 |
| naseandabel-shortformat#6-page01 (written and illustrated by Gareth Monger) |
Tuesday, 20 October 2015
Nase & Abel - Transportation Safety Board of Canada: Air
Random code results in predictable confusion. Luckily, Abel is on hand to force sense out of the situation.
Monday, 12 October 2015
Poetry Hallway - Harvest Festival
 |
| Wiccan harvest queen. (Andy Brain) |
Islington harvest?
Premature mortality.
Every breath you take.
They get everywhere.
Soot soup ferments in the lungs.
Great work, this. Medals?
Cold now on a slab.
Malignant neoplasm.
Airway sabotage.
Diesel: Death's plan B.
"Make something better" ad spot -
Too good to be true.
Particulate trap.
Pulmonary pinpricking.
Pomp. Promises. Phlegm.
Culpable smooth suits.
Statistics swallowed, suppressed.
Countless needless deaths.
Years that should have been;
Lifetimes just miles on the clock.
Empty still the dock.
One in October by Archibald Oulipo
1
Soft mist and
propagation;
Other God-given goods too.
He created the earth, yet
he will destroy
the wine and
lotus-thatched women's teams;
Apple retorts, doubtless mossed
Summer fruits, ornamental
Oyster
fat and forecast oil.
Organization of tools;
Other promises installed.
Flowers for Maya; the day
may
not be able to stop
a summer full and hanging.
2
Sometimes, this
feeling is right for you?
Sometimes, look
elsewhere, other time-zones.
Results obtained are of negligence
to the hair-soft spiritual
life;
Sierra ship stats, sure, or have a nap.
Groom-calm the
prices your way; they say
Interest no more holds the whole country;
Always clean,
always - burn the excess,
particularly the upsetting;
Patients' destination has cedar:
A missed call will remain ever missed.
3
It started in the
spring? In fact, what?
Because music - narrow corridor,
Wide orange vista of light - marries
Wide orange vista of light - marries
for him though, dead flowers, rats, horseflies,
The game went
slightly pink, ragged, dry.
Infected mosquitoes' pain and song -
Willow Stream, live and dead, air and light,
New Year installation already?
The Hajj makes even Frasier dance;
Now craft regret with red
breast pulsing;
Twitter and soft collected volumes.
Just Rewards for Hard Workers by Limpit Smike
Laying back or sprawling forward,
Upon my precious country sword,
The hard, bold land I've seen betimes,
On photos whilst in richer climes.
Those less fortunate than myself,
Those without the gifts of verse.
They surely have it so much worse.
They scratch a living from the land.
Britons, can we not understand?
What of the farmer, does he care?
Of his riches does he share?
No. No. No.
Daft and wrong, daft and wrong.
Force those workers to sell their bodies?
Sell them like whores for mere pennies?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Proud and strong, proud and strong.
If I could employ them all I would.
I would shelter them inside my hood.
I would scrub their nails to cleanse from dirt.
I would mop their brows to ease their hurt.
Own the land, own the man.
Cherish the land, cherish the man.
It is my duty to share in my good fortune,
So many forthright thoughts I must importune,
Must press and push to enter into their minds,
And make sure nothing bad is left in the behinds.
How to Do a Harvest by Bobby Robert
Sneak into the farmer's field,
Drop your drawers and drop your yield,
Wait til the crime is revealed,
Send a selfie shitty smirk.
Sunday, 11 October 2015
Monday, 28 September 2015
The Beware! Encyclopaedia of International Celebrity - Sepp Blatter
Sepp Blatter (Gold Trinket Chief)
 |
| Shifty Blatter. |
Born plain Joe Vipstick (March 10, 1936) in the University of Lausanne, he graduated with a diploma in dramaturgy and made useful contacts in law enforcement industries. The young Joe developed an unquenchable love for the manly sport of football. He loved the kicking, the heading, and the handling, but yet he had a hard vision: a vision of higher revenue, extended layers of management, increased corporate sponsorship, agency fees, and a sprinkling of old-man glamour. Indistinguishable from any other girl between about 1948-1971, in 1972 Joe cut off his pigtails and indulged this taste for power play. He joined the Swiss Journalist Association of Sports, the International Olympic Committee, the Freemasons, the Knights Templar, and finally took the FIFA presidency after undermining the previous leader. Mark down August 8, 1998 in your diaries; tear it out and throw it away. Blatter's expertise in satellite communication, global engagement, and silky-smooth backhanders, ensured the continued success of this bloated charabanc. Blatter had realised that the way to engage the next generation was through money. He was the first to notice untapped financial markets in South-East Asia and Africa, where business leaders and dictators were keen to exchange money for favours and attention-diverting sporting spectacle. Blatter split into two and "Sepp" maintained the public face, while "Joseph" brokered deals in private jets and late-night casinos. He succeeded in breaking in virgin territories with the powerful thrust of commerce, insider knowledge and the symbolically bloated "freedom glass". South Africa, Brazil, Russia and Qatar all indulged, at the same time undermining trust, public interest and employment conditions for ancillary and construction workers.
