Hey!

I'm still alive, god dammit.

Haven't posted in a long time. It's because I've been busy with numerous writing projects, playing xbox and being a tourist.

I'm gainfully employeed by the cabal of magnates and bankers that secretly run the world, have been sampling a lot of local brewers and restaurants, so generally things are good.

Here are some things I've learned since moving to Toronto:
1. Toronto drivers are throughly irate people
2. Key lime pie gelato from Gelato and chocolate amaretto with chips from Marble Slab are the best ice creams in town
3. Street crazies are everywhere - Mr Peru, the Punching Man, Street Jesus, "They Shot Me Bro" and Man Who Thinks The Police Are Poisoning His Food are some of the best
4. Cufflinks are awesome
5. Mopeds are deathtraps
6. The two guys who work at the pet store on Yonge Street will let you bet on chihuaha fights


I also finally got an Xbox, so here are some reviews:


1. LA Noire



I'm enjoying this one. I like the interrogation aspect of the game, and looking for clues, but I feel the game gets bogged down in some of the action scenes, such as the boring chase scenes in which you just grab the controller and press forward to run after a perp. Also, there's nothing worse than accepting a street crime mission and then having to drive the whole way across the map - which must take at least ten minutes - to get there. There are also bits I noticed where the scripting is off - characters will refer to clues that I never found or allude to pieces of information I was never able to worm out of the suspects. Also, I don't really get how an LAPD detective is just allowed to drive around town stealing cars and persecuting the universally criminal denizens of 1940's LA. Maybe it's because Phelps is such a massive jerk. It's true, he is. A total tool. I was pleased that I guessed who the Black Dahlia killer was before the big reveal though.

2. Mortal Kombat



Check out that screenshot from one of the minigames in Mortal Kombat 9, when Scorpion, Subzero, Smoke and Reptile are forced on pain of disembowelment to play sub-par pub-rock for the amusement of Shao Kahn. The graphics are so lifelike. Mortal Kombat is, obviously, about blood and boobs. And you'll get plenty of that. The violence is - and I don't say this very often - almost sickening in places, but if you play it for long enough you get desensitised to it and probably then start disassembling neighbourhood pets in your garden shed before angrily shivving pedestrians with a screwdriver on your way to work. The game is, as expected, excellent in versus mode, and includes lots of challenges, but the story mode is a victim of the easy-easy-easy-hard syndrome. It's like a Nirvana song: quiet-quiet-quiet-loud. Except you sprint through the rounds kicking crap out of useless characters like Sektor and Kitana, but then coming up against - to pick two names out of a ridiculously irritating hat - Shao Kahn or Quan Chi. Especially given that the latter seems always to be equipped with a character in tow to add as henchman, if his unblockable attacks weren't difficult enough as it is. The only thing to do is turn the difficulty down to beginner, just get through it and move on.

Finally finished watching Game of Thrones

Warning, contains very mild spoilers. Not nearly as bad as the one I got from Stuart "Pot" Clark, though. Thanks for that, by the way.

Yes I did. And I enjoyed it very much. The only thing I didn't enjoy about it is that it is in a number of ways very similar to the novel I have been writing since 2007. So, that means I basically have to change it or risk being accused of plagiarism. I mean, if you're writing a political fantasy novel, there's obviously going to be a bit of subject matter overlap, right? No one will nail me to the wall for this, will they? This is worse than the time Graham wrote 1984 and it turned out George Orwell had written it already.

Oh well.

I enjoyed Game of Thrones greatly, and I feel I must give special mention to the actor Peter Dinklage for his portrayal of Tyrion Lannister. I'm sure he knows how fortunate he is to have landed what is probably the best role ever for an actor with dwarfism, and he injects it with so much quality, so much sadness, bravado and pithy humour that you can't help but be drawn into his story. Tyrion is by far my favourite of the characters in the series, mainly because he's out for his own interests, and unlike his brother Jaime, who pretends he doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about him, genuinely doesn't. He is quite simply past that. He is a hugely contradictory character, seeking his father's approval on one hand and hating him on the other, revelling in his own ghastliness but capable of acts of unselfconscious kindness. Best Tyrion bits? Well, when he gives that little ingrate Joffrey a well-deserved clip round the ear for starters. I could watch that all day. His "trial" at the Eyrie, with his complete lack of respect for his captors and his punk rock curtsey as he walks out a free man. When he helps out Bran - "I have a tender spot in my heart for bastards, cripples and broken things". Basically, Tyrion is best on account that he gets the best lines, and in general gets with the hottest ladies on the show. I therefore confer upon him the title of badass. Can't wait for the next series.

