Call Now, Supplies Are Limited!

Tired of dull kitchen knives that cant cut a simple tomato? Tired of limp, lifeless hair? Tired of being mocked by small children because of the growth on your head?

Then you need: the Cutterator! The worlds first gas-powered kitchen knife! Simply fill it with gas, pull the included starting cord, and whammo! Your days of being dull, uninteresting and ignored by the opposite sex are over!

The Cutterator cuts everything! It cuts tomatoes, potatoes, and actual toes! It cuts through aluminum cans, the counter beneath, through the floor and into the ground! Use it to Julienne fries, clean up after the dog, and prevent global warming!

And, if you act now, well throw in not one, not two, but fifty-seven Pocket Thingies! We dont know what they actually do, but we theyre made out of indestructible alutitanichromium, which is the hardest made-up metal in the whole universe!

We will also throw in a handy-dandy Nuculator, the only nuclear-powered pocket calculator in the world! It adds, divides, and even subtracts! Plus it glows in the dark, making it perfect for lighting your way, signaling passing aircraft, and causing all your hair to fall out!

So thats the Cutterator, fifty-seven Pocket-Thingies, and the Nuculator! But wait! If you call within the next twenty-two years, we will also throw in a Pink Lunchbox! Its square! Its pink! It can HOLD YOUR LUNCH! It even comes with a matching pink strap!

Call now, supplies are limited!

This offer not valid in Canada or any state containing vowels. All product warranties void if product is touched by human hands. Do not taunt the Nuculator. Were serious.

Cheers,
-Jason

The Good, the Bad, and the Mortimer

There is a spider that lives in my bedroom. He is mostly found on the wall behind my computer. I have decided, for no readily apparent reason, to name him Mortimer (Mort is okay, but not Morty. He does not look like a Morty).

Mortimer is a rather quiet fellow. I rarely see him move, but when I come home, he is generally in a different spot (he favors the corner and directly above the calendar). I can therefore only assume that he is some sort of spider hero and that when I am gone, he goes off to have exciting, spider-related adventures.

I am rather pleased by this, as it means that at least someone in my apartment has a life.

You may be dubious about my claims that Mortimer is a spider hero, yet I have proof. Mortimer once intimidated my cat. Now, my cat is small, by cat standards, but at 6-odd pounds, she is a behemoth compared to Mortimer.

One day, I noticed my cat sniffing at the wall near the door. I looked over and found her nose to carapace with Mortimer. They eyed each other in a Sergione Leon-esque fashion for a moment and then my cat dashed under the bed.

I am not kidding.

I can only assume that Mortimer growled some sort of threat and that, combined with the glare of his eight steely eyes, was enough to send my cat fleeing in terror.

Mortimer is not here right now. I am forced to assume that he is off in some exotic locale, rescuing hot spider girls and beating the snot out of evil insects.

Well, at least one of us is having fun.

Cheers,
-Jason

Klingon Kindergarten

Silence! Roared Miss KTarth. Silence! Or I will crush your skulls and feast on your brains!

The kindergarten class quieted down, turning obediently to face their teacher.

I will now call roll. Answer quickly! BGor!

Here!

Blort!

Here!

Tiffany!

Here!

Shoktor! There was no response. Shoktor! Answer me!

I think hes dead.

What?

He was playing on the slide with a betleH. He sorta . . . fell . . . on it.

Then he was weak and deserved to die! Bah! I have no patience for calling roll! Miss KTarth threw the clip board over her shoulder. It is time for arts and crafts! Get to you desks. NOW!

The children scrambled to their feet and dashed to their seats, leaping over the various spikes and knives that were scattered around the classroom. Miss KTarth fetched a large box from the storeroom and began passing out materials.

Now, using paper and glue, you will construct a macaroni duck. You will take this home and give it to your parents, who will honor you by taping it to the refrigerator.

One boy raised his hand.

What, Zargath? Do you need to use the little warriors room again?

Whats a duck?

An Earth creature. It lives on the water and tears apart its prey with razor sharp talons. Now get to work!

The children bent industriously over their papers, carefully gluing the macaronis in place as their teacher walked among them, offering encouragement.

Blort! Do not eat the glue yet! Save it for lunch!

Varktar! Your duck is weak! Make it fiercer or you will bring shame to your family!

Miss KTarth paused by one desk, where the boys paper was blank. Thort! You were ordered to create a macaroni duck! Why did you disobey a direct order!?

Because a great Klingon warrior killed the duck with his bare hands and then ate it!

Miss Ktarth smiled. You will go far, young Thort!

There was a sudden, horrible screeching.

Recess! Bellowed Miss Ktarth. I expect to see fighting! Kahless help you if there is no fighting!

As the children ran outside, Miss Ktarth straightened up the classroom. Additional knives were strewn about and she made sure the painsticks were charged for a game of Duck, Duck, Aaaargh later on. She looked up at a particularly loud yell and saw several kids run by the window waving betleHs. She smiled and with a shake of her head, continued cleaning.

