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[The Surreal DealBy Van Dom]

The Surreal Deal
By Van Dom - based on all four pictures

Once more, with feeling, she thrust her head through the suction-cup of reality and turned herself inside-out-and-back-again entering the realm of the psyche.

PSI-magining her appearance into being and force-feeding solidity to her whirly-gig surroundings, it didn't take her long to realise – things were almost as fucked up here as they were on the outside. Almost. Striding across the sweaty flesh of the finger of a hand holding a walnut and making her way towards the window of the red tower from which it protruded seemed as natural as a walk in a park on a bright, sunny day compared to what she'd left behind. Events in the city had taken a turn for the wacky of late, and it was a pleasant change to find herself somewhere that wasn't quite so melty.
 
Leaving the disembodied hand to it's peculiar artistry, she entered the imposing tower and found herself in darkness.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she proclaimed, announcing her presence. Reaching out blindly, she twirled a finger to manufacture a lightswitch and promptly jabbed it, causing a dim light to blossom ahead. Instantly, she wished she'd remained in the dark.

"Oh for grud's sake," she gasped, averting her eyes as the one she'd come to find turned away. "Just because you're an 'artist' doesn't mean I want to see your strokes. Put it away!"

"Who are you?" the trouser-less man with the erect buttocks cried. "Didn't your parents teach you not to turn on the light when you enter somebody's bedroom? Or head?"

"Wouldn't have made a difference," Anderson replied, thinking back briefly and shuddering. "But that's beside the point. Dalvadore Sali, you're a rotten piece of shit. You've been in a self-induced coma for fifteen years and just because people haven't been snatching up your paintings for ridiculous amounts of creds like you assumed they would upon hearing of your plight, you've launched a full-on psych attack on the city and turned it into a surrealist's nightmare! You should see what you've done to my condo, there's this huge bitch with buggy eyes and she won't get off the..."

"Silence!" the artist Dalvadore snapped, with one deft stroke of the wrist ejaculating an enormous dog into being. "Kill her Snoopydog! Killkillkill!"

"Give me a break," Anderson sighed, as the dog thundered towards her, ectoplasmic saliva splattering the ground like drops of semen rain.  "I don't have time for this crap. Listen, Sali, I know what's eating you. Or rather, what hasn't been..."

Securing the artist's attention, she unzipped her costume to the waist, causing it to drip from her body like melting butter and reveal her glorious works.

"Aphrodite's anus!" the frustrated Sali spat, dropping his brush and sinking to his knees before her. His slobbering dog lost it's girth and shrank back to normal size, turning on its heels and yelping as it ran to seek solstice in a corner.

"They can't be... They're not..."

"Surreal?" prompted Anderson, cupping her improbable buxoms and stradling the man with the two-way erection.

"You bet your sweet-psyche they are, completely implausible, just the way you like 'em. Now come on, lover, enough pillow-talk...

"Let's be having you."

**

"Well done, Anderson!" a giddy Judge gushed as she shook her head and sat up on her slab. "You did it, the city's saved, everything reverted to normal in the blink of an eye!"

"Nice one. What about Sali?"

"I was hoping you could tell us. He suffered a massive convulsion just as you were pulling out and his heart exploded..."

"Pulling out. Yeah, that's what he should have done," Anderson bemoaned, tossing off her blanket and swinging her legs off the table. "Instead of blowing his psychic-essence up my ass!"

The assembled Judges gasped as Anderson stood upright, all eyes going to the massive buttocks protruding from the ripped derriere of her pants.

"Does my bum look big in this?" she quipped, looking over her shoulder to survey the damage. "Gotta look on the bright side, riding a lawmaster just got a hell of a lot easier...

"And at least it will balance out my tits."

[UntitledBy Mogzilla]

Untitled
By Mogzilla - based on Picture A

Nigel knelt prostate in front of his Fisher Price piano, his hat with the unfeasibly large peak resting nonchalantly on the collected works of Bosch, as he struggled to find his other garter. Perhaps it was in the carnage of the killer big black dog in  apartment "B" downstairs.

He prepared himself for the second time last week for his upcoming interview. The job had been long in coming but despite a heady breakfast of kippers he was ubiquitously conceited in his mannerisms.

He readied himself and entered the office, to which security tut tutted and asked him not to do that or they'd have to ask him to leave again. He perched his buttock in its cradle and smiled a thin quiet smile, the sort that you would quickly take your children and sit elsewhere on the bus ...

"So, Nigel," the man behind the desk begins, "How is one big arse cheek going to aid you in your chosen career as a strontium dog?"

