A New Tenant For The Tardis

I knew this time would come. It was as inevitable as the changing of the seasons, as sure as night follows day. But I didn't expect it to be this sudden.

Yes, Sickbaggers, I am of course referring to the news that David Tennant is leaving Doctor Who, ending his four year stint as the titular timelord in the BBC's long-running sci-fi series.


I had hoped he might hold out for one series under Stephen Moffat's stewardship (the incoming show runner who previously penned excellent Who stories such as Silence in the Library and Blink), but it seems it is not to be. He will appear at The Doctor for five more specials to be broadcast over the next year and a bit, meaning there is just five, short hours of Tennant left to enjoy.

I know Tennant's tenancy of the TARDIS has divided opinion; the majority seem to love him and think he has really made the role his own, while the moaning minority seem to think he is a useless clown who has no place in such a serious-minded piece of powerful drama as Who. To the latter crowd I only have this irrefutable argument to offer: piss off, you tits.

I for one will miss David Tennant's Doctor immensely; I think he has done a bang-on job in balancing the comic with the dramatic, and it is not for nothing that he has become so popular with the audience. But equally I can quite understand his desire to move on before it is too late, and hope he gets to enjoy even bigger success hereafter.

I was going to do an hilarious 'Who Should Be The Next Who' post (what about Russell Brand? LOL! Or Bill Cosby? ROFFLE! Or a cat in a wig?) but quite frankly it is far too soon to be contemplating the next Doctor. The wounds are still raw, dammit.

Now let me be. I have some mourning to do.

Weeeeep.

- Fanton.

An Extra Hour

So, the clocks went back one whole hour today, heralding the end of British Summer Time. Of course, most of us spent this extra time sleeping, but what else could you possibly do with an extra sixty minutes? As ever, Digital Sickbag has the answer!

• Watch an entire episode of 60 Minutes.
• Alternatively, watch two episodes of Hancock's Half Hour.
  
• Bake a potato, then set the clock back, and marvel at how your food was ready in no time at all.
• Refuse to set your watch back the one hour, but change all the rest of the clocks in the house, and then pretend you are a time traveller from the future visiting the past.
• Boil twenty three-minute eggs, one after the other.
  
• Watch part of a shitty film, read some of a rubbish book, or simply spend an hour doing something you don't like. Then, set the clocks back and be safe in the knowledge that you didn't waste any of your precious time doing those things.
• Prepare for the onset of Seasonal Affective Disorder by going out and buying loads of lamps and Prozac.
  
• Before the clocks go back, go out and rob a store, or hot-wire a car or something, and then watch with glee as the time in which you committed your felony is wiped from history, allowing you to completely get away with your crime.
• Make love. Thirty times.
  
• Count to 216,000.
• Go to Greenwich and be really mean to everyone there. It is Greenwich Mean Time now, after all.
• Laugh smugly at people who have forgotten to set their clocks correctly, and revel in their bleary-eyed confusion as they wake up one hour too early.
• Refuse to acknowledge the time change, and insist upon living in your own, personal time-zone.
• Use the extra hour to finally update your crappy blog which you have been neglecting for the past three weeks.

What will YOU do with this extra hour, Sickbaggers?

- Fanton.

When Celebrities Collide

Do you like celebrities?

Of course you do. We all do. But do you, like me, worry that there are maybe too many celebrities in the world today, making it a little more difficult to spread the celeb-love equally to them all?

Thank the Maker, then, for Popmash.

Popmash is the genius creation of awesomely awesome animator Michael Whaite (who I have mentioned before, in equally gushing terms, here and here). The concept of Popmash is simple: take two celebrities and fling them together in a genetic tumble-dryer, and marvel at the freakish composite entity that pops out later.

Already Mike's Popmashing madness has led to two brilliant short cartoons; namely Bee Geesus and Mr. Benn-y Hill. Watch them, they're fab.

Recently Mike has been hard at work expanding his Popmash empire, resulting in a spiffy new web site with the added bonus that you can now purchase fine goods bearing the spliced-up celebrities' likenesses. Most excellently of all, this includes t-shirts, so now you can proudly display your love of two famous folk at once, whilst out and about leading your distinctly un-starry lives! HUZZAH!

Here's just a sample of some of the Popmash apparel you can now purchase:

Brilliant. Clearly, the Popmash phenomenon is only going to get bigger, so hop along to the website now, or directly to the Shopmash store, and snap yourself up some top-quality merchandise before everyone else does. That way you'll look waaaaay cool, and you'll probably get shagged heaps too.*

See you on the red carpet!

- Fanton.




*likelihood dependent on physical repulsiveness.

Fanton: Established 1978

Bloody hell. I am now thirty years old.