Dropping eaves

Overheard snippet of conversation a while back:

"Maybe this time I get a lawyer and SUE Brown Sanjay."

Because you hate news

As Chuck D once told you what time it was, I will tell you what the news is:

Here

TODAY'S HEADLINES:

Galliano blames Jewish alcohol for anti-Semitic outburst

E-mail to Inside Edition

Hi there,
Just thought you might like to know that in the 'foreign language syndrome' story on tonight's show, you made a glaring error when you showed your map of the United Kingdom or 'Ireland' and 'England' as you described it. The island of Ireland is divided into the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom. Mainland Britain is divided into Scotland in the north and England in the south, with Wales in the west. Scotland and Wales are not part of England, but are part of the United Kingdom. Please consult an atlas next time you decide to show a map. With television like this it's easy to see why Americans have such a reputation for knowing absolutely nothing about the rest of the world.
Regards
David Blackwood.

Mr Peru

Mr Peru plays chess in the street on a giant, homemade board. He is the only chess player I have ever seen with a gimmick. Mr Peru's gimmick is that he is an Inca, which he illustrates thusly: he wears a fedora with 'Inca' written on it, and adorns his neck with gold. I wonder if there are other chess players wandering around with similar gimmicks.

Mr Peru's story is written out in slightly imperfect English on the ground beside him. It says "Chess genius, Mr Peru beated his father when he was four years old." and then in larger writing, it inexplicably says "Mr Peru, Chess Genius, Actor, Dancer, 8-year-old boy." Mr Peru may have been an 8-year-old prodigy, but he's pushing 60 now. When I went by he wasn't playing chess, he was attempting with some difficulty to change the batteries on his CD player. I wonder what music he listens to when he plays? I shall never know, unless I chance to see him again.

I would quite like to see him face off in a street chess match against a voodoo chess witch doctor, or perhaps a man claiming to be an android.

Just remember the old Italian proverb: After the game the king and the pawn go back in the same box.

Do you SUFFER from the HORRENDOUS SYMPTOMS of BRAIN SICKNESS?

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MRS E SNIFDOR, Castle Gait, Amberlon, used to suffer from ANXIOUS TREMORS, TERROR and a shocking LACK OF CONTINENCE.
“I was crippled by ghastly thoughts and sickening paranoia,” she tells us “as well as the physical ailments of BRAIN SICKNESS including rheumatisms, bloodened stools, jawing and rickets. My husband was at his wit’s end with my WHINING and NAGGING! But now I no longer worry about money, my appearance, impending social change or catastrophic world events! Thank you, Dr Crebb!”
Crebb’s BRAIN LINIMENT may look like an ordinary white cream to the untrained eye, but take a look under a MAGICAL MICROSCOPE. The liniment is full of TINY PIXIES who go to work on the cerebellum, killing the EVIL SPIRITS with swords of MYSTICAL STEEL.
Based on a secret ancient Cathenian recipe, Dr Crebb is the only physician in the land able to recreate CREBB’S PATENT BRAIN LINIMENT. Accept no substitutes.
Available from all good apothecaries, herbalists and tinker warlocks.

I give my endorsement to a sign for *my* art exhibit.

Here's a picture, as promised, of the Ontario School of Art and Design. Look at it. Look at it. What on earth was the designer trying to say? It looks like some sort of extra-terrestrial pixellated insect is trying to couple with the normal building next to it. I think the red blocky thing might be its genitals. Since the other building doesn't have any genitals the red blocky thing seems just to be busting through a wall, possibly into an atrium full of astounded students, which it would fill with its outer space sex-goop. Disgusting.