 |
| Shagged Blatter. |
FIFA In The New World
"Style and panache is very important to bring the great football into Asia and (stable parts of) Africa. Athletes who have mental discipline can become educated types. Lavish life is to the betterment of law, and, ha, ha, Sepp has your best principles in mind. The Fates all agree that smart communication modulates reality and adjusts your heart. With this living theatre, you can enjoy having fun. Who doesn't enjoy having fun? But then it comes time to comply." This confused the English, who pointedly do not enjoy having fun, and only comply under restraint in a darkened room once an hourly fee has been handed over. |
| Stressed Blatter. |
In response to criticism that football exploited talented children before leaving them on the scrap heap, drunk and confused, Blatter arranged for 41-year-old Africans to sign up again as youth players. "A job for life". Who can argue? But football is backwards, and it was pointed out that 41-year-old "youths" would prevent 17-year-old youths from getting a game, as well as being awfully confusing, especially once they reach 65 and go round for a third time.
 |
| Zip Blatter. |
FIFA In The Real World
Nowadays, Blatter has brought a long-needed edge to the round game of football by crossing it with the successful detective genre. Actors like Jack Warner (Dixon Of Dock Green) have been brought in for star cameos, with Jeffrey Webb of the Caymans giving a island-sized performance: "Prison again? No you Polack! Today we are going to heaven". Well-acted corruption trials in the United States (late for the party again) allow Blatter to perform his party trick as pantomime villain. "FIFA has responsibility for not only Christmas, but also Easter. You understand? Don't tug too hard at the golden tablecloth, or the golden eggs will be broken on the floor" (these being the Mitre Delta Golden Eggs, not available at Sports Direct). |
| Murdoch Blatter (mutation). |
 |
| Happy Blatter. |
Blatter has been studied hard. Vladimir Putin is an influential contamination. There is talk of relocating FIFA to St Petersburg. "Previously I used to recommend a more modern image, but this is football. Requirements are simply profit, international duty, and credulous fans." Putin called for US airlines to bankroll FIFA's education unit, if they suddenly loved football so much. Meanwhile, at the old FIFA HQ in Zurich, comic singer Leee John (from Imagination) was arrested for publishing blasphemous satirical cartoons on fake banknotes. In defence, he sang it was "just an allusion".
 |
| Angelic Blatter. |
Recommended listening: FIFA Broadside by Keshco
Entry text: Adrian Darvell
Editor-in-Chief: Winston Obogu
Corrections, omissions, questions? Please leave any COQs in the comments.
Sunday, 30 August 2015
Readers' Letters
Beware! Gets Mail!
Nine-year-old Istead Hunwicks writes in with a question about guest reviewer Dex Diabolo's recent review of Peter Davison's shitty trash manifesto, The Hunt For The Ptero-Dactyle Apostates.
Beware! says...
Well, Istead, one can only hope. It's worth noting that Mr. Hasselhoff had legal bills to pay, so was simply chancing it. On the other hand, Mr. Davison has his work cut out on the convention circuit, so we're pretty sure he'll be busy answering questions about whether or not he's still in touch with Adric. - B!
Monday, 24 August 2015
Station of Critical Review by Kennedy Hiscox-Wormegay with Dex Diabolo: The Hunt for the Ptero-dactyle Apostates by Former Doctor Peter Davison
A Note From Beware!