Yes, dear readers, as of yesterday I bade a fond farewell to my twenties and found myself staggering into my thirties; 'staggering' being quite the correct word here, as I was partying through Monday night into the wee hours on Tuesday, with some of my very favourite people on the planet. Good times!

I've had lots of people remark on this milestone year, asking me how I feel about hitting the big three-oh. To be honest, I don't really appropriate any large significance to hitting thirty. I certainly don't 'feel' thirty; whether that is due to crippling immaturity and irresponsibility, or whether it is because I have been blessed with incredibly youthful (good) looks, I cannot say. But so far, nothings really changed.

I've just thought: that above statement could be seen as being rather tragic. Here I am, thirty years old, and nothing has really changed over the last few years. Except, y'know, I have no job now.

So, yeah: I'm an awful, thirty year-old jobless loser.

Uh-oh. This party is in danger of going sour. BRING ON THE MUSIC!



I love that tune. For the curious, it is called 'L-O-V-E' and is by a great new band I've recently chanced across called SugaRush Beat Company. Groove-a-licious, as the kids might say. If they were particularly dumb.

Anyway: there we go. Next time I see you, I might have taken to smoking a pipe and wearing a cardigan. But I doubt it.

- Fanton.

I Am Shit, I Am Best

Its been a rather odd day today, all told.

It began terribly when I got fired this morning from my awful, minimum-wage job, for committing the terrible crime of...eating a hotdog. A hotdog that was due to be chucked in the bin anyway, as it was the end of the night and thus was not going to be sold.

And so, for that horrendous act (no doubt causing the multi-million pound company for which I work untold damage and distress), I had my employment terminated. After seven and a half years of loyal service, it turned out that at the end of the day I was worth less to the company than an old, discarded sausage.

And as an added bonus, this took place only four days before my birthday. DOUBLE FUN!

Naturally, I was less than pleased and felt completely and utterly depressed by the whole affair.

However, on the flip-side of this particular coin, was the fact that when I got back to my house, I found that an earlier, off-the-cuff suggestion to The Guardian's 'Comment is Free' on Twitter had resulted in Lord Likely's blog being selected as one of the 'Best of the Web' on their website!

BEHOLD!

Obviously I'm a little aggrieved to see my stuff BELOW a LOLCats-based story (especially being the purveyor of high-quality RIPDogs, myself), but still, there it was. A link to my writing, on The Guardian's website.

Fuck me.

Since then, I've been fielding loads of text messages, emails and Facebook comments either commiserating with me on the loss of my job, or congratulating me on getting a link from The Guardian. I don't know whether I should be wallowing in self-pity and sadness, or leaping for joy and hurling myself into fresh writing work.

Like I said, its been a really odd day.

Now all I have to do is find a way to build upon my writing success, and, y'know...actually get paid to do it, or something. I think that'd be nice.

Either that, or its off to McDonald's.

See you in the dole queue!

- Fanton.

Virtual Wordsack: One

Welcome, dear readers!

Having seen the Sickbag become something of a repository for meandering posts about nothing of any interest lately, I thought it was high time I forced this blog back on track, and restored it to its rightful position as the best place on the internet to find the very finest writing imaginable.

To this end, may I welcome you to a new, regular feature on the Sickbag, which I have called 'Digital Sickbag's Virtual Wordsack' (henceforth known as DSVW, which I admit does sound like a car-simulator for Nintendo's current handheld console of choice).

DSVW will feature some of my own personal poetry, created by my own hands and brain, and shared with you, The Internet. It's about time we had some real culture here, wouldn't you agree?

So here for your enjoyment I present my verse. I hope you enjoy. It.

Love Machine

My pistons are pumping
My gears are turning fast
I'm ready for humping
Inspection I have passed.

My motor is turning
My nuts and bolts are tight
My furnace is burning
I'll be running all night

My crankshaft is cranking
My engine purrs inside
Get ready for spanking
-Oh!
My battery has died.

Oh no!
Now I'm leaking oil
See it drip onto the floor
Girl please don't recoil...

This never happened before.


Splish Splash On My Moustache


Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

Aw no look at that it's rainin' down on me,
Coming down hard like an upside-down sea.
This has ruined my day, robbed it of its fizz,
It's like God pulled down his pants and took a mighty whizz.

Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,
Well I took a plane to Spain during Juan Carlos' reign
And do you know what I saw when I got there?
Everywhere was rained upon, it all got its share.

Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
Gotta go, really must dash,
Splish Splash, Splish Splash,
There's rain on my moustache.

I guess what I'm saying is rain will always get you wet,
I know that's kinda obvious but just don't you forget.
The real reason why the rain has made me so dismayed
Is that its pissed upon my perfectly-planned parade.


