Action Art

 

Special effects are fairly easy (and positively required) in comics. This is our gal Valkris in action against an archmage. As an art study, it shows the importance of contrast, color harmony, composition, and use of dead space. On the left, the background has little detail but an ominous feel; so does the deep plum color on the right. Reflected light is key in picking figures out of dark surroundings. Just for curiosity, the spell is a black hole type, and the mage is sucked in along with trees and a ton of dirt. A guy has to know his limitations.

Newspapers

 

In a third floor condo, four people relaxed on a night off from the Wicca Horror Show. It had three bedrooms: one for producer Ed, one for the dwarf Hecabano, and one for the show's hostess Wicca. The vampire Cambris shared her room by day, sheltering beneath the bed.

Wicca grooved to her latest discovery, the eighties band Altered Images. The last strains of "Change of Heart" had just faded when Cambris jumped up and shredded her newspaper asunder. 

"Pagh! Where may I find the perpetrator of this?"

Wicca looked up. "What's with you, girlfriend?"

Hecabano, quick to spot opportunity, tossed Ed a notepad and pen.

"You don't like the local paper?" Ed prompted, pen poised.  

Cambris got that mystical look, reached as if to find words. 

Yesterday's shadows scud along alleys of wintry white light.

Wayward souls reach for them from pools of purple cold.

Canst care or remember their lies?

None but those who believe, slave to them still.

Blue fingers trace the drug of poison ink.

Deeper delusion the lure.

Heedless of warmth denied by layered page.

Harsh mistress laughs from afar.

Cambris bared fangs at said mistress, whatever it represented.

Ed copied furiously, getting it all down. "Perfect! She'll do it on Saturday's show. We'll call it 'Newspapers: a poem by Cambris'."

"Shall I remind you, Master Ed, she cannot be filmed?" Hecabano wolfed a handful of jelly beans, grimaced. "Ug. I would get a coffee bean."

Wicca laughed. "Watch out for the brown speckled ones!"

"No sweat," Ed said. "Wics--remember that flesh paint we used to cover your gray skin?"

"Now I just use magic." She reared back in disgust when the dwarf offered candy, which, like all food offered the undead, was like pulling a cross on Dracula. "What--you're going to paint her?"

They used a sheet and a wig, leaving only Cambris' face to paint. Ed made a cell picture, which drew Wicca's laughter. The face had holes for eyes, showing the curtains behind the head. 

"Appropriate for your Halloween season," Cambris decided. "Why did you not use a scry globe, which is able to capture my features?"

Ed grinned at the photo. "Like you said--wait'll the fans see this face reading a poem. We'll call it 'Revenge of the Invisible Woman'." 

"Your words have no meaning," Cambris said.

"She hasn't seen it!" Wicca crowed. "Impo--dial it up on the web for us."

Four people, only one of them human, watched a vintage horror film. 

The Schoolmarm's Visit

 

Already uncomfortable in suit and tie, Beaver sweated his mom's dinner invite to his fourth-grade teacher, Miss Landers. They made small talk while steaks were on the grill. Suddenly his older brother Wally asked her a calculus question. Was the showoff trying to embarrass her?

"Miss Landers, I'm having trouble finding inflection points on a graph."

Ward Cleaver frowned. "Wally, the last thing our guest wants to do is talk shop."

"It's all right," she assured them. "Wally, an inflection point is simply where the slope is changing, that is, where the second derivative equals zero. You know the derivative is the slope at the tangent line, and the second derivative is the rate of change."

Beaver let out the breath he'd been holding, noted the bewildered look on his mom's face. "Mom, you took calculus in school, didn't you?"

"Heavens no," said June Cleaver. "You don't need calculus to push a vacuum cleaner." Everyone except Beaver got a chuckle from that.

Ward excused himself to check on the grill, and wiseguy Wally did it again. "Do you like Dobie Gillis on TV?"

"I rarely have time for it, except for the anthologies by Ronald Reagan. I do think it develops kids' imaginations--shows like Lassie, Superman, and Twilight Zone."

His mom ended the interrogation by tapping Wally for kitchen duty. "Beaver, you keep Miss Landers entertained while Wally helps me set up the patio."