[The Long WalkBy Lady Festina]

The Long Walk
By Lady Festina - based on Picture B

"Well, Haines, you made it." Judge Revis clapped him on the shoulder.

"Never thought I'd get through rookie year," Haines smiled, "let alone all the way to retirement."

Outside the city gates, the light was harsh. The honour guard squinted as they held their weapons high. So many young faces. Yet another ceremony for yet another old, forgettable Judge. Someone he'd never met read the standard words like he was reading Haines his rights. The thought made him smile: when was the last time someone had was read their rights? When was the last time someone had some rights?

Retirement had come at the right time, he thought. Revis had laughed at his "twenty-first century thinking". The Council hadn't taken it so lightly. There were more disciplinary marks on his record than commendations; they'd even threatened him with a desk job back in '35. But he was a good Judge; he knew the streets, took their pulse like he worked a med-wagon, knew where someone would squeeze if they wanted to choke the city to death.

With a smile all for himself, Haines started the Long Walk. He wondered what the world would look like out here, how much had been destroyed. It was strange to be alone when he'd been in the city so long. Strange not to have Revis or Carter or DeWalt alongside him on patrol. Strange to see the stars glowing and to watch the green mists lying on the desert ground and to miss the sound of sirens and to hear the silence of the dead.

It was a week before he saw them – muties fighting muties, killing time by killing each other. He'd almost forgotten what it was to be a Judge; it took him a while to figure out that he wasn't supposed to run. Haines took a deep breath, started in with his fists, old school, remembering his training. Give him twenty, thirty minutes and the place would be clear.

He was so caught up in the fight he didn't notice it until the last mutie lay prone at his feet. A dog. A big dog. A dog the size of a city block and then some. Its great tongue lolled out of its mouth, slobber like summer rain splashed down around him. Haines looked as closely as he dared. Around the dog's neck was a collar with a tag. He reached up and grabbed hold of the tag, read the message written on it:

"To my old partner Haines.  To keep you company in your retirement. No point going on a Long Walk without a dog. All the best, Revis. PS. I don't know what sort of dog they might get you out in the Cursed Earth. Hope he's a good one."

[First Mistake By IAMTHESYSTEM]

First Mistake
By IAMTHESYSTEM - based on Picture B

Your first, worst mistake. Every Judge on their Probationary would commit it.   
 
'Just make sure it ain't a fatal mistake.'  That was the sage advice from their mentors.
 
'Anything else you can live with.'
 
Judge Cooper throttled down his Lawmaster as he approached the bend. The Robbery
was still in Progress and Judge Crytak instructed him to saddle up and ride.He'd kept up 
with Crytak but now pulled ahead keen to deliver Justice to the miscreants.

Cooper could feel the power of the Lawmaster slow but adrenaline urged him to gun it it
faster round the streets bend. He kicked down the Clutch, could hear Judge Crytak's badgering
voice raised in his Ear Com shouting... 
 
He saw the animal too late.
 
The Guy in the light coloured Hoodie even later. 
 
They were there in front of him in a blur. The sound of roaring suddenly filled Cooper's helmet overwhelming his senses. Noise, screeching, then blacknesss.
 
---

Cooper tried to raise himself off the stretcher. Pain flooded his back and he groaned loudly.
 
Judge Crytak was arguing ferociously with a bullish looking man dressed in a suit. A  small, black Puppy Dog held in the arms of another Judge looked mournfully around.
 
The man in the suit gestured violently towards Cooper. He could hear the voice, furious, filled with hatred. 'HE did it ! My boy! MYBOY! !Yur fuckin' Judge!  I bought 'im the mutt so he wouldn't end up like me, like Johnny the Hood!' 
 
'Calm yourself, Johnny, it was ...an accident.' Crytak sounded tired of arguing but sympathetic. 'Pets are illegal in Mega City 1, you know that.' he added.
 
'It's a Robot! Just didn't want him to be like me! Fuckin Judges!' sobbed Johnny and he sank to his knees beating the tarmac with his fists.
 
They were loading something onto a Med wagon, a box with writing on it. Cooper tried to focus on the
words, felt his mushed brain finally string them together.
 
'RESYK' it read.

[Greg MA Hard Day's Bite]

Greg M
A Hard Day's Bite - based on Picture B

"Vell, Johnny," murmured Wulf Sternhammer, an undeniable hint of admiration in his voice, "Is vun big dog."

"Yup," Johnny Alpha agreed, with characteristic terseness. There wasn't much else he could add.