Donut

I really don't understand your dislike of the donut
Some people share your views but I simply do not
Why is it that you hate donuts so, what gets you in this knot?
You can tell me honey, let me in your doo-dah nut.

Why do you despise this tasty treat from the bakery?
Did it cheat on you, was it bigamy?
I'm sorry that wasn't very big of me
But I cannot comprehend your hate of this delicacy.

What about the ones with the tasty chocolate icing?
Surely those donuts have got to be somewhat enticing?
Jam donuts I always find so appetising
I really cannot see what it is that you are despising.

Were you bullied by donuts when you were at school?
Did they pick on you and make you look a fool?
'Cos that kind of behaviour is really not cool,
But to take it out on all donuts is just plain cruel.

I'm sorry to go on, girl, but it just shows how much I care,
I hate to see these donuts driving you so very spare,
If you really don't want one then I guess that that's fair,
If you would much prefer, I'll get you an éclair.


To Bille



Oh Billie, Billie, Billie,
Can't you see what you're doing
To my willy, willy, willy?

When I noticed you,
on Doctor Who
You looked so cute I wanted to
Doctor You
We'd fly off in that box of blue,
just like the
Doctor'd do,
We'd find a lonely planet and there we'd screw
I'd really like to
Doggy you.
Yeah!

Now you play a ho
on that TV show
But you're beautiful so
you ain't no ho
I can't believe yo'
would lower yourself so.
But if the rates were reasonable
I'd still give you a go
yeah.

Oh Billie, Billie, Billie,
Can't you see what you're doing
To my willy, willy, willy?

I thank you.

- Fanton.

Five Weeks in the Making

Cor blimey, guv.

Its been five weeks or so since I last updated the Sickbag. What exactly have I been doing in that time?

I'll tell you what - I came up with this truly EXCELLENT joke. BEHOLD:

Q: What happened to the man who gave Nostradamus a haircut and a shave?

A: He made a tidy prophet!

Ah-hahahahaha!

Well worth the wait, I"m sure you'll agree.

- Fanton.

Items of Interest (Interest May Vary)

It's lazy blog-post time, as I present a selection of links and 'things' that may be of interest to you (and you) with the minimum of writing in between, and without the need for any jokes or anything approaching creativity. HOORAY!
First up, here's a YouTube video based around my good chum Stu Munro's excellent webcomic, Ray the Otter.

Ray the Otter is a foul-mouthed, misogynistic, racist otter who appears in his own comic, dispensing all manner of offensive quips, much to the bewilderment of his little friend, Mr. Peepers.

Ray has been released from the confines of the comic panel, and thrust into a semi-animated toon by Daveula creator Tom Butler. The result is excellent, disgusting and excellent once more.

Here it is now:

My other good chum, Mike Whaite (he of The Carrotty Kid pilot episode fame) has gone quiet recently, but then returned yesterday in a blaze of glory, with this excellent animation featuring a potty-mouthed hippo singing John Denver's classic track, Annie's Song. It's ruddy ace.



In Lord Likely news, I recently received my first-ever piece of Likely merchandise - a selection of mini-cards bearing his lordship's handsome face, made by those fine folk at moo.com. They are really lovely.

Here they are in fabulous blur-o-vision:


And look! You can even use them as bookmarks! HOORAY!


I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with them. I might send them to loyal Likely fans, or sneak into bookshops and slip them between the covers of every Dan Brown book on the shelves. Decisions, decisions!

Finally, my spoof showbiz website gaup has spluttered back into life, with five - yes, FIVE - new articles awaiting your perusal. Meanwhile, The Carrotty Kid has ground to a temporary halt again. Man, it's hard work juggling all these sites, you know.

That's it for this highly fascinating round-up of stuff and things. See you next time!

- Fanton.

The Superheroes That Hollywood Forgot

As The Dark Knight flaps onto cinema screens worldwide, during an already superhero-packed year (what with Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, Hancock and Hellboy II having all hit the big screen), it looks as if Hollywood's love affair with comic looks stronger than ever.

And with The Watchmen, Captain America, Wolverine, The Punisher, Thor and The Avengers all waiting on the sidelines for the next few years, Hollywood seems in no hurry to give up on converting colourful caped crusaders to motion-picture marvels.

But superheroes are a finite resource, and it can only be a matter of time before Hollywood plunders the super-powered well dry, and run out of costumed characters to franchise.

Luckily, Digital Sickbag is on hand to alert Mr. Hollywood to a few of the world's lesser-known heroes, which we feel are ripe for the cinematic treatment.


Bananaman: When mild-mannered schoolboy Eric Wimp eats a banana, an astounding transformation occurs - he turns into the lantern-jawed crime-fighter Bananaman.