In other news, I also shaved off my beard. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I fear I have made a terrible mistake. It was wiry, curly and uncomfortable, and a Hasidic Jew did give me a nod the other day, but now i just look like any other norm.

Here's how it happened:

The way a beard should be worn.



The Shitkicker: Which crime has he committed? A prize for the winner.




The Cavalier



The Edwardian Gentleman: I am off to the Great War.



Der Fuhrer: The inevitable, tastless Hitler 'tache.



Beard all gone. Weep.

Forget it, Jack. It's Chinatown

Because I forgot Kaki's camera today, I didn't get any amazing pictures of the stuff I saw. Instead here's a screenshot from Capcom VS SNK which I aim to play at the dirt arcade soon. Here yoga-pyromania expert Dhalsim takes on Mai (or Ridiculous Big-Tits as she is known in some circles).

Another fine day. I took the streetcar down to Chinatown and walked around basically looking at stuff. I went into the weird Chinese malls and located an underground arcade full of retro SNK games that will be coming back to at some point with a friend (when I get some friends). Then I did some shopping, picking up some kimchi and miso paste, things I have been without for some time. I also found some nice looking restaurants and noodle bars which I shall have to return to. I further took a walk up Kensington Avenue and located somewhere to bulk-buy Jamaican patties, which pleased me no end. I road tested them, of course, just to make sure they were good.

After that I wandered in the direction of downtown, taking in the weird archi-turd of the Ontario College of Art and Design - big speckled block on multicoloured stilts. Weird. Found some nice looking Indian restaurants, gaped at the CN tower in all of its inexplicably pointy glory, before walking up past the Rogers Centre and the Steam Whistle Brewery (located in an old trainyard, and actually sporting a working steam whistle), before going under the Gardiner Exressway and walking around the waterfront for a while, which is more or less abandoned at this time of year. I'll come back in summer, whenever the hell that starts.

All the time I was filled with a tremendous feeling of wellbeing, like I was actually doing something I should be proud of doing. I feel more stimulated than I have been in a long time. When I was away in Japan, I always used to wonder what people would think if they were able to see through my eyes, and see the places I was and the people I was with, the things I was doing. Maybe I'm just the product of too much television but even in my own brain I somehow expect there to be an audience. I know other people who have the same problem, one way or another, chief amongst them being Mr Graham "Feathro" Neale. I always feel like I'm being watched, by somebody, maybe someone I went to school with or used to work with, not necessarily even someone I know very well or even like. I feel like somewhere, the audience is flicking channels, idley, looking through people's eyes. And while I was in Kirkcaldy, I always felt like when they came to me they would be bored, somehow disappointed. But when I was in Japan, I felt like they would be envious and impressed, and feel like I was somewhere remote from them, living life to the fullest. Maybe that's the crux of it - I just want people who have previously thought themselves better than me to be jealous. To spite those who would judge me by experiencing things that they never will. If that's it then I probably am a very sick man. Well, at least I'm having a good time.

Burrito

If you are looking for a thoroughly good and cheap burrito experience, you could do a lot worse than Quesada at Yonge and Eglinton. I got a coupon through my door and we thought "why not?". I was not disappointed. For five dollars I got a big fat chipotle spicy chicken burrito with all of the trimmings. I asked the guy for more jalapenos and he seemed to take this as some sort of disparagement on the spice level of his burritos, so he insisted that I take extra hot salsa and then made me a special hot mayo sauce of his own concoction in some sort of attempt to bring me low for being so bold as to assume straight off the bat that I could handle anything he could offer me. My god that was a fine burrito. I slopped the hot mayo sauce all over it and devoured it hungrily. Two thumbs up.



We also had a first rate Korean barbecue last night downtown. The place was called Korean Grill House and is opposite the Brass Rail Tavern, certainly the most shamelessly constructed strip club I have ever seen (European style "interactive" lap dances from FULLY NUDE strippers!). For the princely sum of 17 bucks each we received more meat than we could conceivably barbecue. I also had a number of Molson Canadians, which aren't considered a premium beer, but I found quite crisp and refreshing. Later on, we went out to a couple of bars and I had Hoptical Illusion Almost Pale Ale from the Flying Monkey Brewery in Barrie, Ontario. It was pretty dark, floral with a hint of grapefruit. Interesting stuff.

