So what the fuck is going on with TAG

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 01:13:00 +0100

Hello everyone!

It’s 1am in the morning and I have a 10am lecture tommorow, so I will make this brief. TAG sadly fell to bits after many of its members decided (in their own selfishness) to go on Holiday over the summer, and due to certain areas of the world blocking access to many websites, including tumblr (cough China cough), sadly TAG couldn’t update. So currently, it is on hiatus.

However, do not worry! Season 2 of TAG will be arriving shortly with even better themes and crazier posts! Keep an eye out and we’ll make sure we’ll let you know when that happens :)

If you like you can follow us on twitter at http://twitter.com/thetagproject

"Dave, Pertaining to your thoughts last week about the feasibility of the new product, viz. Life..."

Sat, 08 Aug 2009 12:52:00 +0100

“

Dave,

Pertaining to your thoughts last week about the feasibility of the new product, viz. Life (keep up the good work!), I have drummed up a list of fundamentals.

* must be enduring (I want to say everlasting)
* no useless organs that can often get infected and rupture in a life threatening peritonitis unless it’s removed quickly
* in fact try to avoid squishy bits of all kinds!
* walk them everyday and don’t let them get the oceans dirty

If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know. Show me some prototypes before the end of the day. Let’s fasttrack this one, amigo.

COU

”

- Internal Memo from the Creator of the Universe to Head of Innovation Department

Stardate: 5

A Most Unusual Luncheon

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 17:53:00 +0100

Well I have to say this topic stumped me (hence the lateness) so in the end I decided to post a story I wrote a few years back, on the grounds that it was vaguely biblical.

I warn you, it’s a long one.

Enjoy!

It was the year of our lord two thousand and five, and I was dining in the Savoy. This is not in itself, worthy of much distinction, after all I am much given to dining in general and in the Savoy in particular. Indeed it was a affectation of mine to dine there at least once a fortnight and in two thousand and five I must have done so several dozen times. Nor was my fellow diner of much distinction, I do indeed dine with Hubert Cunningham on many an occasion and have been steadily doing so for some years.

Of Mr Cunningham himself, what can be said? Well much, although it lessons not the enigma of the man. The Cunningham was a large, burly man of indeterminate age, one could place him anywhere between twenty five and forty five quite easily, indeed he once claimed to have partaken of the philosopher’s stone and to in fact be two thousand, five hundred and thirty three years old. And it is such claims that distinguish our dear Hubert from the everyday man, that and his curious affectation of never paying for anything. If a man could have only one aim in live, mine would be to get the esteemed Mr Cunningham to pick up the cheque.

At this particular juncture we were well into the main course, indeed I was preparing to broach the subject of payment, not to mention the three Guineas I was already owed by my companion, I had decided to do so early, lest he decide to slip away. “… my dear Hubert, it has been a most wonderful experience dining with you here today.”

“Has been?” Came the immediate response “I would vouch it has much yet to be, and to become.” His ruddy face fixed broke into a benevolent smile. “There is much ‘being’ left in the dining experience, do not yet confine it to having ‘been’”

“A point well made” I acquiesced, “but it is something pertinent to this experience that I wish to bring up”

“Pertinent?”

“Most pertinent”

“Ah, I see, well I thought that would be forthcoming,” He replied, somewhat deflated, “I had thought to bring it up myself in fact.”

I prepared myself for excuses, pleadings and designations, I was resolved, I would not pay for this meal, and there were still the three guineas to consider.

“It does after all,” continued the Cunningham, “Concern why I invited you here today”

My memory was somewhat hazy, due to imbibing some somewhat inferior champagne, but nonetheless it indicated that it was he, not I that was upon the receiving end of the invitation. I was about to raise that fact when he made onward ploughings.

“Tell me, old friend,” spake Hubert, leaning forward, in a low voice he continued, “why do you think we are here?”

A puzzling question indeed, I felt I needed some clarification. “Do you mean in a cerebral, spiritual, or philosophical sense?” I queried. “Or do you refer to why we are here, now, drinking inferior champagne?”

Cunningham’s great brow knotted. “In both senses admittedly, but let us concern ourselves with the former, as it has more… dramatic portent.”

I nodded thoughtfully, although this did not necessarily indicate a thoughtfulness on my part, for I often use it as a substitute for speech, when I had nothing substantial or witty to say.