Beaver had to do something, so he turned on the radio. Naturally it was a commercial: You wouldn't expect such an offer to come in a detergent, but it does, in Duz. It was an opening, at least. Each box had  a piece of crystal ware buried inside: either a cup, saucer, or glass. "Miss Landers, do you use Duz? Mom uses the plates for us kids, 'cause we're always breakin' junk." 

"I prefer Dreft."

Thankfully the newest Elvis tune came on: She's Not You. "Do you like Elvis?"

"I like his music, but I think he's a little too sure of himself."

Beaver had to smile. Mortals like him had a chance against Elvis. 

Just then, his dad called from the kitchen. "Beaver, escort Miss Landers to the patio."

Beaver hesitantly offered an arm, leading her out to the feast on the patio table. He briefly fretted about the corn on the cob, but Miss Landers simply shaved it with a knife. His mom discreetly copied the move. 

Some time later, after talk of world affairs left Beaver out in the cold, his dad rose to begin clearing dishes. "Beaver, you stay with Miss Landers while Wally helps us with coffee and dessert."

When they'd gone, Miss Landers went over to the hose reel. "You know, Beaver, that tree needs watering. May I?" 

Beaver swallowed. Did she know about the three clowns who'd been spying on them? "Uh. . . .sure, Miss Landers."

Owing to the soft ground, she left her heels behind, and dragged the  hose within range. A powerful jet began tracking up the trunk. Terrified protests heralded three figures hastily swinging down: Larry, Gilbert, and Whitey. Larry just couldn't keep a secret.

She aimed the pistol grip at them. "You boys had better scoot before the Cleavers find out. I'll go stall them. Tomorrow in class, we'll have a little chat about extra homework." She passed the hose to Beaver, went to retrieve her shoes, and disappeared inside.

"Gee, Beaver," Larry began, "we must have the neatest teacher in the world."

"I oughta soak you guys!" Beaver threatened. They scattered, not from the hose, but from Wally's approach.

"Holy cow! You've done it now, Beave. She thinks you're a creepy little kid."

"I am a kid."

"You're always sayin' how you hope she's still around when you grow up. There went any shot you might have had."

Beaver let the pistol grip dangle. "Shot?" 

Halloween Art

 

Just in time for October, this is actually from an old comic. Poor Hecabano had his hands full with arch-villainess Wicca. Lucky for him, Ed tempted her with being hostess of a TV show. Now she's too busy for much skull-tossing. The skull wrapped itself around a victim and mummified him--nasty. Size is 8.5 by 11, acrylic thin wash with ink. 

MST3K: The 50 Foot Woman

 

Dr Clayton Forrester and sidekick Frank activated the comlink to their orbital lab. Their former handyman Joel was stranded there, required to watch cheezy films to see how long it would take him to wig out. But Joel had built some robot pals, and actually had fun dishing on the scifi of yesteryear. 

Forrester Greetings, Joel. This pre-Thanksgiving turkey is 1958's Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman. It stars Allison Hayes, who later played one of Sgt. Carter's girlfriends on Gomer Pyle. 

Joel That was on some episodes they filmed in Washington D.C.

Forrester Don't change the subject! So what turns Nancy Archer into a human Godzilla? It appears she was a boozer who had a nervous breakdown. Who's gonna believe she saw a UFO?--which is only a crappy glowing sphere in the first place. Her cheating husband wants to get her committed so he can take over a 50-million-dollar estate.

Crow How original.

Forrester Hey, she needs a reason to get mad, or no plot. That happens on the second UFO encounter, where her coward husband speeds away when a bald giant kidnaps her. A few goobers of note: Nancy's short dark hair is suddenly long and blonde as a giant. Just give us an explanation, already--we'll buy it! And when the bald guy picks up a car, it's a completely different one he throws.

Tom Servo Poor continuity--like on Andy Griffith where Barney Fife is trying to recall the sheriff's oath. He musses his hair in frustration. Next you see it, it's combed. Then mussed, then combed. What, is the guy psycho?

Forrester Will you guys stop changing the subject? I'll mention on last goober--the giant wrinkled balloon hand she uses to grab guys with. Now it's off to the theater for a dose of shlock! (Lights and sirens drive the boys out of the control room aboard the satellite.) 

