceptical at first, but I really enjoy having you between my legs" said Dredd. Guthrie replied: "I was a bit wary of letting you use my ass as a seat Joe, it's just lucky I don't have piles!" They both laughed heartily, but Dredd was actually faking because he didn't understand what Guthrie meant by "piles".

They were happily driving along when they came to a playground. That playground had a man in it. Or rather a Batman. It was Batman in the playground. And he was here for Dredd. And now he had Dredd. Dredd wasn't expecting to see Batman ever again, but he still wanted Batman. And now he had Batman. Batman and Judge Dredd. Judge Dredd and Batman. They had each other. And Guthrie was there as well.

"Hello Batman, or should I say BRUCE WAYNE".
"Oh wow, you know my real name, I knew you knew my name ages ago. I'm over it now, just like I'm over your mom."
Dredd was flustered by this comeback. For the pride of Mega-City One, he knew he had to come back with something good. "Well that shows what you know. I don't even HAVE a mom, douchebag". Guthrie shook his head in embarrassment, both for himself and for Dredd, and also for Justice Department as a whole.

"Anyway, why are you here. No wait I already figured it out. Now who's the Dark Knight Detective?" Batman was taken back at this riposte, even if was belated.
"You know I don't actually refer to myself as that?"
"Yeah whatever. This is revenge for that time I showed up in a playground and had a fight with you. You are so petty and lame. I was trying to save you from The Ventriloquist or whoever it was. Is this how you repay your FFRRIIEENNDDSS." Dredd was upset at Batman's mistrust.

Batman spoke. "I came here because I need something from you. I need you to kill a man."
"Still too much of a blubbering pussy to get blood on your hands, eh?"
"Shut up, he'll be here in a minute. His name is Simon Ignatius Nostro, or SIN for short. He's an irritating little malcontent," Batman looked at Guthrie and saw an opportunity "... and he's racist against robots".

SIN came into the playground through a time/space portal, but before he could say or do anything Guthrie began attacking him. He hated being a robot, and he hated people who were racist against him and his robot brethren. He used his laser to right "FU" on SIN's chest, then decided bullets would be better so he wrote "CKFACE" in bullet holes with his mouth gun. Then he went over the "FU" with his gun so that all of "FUCKFACE" was written with bullet holes.

Dredd knew Guthrie was too far gone. He said Guthrie's killword "entelechy" and made Guthrie explode. Batman said "Looks like he paid the wages of SIN. TTFN." and went off through his own time/space portal. Dredd cried hot salty tears at the death of his best friend. He had to call for a pick-up, because his bike was destroyed. This made him cry even more.

A few months later, it was Gotham city. Or rather it was Crime Alley which is in Gotham City. A young boy and his parents were coming back from the movie theatre having seen Zorro.

Justice Department were aware of the possibility that Batman might try to stop his parents from dying, and so Dredd had been sent to make sure that he stayed Batman so he could help save MC-1.

"Double Whammy." Dredd used this Lawgiver setting to make sure this part of the job was done quickly. Thomas and Martha Wayne died from being shot, and the pearls fell to the ground. Dredd looked at the grieving little boy, then remembered Guthrie. He ran at the boy and kneed him in the face. Then he went back.

Coming out of the time/space portal Anderson was waiting there for him.
"Congratulations Joe, now you have a son". She spat in his helmet and kicked him in the balls. She left Dredd there in order to let her words sink in. They never did.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

And in 1st place, the WINNER is,

A terrifying tale of greed and betrayal, masterfully told by the literary maestro that is...

MIKE CARROLL.

Edmund Proctor had been on the run for less than five minutes and already he was thinking of turning himself in.

Judges'll grant me immunity. I can tell them how it started.

But it was too late. He knew that. It had been too late from the moment the spy had approached him.

Five minutes ago Proctor had climbed out of a cab outside his laboratory. Four lawmasters had been parked outside.

Proctor had walked around the side of the building. He'd started to run.

Proctor knew that it was his own fault. He'd been careless with the money. The spy had warned him: "Don't change your life-style. The judges watch out for that. Spend more than you should and they will come knocking."

Proctor had only been half-listening – the rest of his attention had been on the half-million credits, inside the briefcase the spy had opened on Proctor's desk.

"Half now," the spy said, "and the rest if the sample works."

"It'll work." He looked up at the well-toned, dark-haired man long enough to pass over the small plasteen-encased vial, then returned his attention to the money.

The virus had worked, of course. Edmund Proctor hadn't become the Big Meg's foremost molecular biologist without knowing his stuff.

Proctor ran. Three blocks away from the lab now. Slow down. Take it easy. Nothing more suspicious than someone running when they don't have to.

He forced himself to walk.

A month after the first meeting, the spy had returned with a second briefcase.

As Proctor eagerly counted the money, the spy asked, "What else have you got?"

"That wasn't enough?"