The S/D duo had been hard on the trail of two rival gangs of paramilitary palaeontologists. One misanthropic group detested modern civilisation and worshipped the bones of extinct creatures as venerable elders. The other more pragmatic band were devoted to resurrecting extinct life-forms from fossils, and enlisting these clonosaurs in campaigns of looting, piracy and general mayhem. When both had struck and slaughtered legitimate academics at a dig on Alvarez IV, their bounties had only grown, and when an interstellar dogfight between the two had resulted in both crashlanding on Woodhouse's World, things had really taken a turn. For this particular planet, though at a prehistoric stage of development, was home to mega-dogs and colossal canines, including a particularly impressive specimen of Canisaurus Rex who had been quick to snatch and then bury the tasty, spilled, skeletal cargo of the crashed ships.

By the time the S/D agents arrived on the scene, the two gangs were still in open conflict over who should reclaim their prize. Between these warring weirdoes, the baffled Canisaurus Rex sat, paws outstretched, chaos erupting around it. Though it snapped a little if any of the combatants got too close, it was largely passive, devoted only to guarding its new treasure.

"Der sure are a lot of 'em", Wulf remarked from their vantage point atop a nearby hill. "Shame der Canisaur doesn't get involved - could make things a whole lot easier."

"I've got an idea about that," Johnny informed Wulf. "We'll make a working dog of him yet."

Using what rocky cover was available, Johnny stealthily descended, out of sight of the palaeontologists, whose attention was still focused on each other. Circling around to the rear of the action, Johnny sneaked up behind the Canisaur until he was in sight of the target: the pair of big, furry, dangling orbs that hung between the hound's back legs.

"Sorry, Rex," murmured Johnny, activating his electronux. And with that, he launched his sparking fist hard into the para-pooch's proverbial plumbs.

The effect was, inevitably, electric.

Taking cover in a nearby ditch, Johnny was almost sorry to miss the ensuing action, though Wulf later described it to him as "like something from der Ragnarok legends of my people, but vith floppier ears." When Johnny finally arose, dismembered gang-members lay twitching in pools of their own viscera and the Canisaurus was padding dolefully away, pausing occasionally to lick its still-smarting scrotum and whine in outrage.

Wulf joined Johnny at the scene of the carnage, and looked around, strangely impressed.

"Worked out better than I thought," Johnny decided. "Minimum effort, maximum bounty, and everyone's happy. Well, except for those guys."

"Ja," agreed his partner, a wry smile playing across his lips. "Far as Wulf is concerned... this job vas definitely der dog's bollocks."

[DounreayPERCEPTION(Lyrics: L. Reed)]

Dounreay
PERCEPTION
(Lyrics: L. Reed)

"Peter, what are you listening to?"

She's so beautiful.

"Uh, it's a new band. The Velvet Underground?"

"It's awful. They can't even play properly. Put something nice on. Lux and the guys will be here soon."

Bitch. I hate you.

You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two

"What, like Bobby Vinton?"

"Don't be like that Peter. I was only trying to be honest with you. Lux! Guys! You're here!"

Hey Ruby baby. Cool sounds."

"It's the Velvet Underground. Aren't they just great?"

That's my music you bitch. Mine. Not yours.

Run, run, run, run, run
Tell ya whatcha do

"Did you get some? Say you got some!"

"Yeah, hang loose babe, we scored some weed but check these out."

"What are they?"

"Acid baby. You ready for the trip of your life?"

"I don't know Lux, isn't it, well, you know, a bit dangerous?"

"Ruby's right, I mean, what is it? It could be anything."

Marguerita Passion had to get a fix
She wasn't well, she was getting sick

"Hey Peter, too square. Remember we're like superhuman? Hello?"

"Peter! You're not scared are you?"

Bitch. Bastard. Bitch. You bitch.

"I never said I was scared, did I? I'll take two if you like. Probably won't affect us anyway."

"Woo-hoo! Ticket to ride, Peter! Here you go, my man."

Bastard. Smug fucking bastard.

And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two

...

"Shit! What's happening to him?"

"He's having a fit or something. Whadda we do?"

"Jesus. Look at his eyes.  How can they do that?"

"Ruby? RUBY!"

"Help me. Please. He's inside me. He's pushing himself in. Stop it Peter. Please.  IT HURTS, PETER. IT HURTS!"

"Oh man, oh shit, there's something growing out of her."

"Helpmepleeeezzz."

Bitch.Bitch.Bitchbitchbitch.

When she turned blue, all the angels screamed
They didn't know, they couldn't make the scene

...

Birds, buildings, bodies intertwined.
Everything. Just energy, patterns that can be re-drawn.
Vomit mixed with chocolate, bile burning.

"Oh God. Peter, what did you do to us?"

"Nothing, it was nothing. A bad trip. We never talk about this again. Understand?"