Frank Ten to one you break him with this one.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

During the climactic scene, Nancy, impervious to bullets, falls victim to a shotgun that blows up a transformer. Clutching her dead husband in a giant hand, she's electrocuted. The boys groan in protest.

Joel No, no! What happened to the bald guy? Let him take her aboard his UFO!

Crow And then blow up the world.

The boys start chanting: Nancy, Nancy, Nancy!

Frank Well, I lost another bet. I'm starting to think Joel is cracked already.

Pineapple Gum

 

A Commander Moast Adventure

Moast relaxed in his quarters during a routine cruise in the Deneb system. Though the starghip Orchidia had a crew of only five, they trusted the namesake AI to be alert for threats. That made her rare in-person visits all the more unnerving.

She materialized in front of Moast's recliner, the avatar having been tweaked to be less robotic. Now it looked like a sex doll. She just couldn't get it right. Moast set aside his book to await the bad news.

"What is pineapple gum?" she began. "How does it relate to the collapse of Earth civilization?"

Relieved, Moast had to laugh at her resourcefulness. "So you've connected me with the New Vigilantes." His rise to fame as a soldier of fortune led to the Consortium choosing him as commander of Orchidia. "It's complicated. Recall your data on the rise of the police state."

She had that in a picosecond. "Villainization of police left them afraid to become involved in anything short of a murder. Localities became lawless as police grew increasingly insular and heavily armed. They became nationalized, ruthlessly enforcing the dictates of whomever was currently in power."

"While the cities rotted," Moast supplied. "Pull up a chair and I'll tell you a story." The jest, of course, went right past her.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *  

Brenner wandered into the local gas station for his next assignment. He had to wait for a couple of gamblers playing lotto. As usual, the dusty cans of charity reject food held no interest. Worse yet, the ongoing supply disruption had shelves bare of goodies. Brenner had hope when Burt, the station owner, came out of his glass cage with several boxes. Until he saw what it was.

"More pineapple gum? What the hell, Burt?"

The paunchy gas jock slid the boxes onto a shelf. "As I explained, it comes from Mexico. They're the only ones the insurrectionists aren't at war with, and it's the only part of the shipment they don't want." Burt clapped him on the back. "Don't know what I'd do without my lab guy. I got a kick out of this morning's web news." TV media, naturally, patently ignored anything that hurt the insurrection. "You got those looters and rioters plenty sick."

Through his contacts, Brenner, himself a former micro lab worker, had access to various hospital pathogens being cultured for drug studies. Long drives to riot sites were worth it. His latest caper involved norovirus, that fall-winter rite of passage for the intestines. The stuff was explosively contagious. Twelve hours after exposure, rioters were losing it from both ends. They were getting skittish about rioting in the first place.

"Tonight," Burt went on, "we got a more local problem. Some bikers have been zooming around at all hours terrorizing our quiet streets. They made the mistake of getting predictable." He handed Brenner a note.

Brenner was to be one of the point men in an ambush. "I'll check in with the guys. Consider it done."

Near dusk, four bikers in arrogant close formation roared down a residential street. Brenner reacted to the pull on the rope, drawing his end tight around a fence post. Four riders were neatly dismounted as their bikes continued on, one crashing into a parked car. Brenner joined four others armed with iron pipes, which they applied liberally to keep the riders down. A rental truck backed onto the street. More vigilantes came out to load the bikes. After having their tanks sugared, these would be dumped in a field until someone stripped them for parts. Cops were never called, nor would have responded anyway.

A slight snafu happened when Brenner found the homeowner aiming a gun at him. "Be cool, man--we're on your side, you know." 

"I know. You guys are heroes. Any chance you're recruiting? I've got military skills."

Brenner studied the rugged-looking dude. Definitely a cool customer. "We'll hafta check you out. What's your name?"

"Moast. Rhymes with toast."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The avatar stared placidly. "I intuit that you await a moral assessment."

"I'd love your take on the tale."

"Humble beginnings," the avatar said with unusual brevity.

Moast saluted with his coffee. "Orchidia, I'm starting to rub off on you." 

Trash Talk