Big giant truck

The Dodge Ram 1500. Not actual size.

I'm a basically liberal European who cares about the environment and civil liberties, so why do I want one of these? It's about the most unnecessary and impractical vehicle I have ever seen. It's big and huge and must burn at least one diplodocus every time you take it down to the supermarket. How would you park? Would it even fit in the space? It's surely a car for red state Americans who say the Civil War was about states' rights and pronounce 'Iraq' 'Eye-Rack'. Yet quite a lot of urban Canadians also have them. Strange. Maybe it's the chrome. Delicious chrome.

Economic migrant

Well, I'm here. I arrived yesterday morning after a delayed flight on which I seem to have picked up some form of lurgee. A shame, but some self-medication and I will be good as new. I digress, I had to go through immigration where a few disinterested people asked me rudimentary questions and then sent me to a desk where I was issued with an immigrant bag and a bunch of materials to help me settle in Canada. Pretty useful I suppose. Two magazines 'Canadian Immigrant' and 'Canadian Newcomer', an organiser that reminds me to get a job and a calendar with Canada facts on it. To be honest, I was just surprised that my beard had not singled me out for a stripsearch or anal finger-raping, and gladly disappeared to the baggage reclaim. There I found the axle of my mighty rolly suitcase had been broken in the flight. Perhaps I can get some money back from the airline...

Kaki picked me up, and it was so good to see her after so long. She's looking hot. I think having less of a couch potato lifestyle like we did back in KDY is treating her nicely. She says she's out doing stuff every other night, so that's pretty good. We went back to our "flapartment" (a new word I have coined in the spirit of compromise) for a smoked meat sandwich, which even though it wasn't quite on a par with the mighty Schwartz's it was still warmly appreciated. The flapartment is brilliant, fully great and there's absolutely heaps of space for having people over. The thing I like best is the dining area where I'm sitting now. Good dinner party space. The table is nice and I will require to buy coasters. So, after nipping to our local mall (5 minutes away, and complete with cinema) and picking up the few inevitable items I forgot, we went to pick Bridget up from work and give her the car back. As I have possibly mentioned before, Bridget works in TV, so I got to have a snoop around a TV station as well. Unfortunately, by this point I was more or less crashing, so it was basically time to go home. Tomorrow I get a bank account, arrange insurance, buy exotic cheeses and eat a curry in Little India.

Reviews from the B-Movie Death Dungeon

CyberTracker: Absolutely chock-full of explodium

The following was completed with me at least slightly drunk and Blair “Dream Eater” MacDougall under the influence of Orange Concoction.

Project Vampire (1993) – Blair says 2/5, Dave says 1/5
A vampire scientist attempts to cure vampires' aversion to sunlight. Only some goober with the unlikely moniker of 'Victor Hunter' can stop him, with the help of the most stereotypical asian ever and some woman. Not even a reasonably pleasing pair of breasts can salvage this. Note the looped, speeded up car chase footage. Very Mitchellesque.
Blair: "So bad it gave me diabetes."
Dave: "Worst fighting in any film, ever. It makes Shatner look like Bruce Lee."

CyberTracker (1994) – Blair says 5/5, Dave says 5/5
Eric Philips (Don 'The Dragon' Wilson) is a secret service agent who has no friends, gets drunk with his computer and takes a lot of unnecessary showers. He is hired to protect a senator who advocates the use of large, bald cyborgs to apprehend criminals. Unfortunately, he turns out to be a lunatic and when Philips shops him for murder, he ends up with the CyberTrackers on his tail, as well as a weak, Australian version of Steven Seagal. There is literally nothing in this film that doesn't explode.
Dave: "A masterpiece. Don The Dragon’s facial expressions tell all."
Blair: "Cybertracker is a vision of the future where everything spontaneously blows up. That’s a future I can get behind."

Break for munchy boxes courtesy of our sponsor, Seven Spices.