Cheers,
-Jason

Holiday schedule woes.

As I’ve mentioned before, our coloring is now being done by the good folks at Lamplighter Studios Inc. This is a dandy relationship, but I totally failed to account for a holiday difference in our schedules, which has put us back a week on coloring. As a result of this, pages 43 and 44 will be posted next week. All will soon be well again, as I am now armed with both their and my holiday schedule, and all is again right with the world. At least it will be right again starting next week, when we return to our normal Tuesday Thursday schedule.
- Leigh

Hello, Dave

So, there I was. It was 5:30 am and I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why computer are always female. No, really, I was.

Insomnia is a harsh mistress.

Im not referring to the computer I use to write my blogs (Testiculus the Destroyer), but to computers in sci-fi shows. Think about it. All the computers in Star Trek, at least for the Federation (dunno about the Klingons). Cortanna, from Halo. Shodan, from System Shock. Even the cars in James Bond. Computers just seem to have female voices (and oddly enough, British accents). Pretty much if a computer talks or has a holographic image, it is female.

Why is that?

Computers started out male. HAL9000, the granddaddy of talking computers, had a male persona. KITT was also male, but was also a car, which somehow makes sense (I have no idea why). But somehow along the way, computers became girls.

Experts in psychology and sociology could probably come up with some very interesting and fascinating reasons why this may be so. I would even be willing to bet that a couple of thesis (thesises? thesi?) have been written on this very subject.

However, I think the answer is far simpler. Sci-Fi geeks, myself included, just want to talk to a girl.

Cheers,
-Jason

Zombies vs. Robots

So, I had a thought the other day: who would win in a fight between a zombie and a robot?

I am talking about your average, run-of-the-mill zombie, ie, your classic, slow, brain-obsessed ones and your average early 80s robot, who is also quite slow and bent of destroying all humans (think Cylons from the original Batllestar Galactica).

They are, upon comparison, weirdly similar:

Zombie
Slow
Really Stupid
Strong
Smells Bad
Nigh Unstoppable
Craves Brains

Robot
Slow
Kinda Stupid
Probably Stronger
Smells Minty
Also Nigh Unstoppable
Programmed to Destroy All Humans

The question is, if you put one of each room, who would emerge victorious? Actually, both of them would just stand there. The zombie craves brains, which the robot does not have, while the robot, which is programmed to kill all humans, would not target the zombie, as its already dead.

However, if you stuffed a brain into the robots chest cavity and then programmed it to attack any human-like thing that moved, you would then have a fight on your hands.

I would have to put my money on the robot, no matter how much I would want to support an Undead American. Frankly, while the zombie would eventually tear open the robot, the robot would probably first either immobilize the zombie by breaking its limbs or get a lucky shot to the zombies head and take him out completely.

Of course, if such an experiment were tried, the zombie and robot would end up working together to destroy humanity. Worse, they could merge and become a zombot (rombie just does not sound right).

Anyhow, $50 on the robot.

Cheers,
-Jason

Booby Traps

We all know the story. The intrepid adventurer, be he archeologist, knight, or commoner-who-is-really-the-son-of-the-king, is creeping along the passageway of the ancient and fearsome Really, Really Evil Dungeon, a place that has been lost for a thousand years. Alongside of him is his trusty comic relief, who is there to make him look good (or at least competent).

Just as the comic-relief is about to step forward, the adventurer holds out a hand.

Wait, he says. There may be booby traps.

The adventurer then throws a stick or rock or marmoset right where the comic relief was about to step. There is a thwap (or possible a thwip) and an arrow zings across the passage, right where the comic-relief would have been.

A quip is made and they continue on, to rescue the spunky princess with large breasts.

Here is the thing: how the hell does that trap work? Think about it. Adventurers are continually running across long deserted tombs, dungeons, and strip malls and encountering traps that have been sitting there for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and they still work. My last watch, comparatively a marvel of technology, ceased functioning after a mere 8-years.

Wood rots. Metal rusts. Even stone will crack or become overgrown. Even if someone is tending these things on a regular basis, the failure rate would have to be high.

Obviously, it is just a movie or book, but I am always amused by this. Ancient technology, for no readily apparent reason, always works.

Someday, I want to see this:

The hero and his sidekick are moving along the deserted dungeon corridor. The sidekick stumbles and grabs a rock to steady himself, which activates an unseen trap.

There is the horrible screeching of metal scraping against metal and iron spikes appear from the holes in the ceiling. Once, they would have shot from the holes with amazing speed, impaling anything below them, but now most of them are rusted into place. Only one lone spike descends, but agonizingly slowly. The hero looks up and calmly takes one step to the right. The spike continues to descend, but there is a sudden PING and then it stops.

Huh, says the hero, before continuing on.

Cheers,
-Jason