“To whit,” continued he, “Religious matters”

This surprised me somewhat.

“You look somewhat surprised” said the Cunningham, a master of deduction as ever, “after all, I am not a religious man.”

I felt the need for a rebuttal. “You did once claim to be on first name terms with God”

“A trifling boast,” Hubert dismissed airily “doubtless I had imbibed too freely of the amber nectar at the time”

“It was ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning.”

“Almost certainly then. But it is of water rather than wine that I wish to talk to you of now”

This piqued my interest.

“My tale seems to pique your interest.” My companion unnervingly spotted “also my doing this seems to unnerve you”

“Very much so,” I replied, hiding my annoyance.

“There is no need to be annoyed,” said he, “The secret is knowing when to stop, you can’t keep a running gag going indefinitely” said he, concealing his amusement.

“You seem amused,” said I

“No am not,” he replied sharply, “And to my tale, it takes place in the most delightful little café in Stratford”

“What were you doing in Stratford?” I ventured.

“Why, watching Shakespeare dear boy, for that is all anyone ever does in Stratford”

“Dash and baulder” said I, “Surely someone must do something else, the residents perhaps.”

“Actors” said the Cunningham sagely. “Regardless, it is the café that concerns us.”

“What was it called?” I questioned.

“I see not how that matters,” Cunningham glowered.

“Neither do I, I was merely stuck for something to say”

“Then say nothing.” he said sternly. “That is the best practice, nod thoughtfully if you must, you have such a talent for it.”

I nodded. Thoughtfully.

“Better” came Hubert’s approving reply “The café was called the Menagerie, as it happens, the owners tried to find a hip, French word for café, not knowing, it seems, that the hip French word for café is… café.”

I nodded thoughtfully once more.

“Regardless, the afternoon threatened rain, so I took shelter there, and ordered a glass of their finest white wine, and dish of rainbow trout, as is my wont”

“Which you no doubt, did not pay for.”

“My dear friend, merely because I have been caught fiscally short once or thrice in your company does not mean that penniless”

“I have no doubt you have money;” I replied “you merely choose not to use it.”

“Returning to the subject at hand,” Hubert continued, hastily papering over the cracks of his financial irregularities, “I had ordered wine, as I have said, white of course.”

“Of course, only solicitors and the unemployed have red wine with fish.”

“But of course, and the wine arrived at my table, as did the now ever present basket of complementary bread”

More thoughtful noddings ensued.

“I was somewhat the worse for hunger, having sat through some hours of King Lear before hand, so I reached for the basket, and, as our uncultured cousins across the Atlantic are wont to say, began to ‘tuck in’”

I nodded, thoughtfully as ever, but with clearly degrading interest in the tale. Thankfully the Cunningham seemed not to notice.

“Indeed, so ravenous was my hunger, that I had consumed two whole rolls of bread before I sampled my wine”

“Fascinating.” said I.

“I believe I preferred the nodding,” came the reply, “even if your interest was clearly degrading”

The nodding resumed.

“Regardless, I sipped my wine, as any civilised person would, and then promptly ejected it from my mouth in a fashion which, though uncivilised, I am given to understand is the traditional method when you have been surprised mid beverage, so to speak.”

Another thoughtful nod conveyed my respect for such traditions.

“Of course I summoned the waiter, for it was not the wine I had ordered.”

“A substandard vintage?” I interjected.

“Nothing so simple.” replied he. “For it was not wine at all”

I nodded with thoughtful surprise.

“As I have said, I summoned the waiter, and challenged him most vocally.”

I suppressed sympathy for the waiter, the sight of the Cunningham waxing wroth is not one I would wish on any man.

“’Good sir,’ I said.” he said .“’One has heard of insalubrious establishments ‘watering down’ their beverages, but this, dear man take not only the biscuit of proverb; but the proverbial cup of tea, saucer and small fairy cake as well!’” The towering range diminished somewhat as the Cunningham ceased to quote directly. “He tried to assure me that they had sent the wine as ordered, but I insisted he taste it, after which he was forced to admit that there had been some mix up, and I had been served water instead.”

I nodded, thoughtfully sorrowful.

“While the minion scurried to fetch more wine, I sampled again of the bread rolls, consuming two more thereof.”

I went to nod again (thoughtfully of course), but the Cunningham had already continued.