The cover of the DVD case for Plankton. It's important to note that this girl is not in the film.
<---------------

Octopus (2000) – Blair says 4/5, Dave says 4/5
Radiation creates a giant monster Octopus. It attacks a submarine carrying a rookie FBI agent and a deadly terrorist. Private Frost from Aliens is on board. CGI hell breaks loose. Octopus gets hold of an ocean liner full of passengers and it's Shark Attack III all over again.
Blair: "Having Han Solo playing the character of Captain Shaw was an astute piece of casting. I have a feeling that no-one involved in this film has any idea what an octopus actually is."
Dave: "Also, did you notice that everyone involved in the making of this film had an ‘ov’ at the end of their name? The look-alikes of Keanu Reeves, Rutger Hauer, Viggo Mortensen and Amanda Seyfried all did a commendable job, but Ricco Ross deserves an Oscar."

The Klansman – Blair says 2/5, Dave says 2/5
This was a mistake. From a trailer I saw, I believed it to be an action movie in which Richard Burton takes on the Ku Klux Klan. Actually it's a Faulkneresque psychodrama. There is a little bit of laughable drunken karate from Burton, and OJ Simpson does kill off loads of racists, but I can't say I enjoyed it. Apparently all people do in the south is rape one another and set crosses on fire. It makes me not ever want to go there. Weirdly, the town's Klan-supporting mayor is played by David Huddleston of Santa Claus: The Movie fame.
Blair: "The Klansman is a film. The moral of that film is 'Don’t fuck with the Juice'."
Dave: "It’s no Where Eagles Dare. Burton is still a powerful force, despite his pitiful attempts at a southern accent."

Creatures from the Abyss AKA Plankton (1994)
I have lost the sheet for this one,and Blair had to get the bus halfway through. So this review is incomplete. I for one give it 5/5 for the scene in which a mutant fish has sex with a woman, and then its eyeball falls out and goes down her throat. The plot concerns five teenagers who get washed out to sea in a dingy and climb aboard a deserted yacht, only to find that they have been infected with an evil fish-sex disease which starts turning them into monsters. Crudely dubbed from the original Italian.
Blair: (Mutters something about dubbing before leaving)
Dave: Fishsploitation at its finest. Worth watching for the bizarre moment at the end when the last living teen arrives on the bridge of the yacht and sees his fish-infected former best friend unlocking a glowing panel on the wall before yelling: "OH NO, WHO OPENED THE RADIOACTIVE CORE!" whereupon the yacht explodes. At no point is it explained why the yacht is nuclear.

Twattery

THIS IS A PICTURE OF MY POWER ANIMAL.

Here I am. You see, I am the media. I have a twitter now. Seek me out, cadres! If I express this incorrectly remember it is because I am basically a bumpkin:
@orange_marmoset

I aim to beat Ashton Kutcher by at least next week. I already have Tyra Banks, Peewee Herman, The Onion, John Cusack and Charlie Sheen, not to mention at least three members of obscure 90s metal act Bugmonkey!. It's like collecting these old Panini sticker albums except, y'know, with people. Which is a lot more sinister than it sounds when you think about it. I already have one follower. I have no idea who the hell she is.

Two more weeks in Scotland from today. People from the old country, get your fill now. Those of you in the new world, get ready. The British are coming!

Snowdonia Amber Mist

I feel I must take this opportunity to recommend Snowdonia Cheese Company's Amber Mist. It's a strong, crumbly mature cheddar with whiskey in it. It tastes exceptionally decadent, very full and sweet, good with oat cakes or apple. I had the Pickle Power cheese from the same company a while back and I wasn't too keen on that, but they have really hit the nail on the head here. Good stuff, will have to get some more in.

Reviews from the B-Movie Death-Dungeon

Spent an enjoyable evening with Blair "Dream Stealer" MacDougall examining some of the finest B-movie titles in history, that have been cruelly neglected by the filmgoing public at large. These particular titles were apparently left in Blair's house by an ex-girlfriend of Pot's, and never reclaimed. Well, we certainly found out why. As part of our continuing mission to trawl the depths of B-movie hell in the forlorn hope of dredging some kind of deeper meaning out of them, we watched them. God help us.