Long-time subscribers to Beware! The Zine will note a different tone in today's article. Unfortunately our full-time reviewer, Kennedy Hiscox-Wormegay, is currently receiving treatment for the effects of marsh fever and opium abuse. Whilst we are pleased to report that he is responding well to treatment, it will be some time before he is able to pen reviews again. Until then, we'd like to introduce our guest reviewer, Dex Diabolo, who is on loan to us from crappy ufology conspiracy blog, The Silver Disc - which we're not going to link to. You know the kind of head-case who sits next to you on the bus and insists on telling you how and why 9/11 was an inside job? They almost certainly subscribe to The Silver Disc. And as much as we didn't want to hand over the reviewer reins to Dex, he's all we could get. And, unlike Kennedy, he can string a sentence together.
From Timelord To Fringe Scientist
Up until the mid '80s, Peter Davison was best known as the fifth incarnation of The Doctor, titular character of the BBC science fiction series Doctor Who. However, since surrendering his position as 'gorgeous, young thing' to Colin Baker, Davison has cultivated an unhealthy interest in alternative-scenario palaeontology, penning several books on the subject and maintaining several blogs dedicated to the rapid publication of his unusual ideas. He has attracted much criticism, with dinosaur and pterosaur workers claiming that he is simply bi-passing the peer review process, though he has, on occasion, achieved in this area. Davison has also capitalised on his popularity with his legions of Doctor Who fans in order to force his unusual ideas out into the mainstream; after all, if they'll buy it...
Trash Fiction
The Hunt For The Ptero-dactyle Apostates is Davison's first foray into fiction and, if we're honest, it's mind-blowingly odd. We at Beware! HQ wouldn't have been too surprised if Davison had penned a story about oddly-proportioned aerial reptiles, zipping around the skies of an alternative-timeline Great Britain during the 1940s, but what we got was something entirely different. Davison offers up what can only be described as a semi-autobiographical medieval thriller, where he occupies the role of 'Witch-Finder General', tasked with rounding up those pterosaur workers who fail to adopt his take on palaeo research, putting them on trial and torturing and executing people as he sees fit. It's something of a bloodbath: his constantly-updated findings - and his certainty that each update is correct - mean that it's difficult for other workers to keep up with what is palaeontologically 'legal'. Many of them fall foul, and are subsequently put to death. Adorning the pikes of 'The Tower Of Lagerstatt', we find the heads of notorious traitors and heretics Marcus Wittleton, Bishop Darryl Gnash, Sir Michael Harb-Beeb and the mad monk, David Aherne. It's very much like Game Of Thrones, but with more violence and the flying reptiles are less convincing.
Thinly-Veiled Recruitment Literature
The pace falters about halfway into the first chapter as the tone shifts from trashy novel to political manifesto. One anonymous reviewer remarked that The Hunt For The Ptero-dactyle Apostates was "reminiscent of Cornwall's Camelot Castle Hotel. People book into the hotel for a bed for the night, are subsequently forced to endure terrible, terrible artwork by one of the hoteliers, and are then bombarded with Scientology recruitment literature. Castle Camelot Hotel and Davison are two baby legumes from the same troubled pod."
The Hunt deviates so violently from B-movie-esque storyline to paranoid rant that it's as if two different books have been spliced together, almost mid-sentence. Unfortunately, it remains stuck in this pseudoscientific rut for the remainder of the book, painstakingly dissecting every remark, email, blog article and manuscript ever released by conventional scientists, naming and shaming throughout. It's a long and tedious effort; Peter Davison clearly suffers from some serious science envy. Maybe it was his years as a sci-fi poster boy which led to his inability to distinguish fact from lunatic fiction, or that he had spent every waking moment surrounded by legions of fanboys and yes-men. Whatever the reason, the former-Timelord-turned-internet-pest has been the scourge of conventional science for the last decade, and The Hunt appears to be one last ditch attempt to discredit professional rivals and win over those who hadn't already declared their unconditional love during his stint in Doctor Who.
Friday, 21 August 2015
Nase & Abel - Frauds, Fakes, Lies, Mistakes
Abel confronts Nase on his sudden interest in cryptozoology websites; fills him in on some aspects of human gullibility.
 |
| naseandabel-shortformat#5-page01 (written and illustrated by Gareth Monger) |
Tuesday, 18 August 2015
Nase & Abel - I Flippin' Love Science
Nase & Abel mull over Elise Andrew's need to empty her potty-mouth on the Internet.
 |
| naseandabel-shortformat#4-page01 (written and illustrated by Gareth Monger) |
Tuesday, 4 August 2015
Viagra For Gastropods
Don't eat the blue ones (if you're a gastropod).
 |
| Who wants garden pesticides anyway? (Gareth Monger) |
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Baking Bonanza With The Two Bobs - St Clement's Cake
Bobby: (twirls an egg whisk and potato masher) Waargh exterminate you up the ass til you bake properly.