“While it may not seem so, at this time, believe me, the number of rolls consumed will soon become important.” He assured me. “Regardless, the lackey returned, whereupon he stammered a cretinous apology, it seemed every bottle of wine in the place had gone off, although he hesitated before the ‘off’.”

“No doubt the staff had been imbibing”

“As thought I, at the time. The underling was sent forth, to bring a cup of tea, I distraught at the lack of alcohol and the continued absence of my fish, partook of the bread again.”

I nodded, conveying at once the mandatory thoughtfulness, a mournful sympathy for his ruined meal, and a faint ray of desperate hope for future improvements.

“Oh I do say!” Hubert exclaimed, “That was very good, could you do it again?”

“Probably not,” I grudgingly admitted. “Besides, I believe this gag has run its course.”

“Indeed,” the Cunningham smiled. “But to the tale, I had partaken of two bread rolls and was starting on my third as the tea arrived, as by glorious chance, did my fish.”

“A happy ending.” Said I “The best way to end such a tale, now if I might draw your attention to the matter of the bill…”

“The tale is not yet finished.” Glowered my companion. “As I admired my newly acquired meal I was minded of a strange thing, there were still four rolls of bread in my bowl.”

“A large bowl indeed,” I was forced to comment “For your had consumed no less than…”

“Six rolls” the Cunningham finished, and I held one still half eaten in my hand, however, this what gave me pause, my pause was given thusly; there was only space for five rolls in the bowl.”

At this Hubert sat back, satisfied, I ventured to comment.

“Presumably someone had refilled to bowl?”

“Most definitely not, however I looked around in the manner favoured of the paranoid schizophrenic nonetheless.” He asserted. “Assured that no-one was playing ‘silly buggers’ of the classical school I decided to experiment. I wolfed down all two more rolls, also finishing the one in my hand, and stared at the bowl; nothing. I must have stared for some three minutes and nothing was forthcoming, at which point a passer-by brushed my shoulder.” The Cunningham was becoming more intense, leaning in, describing his tale in hushed whispers “I turned in aggravation, only to be uncertain as to who the perpetrator was, I made do with a general scowl, as one does in such situations, I then turned back to the table and found there that were once more four rolls in my bowl!”

“Come now Hubert, surely someone was making fun of you, or you are making fun of me, it is uncertain on that score.”

“I assure you,” came the grave tones of the Cunningham, “I am deadly serious.” He continued “As I was seated not far from the waste disposal, I decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns and cross to it, upturning the offending bowl and emptying the contents therein. The job presently jobbed, I returned to my table, and sat the bowl down on the table, only to discover four more rolls within it!”

I attempted to comment, but my companion made ploughed onward forthwith.

“I was somewhat addled at this juncture, and thinking most unlike myself, indeed ‘Decorum be damned!’ thought I, and began to throw rolls directly into the bin from where I sat. Distraught as I was, I cared not a jot for the aghast stares of the other customers as I threw one roll, in two rolls, three rolls, four, five rolls!” At this the Cunningham paused, to gather breath “When I looked back,” he said gravely, “four rolls were present in my bowl. And that was not all.”

“Not all?” I said, aghast, for though this was an extraordinary tale, I had never seen my good friend Hubert as anything but jovial, this grave demeanour was most unlike him.

“Not all,” echoed the Cunningham “For my fish, previously fairly small, was now overhanging the plate upon two edges.”

“It had grown!” I exclaimed.

“Had grown, was growing and for all I know grows still!” came the veritable bellow of a reply, thumping the table for emphasis, the Cunningham raised eyebrows around the room. “Within seconds it was twice its previous size, then larger, the size of a freshwater carp, then the size of a pike, a swordfish, it was beginning to verge on dolphin territory, no doubt would be the size of a whale had I not intervened.”

“How?” I mouthed the words.

“How else does one accomplish anything in a restaurant? I summoned the waiter of course. The underling scurried forward nervously and I said to him” The Cunningham’s chest began to inflate, I feared another bellow.

“Please Hubert, contain yourself, would you have us thrown out of the Savoy?”

“Ah, no.” Hubert deflated somewhat “I would not want such a fate to befall any man.”

“Except perhaps,” I tried to amuse, “The underling?”