Cyclone (1987)

Rick Davenport (Jeffrey 'Re-animator' Combs) is a scientist charged with the inexplicable task of designing a motorbike armed with lasers and missiles for the US government. However, on a night out dancing with his girlfriend Teri (Heather 'BJ and The Bear','The Love Boat','TJ Hooker','Co-ed Fever' Thomas) some punk sticks a screwdriver into Rick's skull. Turns out that Martin Landau, playing Martin Landau, has sent a pair of killer assassins to whack Rick and take his bike. Unfortunately for them, Teri, who is also a barefist fighting master and motorcycle stunt rider, gets her hands on Cyclone - the ultimate motorcycle - first. Featuring laughable dialogue, and a synth led soundtrack that utterly embodies 80s naffness, 'Cyclone' is truly hilarious. It's got stunts, mostly done by girls on bikes, however, Blair and I had a good time pointing out when the stunts were obviously done by men dressed up. This was quite obvious since one of the riders simply had massive tits in one shot, and then no tits and hairy arms in the other. That wasn't the best thing about 'Cyclone' though. In the finale, when Teri finally unleashes pure motorcycle-based destruction on her tormentors, the scene in which she incinerates the lead assassin to death with Cyclone's lasers (tragically, just after his one moment of actual 'acting') is truly worth waiting the one hour and twenty minutes of the film to see. It is an absolute fucking masterpiece.

She (1982)

Starring 'Conan The Barbarian' lead actress Sandahl Bergman as the eponymous heroine, we had high hopes for 'She'. The DVD case made wild boasts about beautiful women and brutal violence. The film begins in a post-apocalyptic landscape that looks a lot somewhere in Europe with a good exchange rate, and a bunch of nazi knights laying poorly choreographed waste to a village, to the sound of utterly pumping heavy metal. This is without a doubt the most intrusive soundtrack to anything I have ever heard. It sounds like it was written for another film.
The plot: two brothers who look absolutely nothing like one another have to rescue their sister from the evil "Norks". I'm not kidding. Anyway, on the way they end up in a violent female dominated society where She is the goddess. She seems to spend most of her time essentially raping and murdering men, although this is never referenced after about the first 20 minutes. Anyway, our heroes kidnap her and force her to take them to the Norks lair. On the way they meet werewolves (read actors with large, fake eyebrows and plastic fangs), a bunch of monks and another supposed 'god' who can make things fly about on string when he uses his god power. He also has the most astonishingly hairy arms. They also meet a tranny giant with an astonishingly hairy back. I surmise the last two are brothers, although this can't be corroborated. They then meet an obnoxious sailor who multiplies as he is cut into pieces. At no time is it explained how this is possible. Anyway, they defeat the Norks, get their sister back, one of the blokes falls in love with She (forgetting she's a murdering rapist) and that's the end of the film. Holy fuck.

Sulwath Brewery

A cloudy and crisp wheat beer from Sulwath Brewers in Dumfriesshire. A very strong one at 5.5%, but very full-bodied and flavourful. Lots of sediment that requires rolling the bottle to get the last of it in. Pleasing picture of flying geese on the front. Bought this from a couple of pleasant guys at the Good Food Show who dug ice hockey. Very nice. I also had the Black Douglas, which is the same brewery's porter, and that was effing gorgeous. Very raisiny and Christmassy. Would recommend both of these.

The five greatest comic books of all time.

Because I am an enormous geek, I have taken great delight from the news that Judge Dredd is to be rebooted for another film. I am even more delighted that scripting duties are falling to Alex Garland, who in addition to being a great writer, is an avowed Dredd fan. Casting gives us even more to be happy about, with Karl Urban coming out of leftfield, and although I would never have considered him for the part in a million years, it actually makes perfect sense. And he's a 2000 AD fan as well, so he'll try and do the character justice rather than just shouting a lot like Stallone did. Man, as much as I try to like Stallone's Dredd I just can't. That film was an abomination. Stallone's performance was a little bit too reminiscent of Rocky V, and as for Rob Schneider being in it, whose idea was that? Armand Assante was the worst choice ever for Rico, and he should have been a mangled, twisted, anarchic version of Dredd, more like he was in the comics. About the only good thing in it is Hammerstein, and he's technically not even a Dredd character.