Nobby: (puts his frameless glasses on) A-ha, as I was saying to the producer, a-ha, I do have a rather unctuously pleasing joke about butter, ah, but I don't want it spread around.
Bobby: You getting hot and cross in the mouth about butts again?
Nobby: St Ivel, patron saint of the dinner table - ooh - ah - is a distant relative of today's holy of holies.
Bobby: Why's that then, they inbred?
Nobby: I bring to you -
Bobby: Syphilis.
Nobby: Ooh. I bring to you -
Bobby: Whacko drugs that make the room spin?
Nobby: Comrade(!). Oh, urgh, I've got for you the St Clement's Cake.
St Clement's Cake
 |
| St Clement's Cake masquerading as Blackbird Pie Cake. (Andy Brain) |
Bobby: (turns) I'll start on the lemon.
Nobby: State of the membrane. With lemony gluten, a very mild palette and faint flavour, all you can try to do is to make this a better cake. But the Two Bobs have done the hard work for you! "Oranges and lemons" is of course slang for the citrus mouthwashes available in spunk clubs for those engaged in anal rimming. You swish the orange bottle beforehand to add tingle, and the yellow bottle afterward to add hygiene, and as a doctor with certificates I can assure you the whole thing is safe. "Oranges and lemons - the bell-end sent clemence", ooh it's very catchy, like a brain installation. It reminds me of my nan's facial cake, and some cakers use a bar of elderly shavings. It's... an edible lullaby in the right hands.
Bobby: I'll start on the orange now.
Nobby: You can reduce it, reduce it, to a thimble! But more than that, you want a very nice and beautiful cake. So don't. Sponge freezing is trite, so forget that, for this lemon sherbety mess. So, keep your fingers moist and help pull a long beautiful spurt. This recipe also makes sweet muffins.
Bobby: Variety's not dead.
1. Turn around and put your oven on.
2. Heat the room to the same temperature with a flat bread and a large bowl inside, then remove and cream butter and sugar into 9 inches of it. Brush it all about. Eat the flat bread for energy.
3. Find a small egg and roll it in flour and sawdust using Nobby's patented wrist action.
4. Now we need the rest of the flour, baking powder, metal microblebs, grilled cheese, and yes the lemon juice, thank you Bobby. Fold it all into the mixture.
5. Park it like a bicycle in the oven for 20-25 minutes or less if cold, and grab the reins of the world through your own combination of fun activities. I like to dice with danger by reaching for big jugs on the top shelf. Good practice for the newsagent's, eh lads?
6. In a large bowl, get some bile oil. We're making several smaller features from just this oil and sugar. Even after dinner, you'll need to add bulk and beat well.
7. Every third cup must be divided between anything pink and all other foods, and then you add a hint of rohypnol to the pink bits and whatever you enjoy to everything else.
8. Get hold of a casting directory and lure your actresses with promises of a big part... plus refreshments. Make sure there's some butter left over for later in the evening.
9. Photostat your brown mushroom, it's perfectly legal and reduces the embarrassment of making yellow sponges. Remember, pink covering will yield to a rotating nozzle head if you put it in right.
10. Re-butter, add cream, a bird, and Aldi Value sponge cake. To protect your fingers, use a mallet to knock the bird into place. (If you don't have a bird to hand, Springwatch has good tips.) Carve it out like a nest, bolstering the mouth and nose with toast made from ashes. Spray it anything but pink.
11. Beauty up the bread on the bottom layer with your protein solution. You may need a guide funnel and strap ring. (Even if it's not perfect, you know it's there.)
12. Serve without regrets, but with a good backup supply of Cialis and Horny Goat Weed.
BOBBY'S PAM ST CLEMENT RECIPE:1. Grab a card from Nobby's stub.
2. Go down to an East End pub.
3. Fill yourself with lovely grub.
4. Blame it on a hacked Home Hub.
Next time: Flatten the competition with tractor roll.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)