“The underling.” Hubert bristled, “’Take this foul spawn back the hell from whence it came!’ I told him ‘Begone with these abominations!’,” sneeringly the Cunningham impersonated the tone of his adversary “’You have some issue with the food?’ said he, somehow disregarding the creak of the table as under the growing bulk of the erstwhile trout. ‘I have issue!’ cried I ‘I have issue as should all that is good and right with these monstrosities, take them, burn them if you must, but for God’s sake destroy them!’, ‘They are undercooked?’ Said the minion, quizzically ‘No, just take them, take them!’ Wailed I.” The Cunningham finally relaxed after his torrent of invective “He summoned another waiter, and they carried the dishes away, he asked if I wanted something else, I demurred, the bread had quite filled me, indeed between the infinite bread, and the ever growing fish the whole restaurant could have been filled, were they prepared to eat such devilry.”

“Perhaps something of technological origin,” I mused “I have heard much said of this ‘GM food’ whatever it was, it was most definitely unnatural.”

“Natural, no.” Said my companion. “Nor man made, twas supernature, the occult, I was sure of it! And the next thing I saw more so.”

“There was more?” I inquired.

“Oh indeed there was more,” the Cunningham growled, for shortly after I had sent the accursed meal back to the depths of hell, I was attempting to leave the café far behind, when I spied a small dog, running wild along the roadside.”

“Indeed?” said I, bemused as to how this fitted in.

“Indeed, I was about to cross the road to leave the place when the dog ran out beside me, and, dogs being as dogs are, it did not obey the green cross code.”

I nodded sagely.

“I thought you weren’t doing that anymore?”

“That was nodding thoughtfully, this is nodding sagely” I informed my companion.

“Ah,” he realised, “My apologies.”

“Think nothing of it” I demurred. “An easy mistake.”

“Indeed. To the dog…” said he.

“To the dog!” said I, raising my glass.

“What are you doing?” scowled the Cunningham.

“I thought you were proposing a toast.” I ruefully admitted.

“I was not, am not, and never will propose a toast to that accursed dog!” He glowered, “Now pray, interrupt my tale no further”

“May I interrupt once more, on the subject of money?”

“No you may not, fiscal matters can be dealt with after the tale is told.”

“Very well,” said I, “I will hold you to that.”

“To the dog,” said he glaring, lest I attempt to toast again. “It darted out excitedly into the street, as dogs are wont to do, panting excitedly and wagging its tale to and fro, yapping and bouncing around, it was a sight to warm the heart of any dog lover.”

“At least until it was hit by a car.” I interrupted.

“How did you know that?” The great brow wrinkled.

“My dear Hubert,” I reassured, “It was positively obvious where you were going with that, how very dull of you to do so, especially when for one who prides himself on his unpredictability, as you do.”

“Then predict away,” said he, “Since you will clearly have seen this all coming, you will not be surprised to hear that the dog was dead.”

“Indeed, A dead dog is such a mournful sight, I am sorry you had to witness it.”

“Indeed, a terrible sight it was, panting excitedly and wagging its tale to and fro, yapping and bouncing around…”

“I feel I have missed something there…”

“Indeed,” Said the Cunningham, “The dog was dead, mark me on that, but it got to it’s feet and carried on, walking around is if it were alive!”

“Are you entirely certain on that front? It may merely have been injured.”

“It’s head was several yards from it’s body, my good man, although, as previously stated, it panted still.”

“A most unusual turn of events,” I understated.

“Indeed,” said Hubert as he mopped his great brow, “And the dog did advance toward me, in a most unthreatening manner.”

“Did you say unthreatening?”

“Oh yes, wagging it’s tail and bounding excitedly, it clearly wanted only to be friendly. It was however headless.” Hubert swallowed fearfully at the memory “I retreated to the café”

“An understandable manoeuvre” said I.

“Indeed, as I retreat the rain, which had threatened all afternoon, began.”

“I would have assumed you were past being concerned about the weather” I interrupted tentatively.

“Indeed, I welcomed something as prosaic as rain, but rain alone it was not, the winds picked up, lightning struck, thunder boomed, and a storm was there, where seconds ago was an ordinary day.”

“I have read of odd weather lately,” I admitted, “Global warming is often said to be involved.”

“Kindly desist from you explanations, I know the cause of these events, and I will relate them to you when ready.” bristled the Cunningham.

“The storm blasted, “What manner of devilry is this?” I muttered to myself. “ Only to hear the words ‘You like not the storm?’”.

“From who?” I queried.