Anyway, in celebration of the 2012 Dredd film, here is a top five run down of the greatest comics of all time. I know. Poor segue.

5. Batman: The Dark Knight Returns

Following self-imposed retirement after the death of Robin, a middle-aged Batman returns to the fray to rid Gotham of gang violence and a couple of old enemies. The book that changed the tone of Batman forever from camp and colourful to dark and gritty, Frank Miller fills the book with questions about the rights of superheroes, much in the same vein that Alan Moore would with The Watchmen. Although you root for Batman all the way through, in some places he actually becomes something of a terrifying character. By the close, you don't know whether it's him or the Joker who's crazier. The book ends with a showdown between Bats and Superman, who has been brought in to stop him getting out of hand. But the real reveal is the twist that comes after that. Amazing, and actually quite chilling.

4. Superman - Red Son

Mark Millar, the man with the best job in the world, asks: What if Superman had landed in the Ukraine instead of Kansas? An amazing take on how the Cold War might have gone differently if Superman had been a commie pinko instead of a filthy capitalist. Featuring an anarchist Batman with quite an amazing hat.

3. Judge Dredd - The Cursed Earth

The best Dredd story by a long shot. When Mega City Two is infected with a deadly virus, Dredd leads a rescue mission into the Cursed Earth to bring in the antidote. Accompanied by Spikes Harvey Rotten, the criminal biker that he brought along with him out of what seemed to be an act of perverse cruelty, and Tweek, and enslaved alien that they free along the way, Dredd fights his way through the mental denizens of the post-apocalyptic wasteland, including Satanus the Tyrannosaurus Rex, robot vampires, and the feared Angel Gang. Starting off in an armoured tank and with an army of sidekicks, by the end of the storyline Dredd was alone, crawling on his hands and knees through the desert, everybody else having been killed along the way. And you know what? He made it. Because Dredd is that drokking hard.

2. Preacher - Alamo

The final Preacher book is all about settling scores. Jesse has a score to settle with Cassidy, and the two former best friends finally beat the shit into one another in a largely indecisive duel at the Alamo. Herr Starr, on the other hand, blames Jesse for the loss of a number of his body parts, and having eschewed his plan to install the titular clergyman as a puppet messiah, is now hell-bent on revenge. The Saint of Killers finally has a word with God Almighty, and it doesn't end well for the big guy.

1. The Watchmen

The Watchmen is the best, because from start to finish it is pure brilliance. The dialogue, characterisation, the art, are all perfect. And the unsettling questions that Alan Moore asks have never been more eloquently put. Don't worry though, superheroes aren't all fascists and homosexuals. Not really.

Underrated Rock Albums #1. Therapy? - Infernal Love

Therapy?: These men are about to rape you.

Everybody knows that I love Therapy?. I love big-boned Cairnsy and his greasy hair and incessant self-deprecation. I love mad little Michael McKeegan and his happy little smile. I even love, poor, wayward Fyfe Ewing. But even at the height of my Therapy? worship in the mid to late 90s. I had a hard time explaining Infernal Love. "It's not as good as Troublegum" people would tell me "It's only got two or three good songs on it". These are fair observations. But you have to think about the context. Infernal Love was released a year after Troublegum, their first album that hit the big time, and expectations were high. Tensions in the band were growing too, and Fyfe Ewing would soon depart the fold permanently. It was the first album that they really spent money on, and it shows in the production. It is a monster. If ever there was an album that was overproduced, this is it. It's like they went loose in the studio and just mucked about with everything. There are countless samples of helicopter noises, two-minute long keyboard intros, sequencers mucking around with the riffs at the beginning of songs, and at least one song where somebody got up and shouted "Fuck it! Horns." It probably adds about 15 minutes to the run time. It doesn't have the singles that Troublegum had either - there's not a Screamager or a Die Laughing on this album. And I think that is probably what disappointed fans most, the lack of catchier, more poppy tunes that turned on legions of new fans to Therapy? after Troublegum came out.