"Your sample works, but now I want something a little more subtle. Something that won't turn people into monsters. Not on the surface, anyway."

Proctor considered this. "I might have something for you. Though I should warn you it's got a slow burn – takes time for the effects to be noticed. It hugely magnifies the subject's paranoia and arrogance. It can cause severe hallucinations, delusions of godhood, solipsism—"

"I'll take it."

Proctor pursed his lips. "Won't be cheap. I'll have to by-pass a dozen levels of security."

The man leaned forward, palms on Proctor's desk. "One hundred million credits. Cash, gold, diamonds, or I can set you up with an off-shore bank account, whatever suits."

Proctor's mouth had suddenly dried. "Bank account would be good."

The man handed him a scrap of paper. "Memorise this number and password. There's fifty million in the account already. You get the rest if the sample works."

Proctor nodded dumbly.

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

That had been yesterday. For a few hours, Edmund Proctor had been a multi-millionaire. Now he was sweating, glancing over his shoulder, trying to walk fast and look casual at the same time.

This morning, in the taxi, it had all changed.

In his pocket was a small plasteen block containing two millilitres of a clear liquid.

This morning, Edmund Proctor had realised that the man was not just an industrial spy. This wasn't about one bio-weapons company hoping to get a leap ahead of the competition.

This was about the destruction of an entire city.

The TV in the taxi had shown him everything: Mega-City Two in flames, its citizens rampaging, ferocious, blood-thirsty... One of them – a once-pretty young woman – threw herself at the camera, her eyes red, hands clawed, teeth bared. Proctor had seen this before. Once, in the lab. The test subject had only stopped fighting when a guard managed to jab an electro-probe into the back of the man's neck.

The TV report said that the Chief Judge had promised that Mega-City One would send aid, a team travelling overland across the Cursed Earth, carrying a vaccine.

Proctor rounded a corner, spotted two judges on foot-patrol. He turned left into a narrow, quiet alleyway.

Then a voice behind him said, "The judges didn't go to your laboratory to arrest you, Proctor."

He turned around to see the spy staring down at him.

"They were looking for your advice on the plague in Mega-City Two. Or, rather, how to prevent it from spreading here."

Proctor slumped back against a wall as relief washed through him.

"By now, though, they'll have discovered that you took a taxi to the lab and ran away as soon as you saw their bikes." The tall man held out his hand, palm up. "You've got it?"

The knot in Proctor's stomach tightened. "You... you set the virus loose in Mega-City Two! Millions of people are dead – or worse."

"That was the point. Now hand over the vial or I'll just kill you and take it from you."

His hand trembling, Proctor dropped the plasteen block into the spy's open palm. "You're going to do the same thing here, aren't you?"

"No. Mega-City Two was an experiment, but the outcome wasn't what we wanted. There's no cure for 2T(fru)T. But my people will test this one, we'll develop a cure." He paused. "I can't let you live, Proctor. East-Meg One thanks you for your part in its upcoming invasion, but your story ends here."

Proctor tried to squirm away. "No, Orlok, please! I'll give you back all the money – I'll do anything!"

"This will be painless. Just close your eyes."

"You don't know that the sample even works!"

"True. But I'll know within the week. A one-man test should be sufficient. I have arranged a... cultural meeting... this morning with one of your city's most senior judges. I'll test the sample on him. Close your eyes, Proctor."

Proctor slowly sank to his knees. "But the virus might not work on Judge Dredd! He's a clone, genetically almost perfect. He's too strong-willed... Let me live and I'll find someone more suitable!"

"Dredd?" The soviet judge raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of him. My meeting is with Deputy Chief Judge Cal."

Edmund Proctor closed his eyes for the last time. Strong hands tightened around his throat.

CONGRATULATIONS MIKE!

Send me a PM with your choice of graphic novel and where you'd like it sent (I'll PM you my e-mail if that's preferable) and I'll get it sorted out.

Your other task, you lucky devil, is to come up with the subject of the next competition. Post it here when you've got one.

Congratulations again and enjoy your well deserved adulation.


Thanks again as well to everybody who took part, and I know there are plenty of people who would have liked to but didn't get the chance, don't worry, there's always next time.

We need to sort out a few kinks, but once there's a general consensus where we go with this the next comp will start. With a subject of Mike's choice. No pressure Mike.

Voting for the Short Story Competition is now ended.

Thanks to all.

I think the voting process will have to be adjusted for the next running of the comp. All suggestions for voting formats will be welcome. It's a bit unwieldy at the moment and needs to be made a less daunting proposal.

The results thread will be along imminently.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OH ANCIENT ONE!

I'm not 39 till January, so consequently gambol about with a ruddy cheeked youthfulness befitting my lack of years. <cough>.

So what's it like? Any noticable increase in ear hair or incontinence?

Have a good one Larf and I hope littl'un feels better soon so you can get some kip.

You need it now your 39. Tee-hee.