“ As I wondered. I espied a friendly looking fellow nearby, he was sitting at a table a little distance away, watching me with a look of faint amusement on his face, I was bewildered as to how I had not noticed him before, but now I know that it is because he choose to reveal himself to me.”

I listened on.

“’Hello Hubert’ he spoke. ‘How are you?’, ‘Do I know you?’ I replied, ‘Oh yes’ said he.”

“Dashed odd,” said I.

“’Some very strange things have happened to me today’, I admitted. ‘I know’, said he. ‘but at least we can do without the storm.’ At which point he stood up and raised his hands to the clouds.”

“Odd behaviour” I interjected.

“Not so add as to what happened next.” The Cunningham continued. “For the clouds parted and the storm abated, no rain nor thunder, no lightning to be seen, just a clear blue sky, where once there had been storms, and where minutes before it had been overcast.”

“You located the sorcerer!” I exclaimed, caught up in the tale. “What manner of devil was he?”

“Not devil,” said he “Something different and more.” He looked downward for a second, “I turned to study my companion properly for the first time, he was an average man of average height, medium brown hair, skin that was neither very pale nor very dark, not a distinguishing feature upon his entire face.”

I listened, spellbound.

“’Are you responsible for those?’ demanded I, face no doubt purple with rage.” The Cunningham paused briefly, to collect his thoughts, a master of suspense as ever. “I must confess that I do not know how I knew for certain he was responsible for it all,” He professed “The knowledge was simply part of me, and I could no more deny it that I can deny my very being.” He paused again, “Where was I?”

“Purple with rage,” I said breathlessly.

“ Ah yes, ‘Are you responsible for those?’ I demanded, ‘But of course I am, Hubert’ said the fellow ‘And how do you know my name fiend?’ I continued, irate. ‘How could I not?’ Said he, ‘But fiend I am not, I come from very different stock.’ ‘Then return there!’ I bellowed, raising my fist to strike my tormentor”

At which point he stopped and took a sip from his champagne. His spell momentarily broken, I looked to mine, and sipped, my throat suddenly dry, I looked at my dinner, far to cold to eat, I had been quite entranced by the tale.

“I made to strike him, and then I did not.” The Cunningham spoke in hushed tones. “For there was light around him, around and about, and it came from him, and it flocked to him, and he was the light.” He paused again. “I dropped to my knees at his radiance. ‘Do you know who I am Hubert?’ Spake the light, and I nodded. ‘I am he who has come before and will come again.’ It said ‘And soon shall I come again, and you shall prophesise my coming’” Hubert paused again, Somehow I remembered to breathe. “A book appeared before me” he continued, “I reached into my pocket and put on my reading glasses, to see it better, and the man of light touched me, and suddenly I needed them no more. ‘You will tell of my coming, and you will know of it’ the man of light said, and suddenly I knew he would come, I knew the when and the how, and the why. ‘And you will write it, for it must be written, and you shall tell all the creatures of the world what is to come’”

Hubert stopped, and gathered himself once more, I realised to cause of my dry mouth, it had been hanging open for some time now.

“And then he was gone, and there was I, and the book, and a perfectly ordinary café.” He said, “I looked at the book, I saw the title, and the blank pages within, and I knew my duty.”

”What…” I croaked. “What was the name of the book?”

The Cunningham smiled with the benevolence of saints. “’The Last Testament.’”

My mouth hung open evermore, I could not bring myself to say another word, I was struck dumb, entranced by his tale.

“And now I see you see entranced by my tale” surmised the Cunningham, “And now I will take my leave, for there is much to do, before the dawning of a new day.”

After he had left I sat there still, amazed at what he had told me, that that most sceptical of men, that playful hedonist, Mr Hubert Cunningham had been contacted by, what exactly? That he was on a holy mission, it beggared belief, yet belief itself seemed beggared in face of his tale. A voice broke the spell.

“Sir?”

I looked up, it was Andre, the head waiter.

“I am sorry Andre, I have just head a most singular tale, which shred of sense tells me must be wrong, but every fibre of my being deems true.”

Andre though for a few seconds.

“I always think it wise, sir, with such tales, to take the reputation of the individual telling it under consideration.”

“That’s hardly fair Andre.” Said I. “I could hardly bring myself to base my entire perception of truth upon something as changeable as reputation.”

“I suppose not, sir” replied Andre “Which is why Mr Cunningham has left you to pick up the cheque.”