Despite all this, I could never really reconcile the idea that Infernal Love is a wholly bad album. It contains some of their best songs. The opener, Epilepsy, is a riff-led rocker that wouldn't sound out of place on their earlier offerings like Babyteeth or Pleasure Death. Pure rock. The riff is great and Cairnsy howls his guts out. Immediately following this, Stories provides a brief hope for the Troublegum fan of another catchy hit, but cruelly dashes it half a minute in by going all mental with a brass section that seems utterly out of place. And then there's Moment of Clarity. As a teenager, I thought this was - in its own scarily intense fashion - a brilliant love song, with very deep and expressive lyrics. But as an adult you realise that lyrically speaking, it's one of the most cringeworthy songs ever written. It's full of nonsense like the quite laughable line "lips like bruised vulva / your ass like Jesus' feet / worth kissing". It's the sort of borderline rapey bedroom poetry that has never got anybody laid. The opposite in fact. All Therapy? songs that aren't about rocking are about desire for an unattainable woman. The thing is, in Moment of Clarity, the desire just seeps through the music. The angst-riven riffing, straight and true, and balls to the wall, laying it all on the line. It's like a hopeless love note that will inevitably humiliate the writer utterly, and the they know this, but they write it and post it anyway. The song sounds like it is trying to climb down your earhole and make clumsy love to your brain. For the fourth track the band kick it down a notch for Jude the Obscene, one of the albums better songs. Lyrically, it's a bit duff and doesn't really have any memorable refrains, but the "Now you're here, they can't shut you down" bit is quite good and there's a chilled guitar solo. By this time on the album you can tell that they're phoning it in, and the cello-led Bowels of Love is beautifully arranged and has so much promise, except it's only about a minute long. It's like the band couldn't be bothered finishing it. Oh and the lyrics are also nonsense: "And you took me / naive and ugly / into your festering heart / and you poured Eros maggots down my throat / until I choked" OK, Cairnsy, I get it! A woman has wronged you! Just calm down bro, have a Jager Bomb and kiss my friend Rob on the lips (which he did the one time I met him incidentally). Track 6: Misery. No, that's just the name of the song. Despite the title it's a punchy rocker and probably on of the best songs on the album, and the mid section ("Fuck you waste my time ...") is one of Infernal Love's high points. It's imediately followed up with the lacklustre Bad Mother and the even-more-rapey-than-Moment-of-Clarity Me Vs You with its sinister vocals and eerie strings, backed up by a grief-maddened chorus. What immediately follows is the album's biggest anomaly, Loose, a straightforward punk pop song about good times and hilarity. What the fuck is it doing on an album about soured love, loss and self-loathing? Don't worry, there's a song about rape coming up. Diane is a string led ballad that manages to be affecting despite its schoolyard rhyming couplets. It's actually a cover of a Hüsker Dü song, so we can't blame Cairnsy for the lyrics this time. The final song on the album, 30 Seconds, is another lacklustre effort, and the final refrain "There is a light at the end of the tunnel", looped endlessly by sequencers, is virtually unlistenable.

So apologies if I'm not really selling this. It has some truly high points like Misery and Moment of Clarity, but it also has some truly excrutiating moments. In a way I think it's the most honest album Therapy? have ever produced because it is so utterly uncompromising in its music and the lyrics. Compared to some of their later, more polished efforts, you feel like you are getting into Cairnsy's sick, sick head. It's like you're in his dank little bedroom, watching VHS 90s porn with him, drinking tramp-juice and harbouring simmering resentment for the happy, shiny little bastard people outside. It really does lay them bare as a band, frailties and all, and that's why I always keep coming back to it, at least as often as I do Troublegum or Semi-Detached. And that is why Infernal Love has the dubious honour of being the first opus in my Underrated Rock Albums list.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It occurs to me that no North American reader will have any idea who Therapy? are, not having been privy to some of the lesser known acts of what is occassionally referred to by NME readers as the "90s Britrock Explosion". Let me break it down for you. Imagine if somebody kidnapped U2 at birth and held them prisoner in a Belfast basement letting them listen to nothing except Joy Division, Motörhead, telling them that all women are teases and whores, and feeding them pies. Then you get Therapy?. More or less.