And she would run, run, run, run, run

[UntitledBy Clavell]

Untitled
By Clavell - based on Pictures B and C

He'd met the dealer in the usual place, looking for the hot new thing everyone was talking about. "Got any sliders?"

"Sure, buddy, sure." And the dealer took out two rainbow colored capsules. "These are usually twenty-five apiece, but for my regulars it's half price. You buy one, you get one free. And grud help you if you get caught with them."

He'd heard the Lawmaster on the way back home, tried to keep cool and ignore it. Then it pulled right in front of him, the judge shouting an order, and there was nowhere to ditch the capsules. "What the sneck." he thought, and swallowed them both. The judge

striding towards

him

sounds of silence in the dazzling dark. loathing selves loiter. mountain of light from the ground become sky. demon bureaucrats sort and assess. sifting paper. work. our citadel of trivia. their senses prickle. meta ears flourish in ethereal brine. feral juves scouring the sands. grouping. squadrons forming orders barking war is coming. demons form defenses. half-dog Benji wiggles his nose. so cute. fighting now with sandballs hitting hard and killing dead falling wounded walking. some sleep eternal. half-dog Benji caught in the crossfire. "I just wanted to go for a walk". and so did i Benji, so did i. So did I. SO. DID. I. the lawman points to myself as a blur. "hold it, creep". grim granite face pushed to mine. stern stare through the visor. i can see his eyes. oh, no. I CAN SEE HIS EYES. "what's your name, creep". there are no words. no words. only fear and itself. "dredd to control". two control. when one isn't enough. "another slider user". "junction of Bosch and Escher underpass". "med wagon on its way". the rabbit hole warps through the looking glass splintering psychic shards. weft with threads of the meta-text. slipknot tightens across the wonder land. village of liddells sails under a white flag. none can with stand. holistic sofa rotating onscreen. split level synonyms in unison on velvet. in my mind's eye. no melting clocks. "give him two months for use". "six for possession". half-dog Benji looked sad. "who's gonna feed me when you're in the cubes ?"

[The Error of William Tell, aka "Blame it on the muumuu"By Bluemeanie]

The Error of William Tell, aka "Blame it on the muumuu"
By Bluemeanie - based on Picture A

Dredd hated his stints on customs, not that he'd ever admit that of course.

By rights, his position on the Council meant he could duck his way out of such menial duties, but deep inside he knew should he do it or it would only be a matter of time before they decided all his street duties were menial and he wasn't quite ready for a desk job yet.

He looked up at the next citizen queuing for the Brit-Cit transport then down at his passport.

"Bill Tell... and what is the nature of your trip, citizen?"

"Competition," smiled Bill. "I'm an athlete."

Dredd paused to compose himself. This is why he hated the customs job, the fact it required him to be vaguely personable. Or what passed for personable which in this case simply meant not pointing out that true athletes didn't need belly wheels to get around.

Sure, the fatties had rights but he couldn't help thinking "massive heart attacks" was one of the better ones. Dredd decided to let the man go before he said something inappropriate.

"Have a safe and LAWFUL trip citizen," Dredd sneered, passing the man back his passport.

"Thank you, Judge," he replied and with a slight twirl waddled off down the concourse, his muumuu swaying behind him.

Weird he'd wear a muumuu, Dredd thought. Fatties usually wear tight clothing to show off their obesity. And to Dredd, weird meant only one thing... suspicious.

"HALT!" he barked and with three strides he stamped on the back of the other man's dress causing it to rip open and the padding beneath to tumble to the ground. But it wasn't this which caused the surrounding citizens to gasp in shock. It wasn't the fake bulbous neck which now hung from one side of his face. It wasn't even the huge fake stomach which had split open and was spewing raw munce all over the floor.  It was the huge protuberance extending from the man's rear.

"You care to explain this?" Dredd growled pointing at the offending article. He'd known people try to smuggle out goods like this before, but never something so ambitious.

"Um.... Piles?"

The daystick made a reassuring crack as it knocked the man to the ground. Dredd wasn't in the mood for any wise-cracking smugglers. He reached for his collar mic and spoke into it.

"Dredd here. Send a patrol along with a med-wagon to the home of one Citizen James Fenemore Snork. I've got a feeling he's been robbed again."

[midnight on Sunday 29 April]

Here is the Voting Thread for the curious, strange and downright odd Story Comp. We were taken on a surreal voyage by our previous winners, Van Dom and Greg M., with a challenge to produce a Twothy Story based on one of the images below....

Standard voting rules: a Top 3 and an Honourable Mention by midnight on Sunday 29 April, if you please! I'll let you know when you can start voting :-)

PICTURE A


PICTURE B


PICTURE C


PICTURE D


Enjoy!