Tom

Week eight theme

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 11:35:26 +0100

Exodus 20:26

-Matthew

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 16:20:00 +0100

-Matthew

So this is something I drew a while back. (It’s based on...

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 00:29:54 +0100

So this is something I drew a while back. (It’s based on Simon, and the usual in-jokes. Please don’t take offence!).

Lise x

Progress Report

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 20:37:00 +0100

Bi-Millennial progress report on universe 3B, subsection zeta 352, designated ‘Earth’.

Dear God,

Subsection zeta three five seven has largely been quiet for the last five hundred years, although there has recently been some wear and tear on the local gas giant, incident reports put this down to material fatigue, replacement parts are on order.

The main focus of zeta three five is the planet designated ‘Earth’ by the local population, an intelligent life form called ‘humanity’. While the rest of the sector is proceeding along stable lines ‘Earth’ represents a volatile and changeable environment that requires special consideration.

You were informed in the previous reports of humanity’s rapid progress with mechanisms and industrial technology, this has exceeded all expectations, they have rapidly advanced to electronic mechanised status and have integrated technology into every aspect of their lives.

There is no unified leadership in place on Earth, it is divided into nation states (see appendix 3b) although international diplomacy has seen a marked increase since our last report there is currently no evidence of a leader figure with the necessary charisma to achieve unified government (EDIT - Recent developments cast doubt on this, request background check on subject ‘Obama’ for possible divine origins) The development of a shared information sphere, or ‘internet’ caused us some concern, but was rapidly derailed by an abundance of pornographic material, we suspect interference from the demonic branch.

Certain aggressive tendencies in the population have caused us some concern, the development of apocalyptic technology occurred far in advance of our schedule, thus far the population has been reluctant to use it, which has confused our analysis, given their liberal use of less cataclysmic armaments. I have requested several times for emergency authority to override the ‘free will’ protocol in this instance, and have been rebuffed each time, I must once again protest this judgement.

Ramifications are still being felt from the discovery of agent ‘Jesus’ as detailed four reports prior, I seriously suggest amending our observation procedures for future developing civilisations. These consequences are lasting.

The most worrying development is that the species seems to display a reluctance to stay in it’s designated zone, recently it has attempted to expand to it’s neighbouring satellite, though no action was taken at the time some sort of border patrol might be in order.

I have upgraded Earth’s priority to Sanguine Red, I feel careful attention will be required to safeguard her through the next Bi-Millennial unit.
Yours sincerely,

Gabriel.

Volcano

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 16:37:00 +0100

Things start well.

I’d look at the Alps and I’d try and make them a bit more triangular, y’know, like how you’d draw a mountain is you were 7 years old. All peaks would be snow capped.

The grass would be greener and the sky would be bluer.

Nations would suddenly start finding gold seams in the most unusual places. Poor countries reliant on labour would suddenly have more internal wealth, and more to export.

The armies of the world would be puzzled to find that every warhead they fire is a dud.

Cold fusion is suddenly discovered, it was a lot easier than previously thought. The scientific community wonders why we’d had so much trouble with it in the first place.

The poles begin to cool, the arctic refreezes. Water levels descend.

Observatory crews look up one evening to find that the constellations now actually look like the objects they supposedly represent. Orion hunts a rabbit across the sky.

All is well. Better, perhaps, than it has ever been.

A thousand years pass.

Triangular mountains aren’t appealing any more. They’re boring and predictable. Once again the weather begins to take its toll, and mountains begin to reform, decade by decade, becoming the scraggy hunks of rock they once were.

But the process is too slow. Like watching paint dry. Something else is needed.

Nearby residents begin to hear a rumbling deep beneath the earth. They notice smoke coming from a nearby peak. The village is evacuated. A day later the top of the mountain explodes. Glowing Magma flows thickly down the mountainside. The green fields are turned white with ash.

The village is destroyed but it will be rebuilt.

There’s a Monsoon in the Kalahari.

There is an earthquake in Manchester. Hardly anyone dies.

The next day an army tests a new weapon. They are shocked to see it work. The blaze the explosion ignites a forest. The smoke billows from its embers, the same dull red as the fumes above a distant rumbling volcano, ready to erupt again.

-Thom

“If I were a superhero, I might never realize it”...

Sun, 19 Jul 2009 00:59:45 +0100

“If I were a superhero, I might never realize it” (I’ll work on the illegibility)

If I were a superhero...

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 01:39:58 +0100

I wouldn’t be alone.
I’d have a whole team, because after all, it’s no fun on your own!

Lise x

Ps. Sorry for the late post, told Matthew i’d post after him, to keep in order and all!

Another History Lesson

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 01:39:00 +0100

Hello, today I’d like to give you a brief account of cult super hero Evolution Boy (later Evolution Man).

The first appearance of this character was in the wartime propaganda series of “Violence Comics”. These comics were largely narratively simplistic affairs, delivering tales of moral superiority and fisticuffs to the troops. Most stories would involve Nazi scientists creating a new weapon, which Evolution Boy (perhaps with one of his Super Buddies) would destroy with contemptuous ease.

Violence Comics was wound down after the war, and the character was largely forgotten as the public at large began to turn away from super hero comics. He would be brought back in 1963 following a new wave of interest in the genre following the introduction of the Comics Code Authority. Sales of The Extraordinary Evolution Boy were never particularly high, but were enough to sustain the title as an ongoing series for a number of years.

During the 1970s a new creative team took over the production of the Evolution Boy ongoing. This marked a dramatic shift away from the title’s short and fantastical story lines towards a more science fiction tone, as well as working the character into the regular continuity of their other super hero lines. Despite this shift, sales of the title dropped steadily and the comic was cancelled. The final issue was number 160 and featured the death of Evolution Boy at the hands of nightmarish alien invanders as part of a large company wide crossover event.

In 1987 the character was dragged from relative obscurity when celebrated creative team Darren Moore and Alvin Davis released an extremely popular limited series of the renamed Evolution Man. The series introduced an older Evolution Boy and paid particular attention to the impact of being super powered on his alter ego Matthew Ward and family. Whilst the ending is left ambiguous, it is generally accepted that Evolution Man is killed again.

-Matthew (HUGE thanks to Lisa for the colouring on this)

The Adventures of Hero Man and Admin Boy!

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 21:41:40 +0100

Tom here.

The idea I had for today was a visual one, so I decided to do a comic. Unfortunately I can’t draw like the others, so I did stickmen. Bad stickmen. To those who don’t think there’s such a thing as bad stickmen, you have been warned.

If I were a Superhero ... I'd kick Alex Mercer's ass (with a spade)

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 21:23:00 +0100

I’ve been playing Prototype recently. If you know about that game this’ll make a lot more sense. If not, there’s lots of explosions and something exciting happens with a spade that I won’t spoil for you.

-Thom

This Week's Theme

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 11:47:51 +0100

The theme for this week will be: “If I were a superhero…”

Also happy travelling to Simon, who’s of to China for a month. Simon’s going to try his best to fight the Great Firewall of China to bring us his Monday posts, if he can’t then we’ll probably maybe fill in for him.

-Thom

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 12:26:06 +0100

Really not happy with this, funnily enough. Didn’t give it the time it deserved and had to...

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 01:48:03 +0100

Really not happy with this, funnily enough. Didn’t give it the time it deserved and had to cut loads (really, really loads) of content because of time constraints (and I was still late!)

-Matthew

So I only really had one idea this week. It is pants. Also, I...

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 08:12:00 +0100

So I only really had one idea this week.
It is pants.

Also, I suck at writing “R” backwards obvs!

Lise x

You Look Like Ants From Up Here

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 18:02:00 +0100

Hello, I’m Tom, we’ve probably met.

If you’ve met me, you’ve probably noticed I’m very tall, extremely so. In fact it tend to dominate conversation when I first meet people, so I’ve decided to provide a FAQ. Now next time someone asks me I can just give them the URL:

Q: How tall are you?

A: Six feet five inches, or one hundred ninety eight centimetres.

Q: How did you get to be so tall?

A: “I ate my greens.”

I get this one a lot, I can only imagine it’s people speaking without really thinking it through, because there isn’t really any way I can explain it. At least not without complex genetic analysis. So I usually tell them (especially if they’re young children) that I ae my greens. Or drank a lot of milk, it’s simpler that way.

Q: Are you parents tall?

A: Not really, no, my dad is just under six foot, my mom is fairly tall for a woman, but my ister is tall.

Q: Were you always this tall?

I was always very tall for my age, although I went through spurts and lulls the same as everyone else. When I was younger I was a lot skinnier though, so I was beanpole tall, rather than rugby player tall like I am now.