Arse... just realised I haven't done the voting thread... give me half an hour...

And that's that, folks - end of comp. I'll put up a voting thread as soon as... Twas a tough challenge....!

Story comp deadline is almost upon us - you have until the end of the weekend to submit (submit, damn you!).

[The Long Walk]

The Long Walk

"Well, Haines, you made it." Judge Revis clapped him on the shoulder.

"Never thought I'd get through rookie year," Haines smiled, "let alone all the way to retirement."

Outside the city gates, the light was harsh. The honour guard squinted as they held their weapons high. So many young faces. Yet another ceremony for yet another old, forgettable Judge. Someone he'd never met read the standard words like he was reading Haines his rights. The thought made him smile: when was the last time someone had was read their rights? When was the last time someone had some rights?

Retirement had come at the right time, he thought. Revis had laughed at his "twenty-first century thinking". The Council hadn't taken it so lightly. There were more disciplinary marks on his record than commendations; they'd even threatened him with a desk job back in '35. But he was a good Judge; he knew the streets, took their pulse like he worked a med-wagon, knew where someone would squeeze if they wanted to choke the city to death.

With a smile all for himself, Haines started the Long Walk. He wondered what the world would look like out here, how much had been destroyed. It was strange to be alone when he'd been in the city so long. Strange not to have Revis or Carter or DeWalt alongside him on patrol. Strange to see the stars glowing and to watch the green mists lying on the desert ground and to miss the sound of sirens and to hear the silence of the dead.

It was a week before he saw them – muties fighting muties, killing time by killing each other. He'd almost forgotten what it was to be a Judge; it took him a while to figure out that he wasn't supposed to run. Haines took a deep breath, started in with his fists, old school, remembering his training. Give him twenty, thirty minutes and the place would be clear.

He was so caught up in the fight he didn't notice it until the last mutie lay prone at his feet. A dog. A big dog. A dog the size of a city block and then some. Its great tongue lolled out of its mouth, slobber like summer rain splashed down around him. Haines looked as closely as he dared. Around the dog's neck was a collar with a tag. He reached up and grabbed hold of the tag, read the message written on it:

"To my old partner Haines.  To keep you company in your retirement. No point going on a Long Walk without a dog. All the best, Revis. PS. I don't know what sort of dog they might get you out in the Cursed Earth. Hope he's a good one."

Aah, you're all way too lovely!

Thanks for the support - it's quite a nerve-wracking thing (especially as art deadline day is getting nearer), but there's some GLORIOUS stuff coming through and I hope you'll like it.

Death Kill Horde Death Kill (sic) is an interesting title but perhaps doesn't capture the spirit of the comic. I do like the Bees one though... Perhaps a forum competition is the way forward.....

(Those who've asked for copies, I'll PM you for postal addresses :-)

Liz

I posted a while back when we were looking for artists for a new anthology, so thought I'd start a wee thread to keep you up to date....

Uncle Fester and I are having a crack at this publishing game under the banner Disconnected Press. We're planning two anthologies for May:

Disconnected Issue 1 - a collection of small town stories with a twist, real life with a splinter through it or - on our confident days - Twin Peaks meets Donnie Darko. We have stories from small press legend Richmond Clements, smut-meister Rich McAuliffe and Story-Comp-winning Greg M, among others. Art from some local heroes including Uncle Fester himself, and two young prodigies Gavin Mitchell and Tom Foster, who should both be in the Prog before Christmas..... Full colour glory, lettered by the man himself Jim Campbell and featuring a cover by a TOP SECRET BUT VERY SPECIAL artist....

The second anthology goes under the working title Boys on Bicycles, which I hate, but everyone else seems to love. There are four stories which all feature, um, boys on bicycles, but move on into conspiracies, assassinations, hereditary diseases and David Bowie.... We've got some great emerging talent on show here, including some newbies, with artistic contributions from Neil McClements, Brian Rankin, Tony Rothwell and Louis Carter, all of whom lurk on these pages from time to time. Lettering and general wisdom from the wonderful Owen Watts.

Over on the blog, we've published the first of our creator interviews, with Richmond Clements no less. Figured he'd be so busy with Hi-Ex this weekend he wouldn't have a chance to read what we've said! Have a look: http://disconnectedpress.wordpress.com/2012/03/29/33/

You can read more at the website - www.disconnectedpress.co.uk - or follow us on Twitter - @DisconnectedPrs.

We're planning more issues later in the year, so get in touch if you'd like to contribute words or pictures. And I guess if you wanted to put in a pre-order, we wouldn't say no....