Q: What’s it like being so tall?

This is a fairly open question, but I get asked it a lot. Seeing as I don’t really have a frame of reference I don’t really know how to respond, but for now I’ll just give you a few insights.

1: Low hanging lights are to be feared and respected.

2: Buying clothes is more about finding ones that fit than ones you like.

3: There are a number of sports you are immediatly considered an asset when playing (Rugby, Basketball, American Football, Real Football)

4: But you’re only marginally more likely to be good than anyone else.

5: You sense of balance will suck (high centre of gravity).

6: Not all doors are built with you in mind.

7: Houses with high ceilings are to be cherished.

8: Your weight will be comparable with shorter people who are overwweight or even obese. Try not to worry about it.

9: You will frequently be asked to get things off high shelves or change light bulbs by small people. Consider turning the tables by asking them to do anything that involves reaching into tight spaces (changing wires behind the TV, etc)

10: Everyone will remember you, even if they’ve only met you once or twice.

That’s all I can think of right away, but if you have any more feel free to ask them in the comments and I’ll answer as best I can.

Nightmares

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 19:46:19 +0100

Parents say many things to their children. Often it’s for their own good, other times it’s just to terrify the little blighters. Why? Probably just for the lulz. There’s a few gathered below.

Always eat your greens, they say. Or bad things will happen.

The television will make your eyes go square.

Masturbation will make you go blind.

Be good, Santa won’t come.

Don’t pull faces, when the wind changes you will be forever stuck.

If you’re not quiet the bogeyman will get you.

Laugh before breakfast and it will end in tears before dinner.

She that pricks bread with fork or knife will never be a happy maid or wife.

Stepping on ants brings rain.

The white bird foretells death.

-Thom

The Simplest Things (three short short stories)

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 02:06:00 +0100

Always Remember To Eat Your Greens

My mum always tried to make sure that I ate my greens, and so naturally, I hated eating my greens. I don’t think it was because of the taste, or because they were horrible and difficult to chew (I was, and still remain, a fan of leeks), but because my parents made a big point about making sure that I ate my greens. It became a game between us, with her and a younger version of me trying to outwit the other over the consumption of vegetables (that, looking back, were probably good for me anyway). I honestly think that if my parents actively encoraged me to play videogames or watch television, I wouldn’t gone completly against them and refused to (or perhaps I would realise that they were trying to double bluff me). Once I drew all over some chocolate with a green felt tip pen and insisted that the chocolate were my greens for that day, and then proceeded to stuff my face, claming that I had my ration of greens for that day. She was pretty annoyed.

Always Remember To Talk To Strangers

There have been many, many times when I regret not talking to strangers (as opposed to the other way around). I’ve made several friends by simply striking up conversation in the most random of places - on the train, at a gig, or while shooting zombies in the face in a videogame with complete strangers. However, there are also times when opportunities present themselves and I stay silent, either due to shyness, nervousness or tiredness. On the way back from visiting some friends this weekend, I proceeded to do what I always did on long train journeys - break out my iPod and listen to my current favourite album. There was a girl sitting opposite, and we exchanged shy smiles before I thought, fuck it, let’s try strking up a conversation. I turned off my iPod, and then stared out of the window for a while. By the time I looked back, she had taken out her own iPod and was listening to it intently. Fuck.

Always Remember To Put Yourself First

I had a conversation with a guy well into his sixties on Skype who I used to podcast with (about videogames, who would’ve guessed) a couple of weeks ago. He lamented to me that he still behaves in ways to please his strict father, even though his father passed away several years ago. He recounts to me several times when choices he made were not the choices that he had wanted to make, but rather the ones that would please his father the most. I related. Since I grew up with relatively strict parents, I grew up trying to please my parents, sometimes to the extent that I would do things which I would otherwise not have done (sometimes I’m glad that I did, other times not so much). However recently my dad has become incredibly liberal (partly due to the death of my mother), essentially allowing my younger brother to do what he liked (a freedom I would’ve relished, but probably ultimately wasted). Nowadays he makes a point that when I tell him of my accomplishments, although he’s happy for me, my accomplishments are my own and I shouldn’t do things for him. Originally I was really happy for the independence, but more recently I have been feeling lost, as without my father’s direct instructions, my life has begun to lose direction.

I guess I should always remember to eat my greens, because otherwise I’ll never know the taste of pudding.

- Simon x