Having been a mainstay of British comics for the past twenty-five odd years, Bananaman also became the star of a short-lived animated series in the eighties, but so far has not made the leap to the big screen.

We feel the adventures of the utterly useless, Banana-powered superhero and his nutty nemeses Appleman, General Blight and Doctor Gloom would be the perfect tonic to the 'gritty' and 'realistic' comic-fare of late. It might even give the British comics industry a much needed shot in the arm, unless they balls it up like they did with the god-awful Judge Dredd.

Plus, banana sales would sky-rocket.



The Impossibles: During their highly prolific 60s heyday, Hanna-Barbera churned out an awful lot of cartoons, some of which were pure poop.

The Impossibles was one such show, follwoing the escapades of three kids (who played in a band by day) who were also superheroes, and slightly gash ones at that. You had The Coil (blessed with spring-like limbs, and not adept at birth-control as you might suspect), Fluid Man (who could turn into, well...fluid) and Multi Man, who could replicate himself many times over.

The Impossibles battled equally crap villains, such as The Bubbler (preferred weapon of choice: indestructible bubbles), Beamatron (shot lasers from his hands) and the Perilous Paper Man, who could transform into paper and who boasted of 'complete mastery over all office equipment'.

Despite being toss, if Hollywood had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel for fresh superheroics, I suppose they could turn The Impossibles into some kind of superhero parody, or something. But then, Batman and Robin already beat them to it, I suppose.



SuperTed: The star of his very own cartoon in the 1980s, SuperTed must rank as one of the most bizarre shows ever created.

SuperTed begins life as a discarded teddy bear, ejected from the toy factory for being defective. For reasons not quite made clear, a spotty alien (called Spotty, cleverly) takes pity on the discarded bear, and takes him to see Mother Nature, who gives him life, and special powers. For some equally unfathomable reason.

From there on, SuperTed takes to fighting crime, but his line-up of villains made even less sense, featuring as they did a ruthless cowboy, a fat dope and a really, really camp skeleton. It really was bonkers, yet somewhat endearing.

At least a big-budget movie version couldn't make any less sense than Catwoman.



Supergran: Another veteran of British kid's TV, Supergran was a Scottish series about, well, a super gran.

Granny Smith was hit by some sort of beam which gave her super-strength and super-speed, which she put to good use defeating the villainous Scunner Campbell and his henchmen, Muscles and Dustin.

The best thing about Super gran was the excellent theme, recorded by Billy Connolly. We'd pay good money to hear that classic tune pumping through the speakers of our local multiplex.

Altogether now: '"Stand back Superman, Iceman, Spiderman, Batman and Robin too. Don't wanna cause a ruckus, but B. A. Barracus have I got a match for you! She makes them look like a bunch of fairies, she's got more bottle than United Dairies... Hang about... Look out... for Supergran!"


The Ferret: The Ferret was one of Malibu Comics' short-lived titles, featuring a bloke called Cal Denton, who had super-agility and feral powers, and who looked a bit like a singer from an 80s hair-metal band. Plus, he was lumbered with a terrible superhero name that would strike fear in precisely no-one.

"Quick! Here comes the Ferret!"

"The...the what?"

"The Ferret!"

"Wait, are you seriously telling me that dude is called The Ferret? Oh, man! 'Oh no, here comes The Ferret'. We'd better get a burlap bag, or something! What a tool."

"I guess it does sound pretty funny when you look at it like that..."

He was shit, really.

We think there could be some mileage in taking the character and reinventing him for the movies. Have Cal Denton get bitten by a radioactive ferret, and then have him fight crime by wriggling up criminals trouser-legs, and gnawing on their privates.

It'd be a blockbuster, I tell you.



Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen: Red-headed reporter and wacky funster Jimmy Olsen was given his own spin-off comic book back in 1954, which somehow managed to run for twenty years, despite Olsen having no super-powers and being a bit, well, crap.

However, as Fox is spinning Wolverine off into his own movie, and Sony is rumoured to be prepping a solo outing for Venom, it can only be a matter of time before Jimmy Olsen lands his own cinematic series, in which he tries on a fake moustaches, battles gorillas and tries to cut Superman's hair.

We think it could work, but it all depends whether Hollywood is ready to allow a film to be fronted by a character from a much-maligned minority (i.e. gingers).


The Huntsman: You could pluck any character from Warner Brothers' excellent (but brief) cartoon series Freakazoid! for silver screen immortality, but our money would be on The Huntsman.

Each episode of The Huntsman began with an action-packed intro, showing the Huntsman (summoned by the 'Horn of Urgency') fighting criminals and overcoming evil.

But then the episode proper began, with The Huntsman walking into the commissioner's office looking for work. And each week, without fail, the commissioner would reply that there was no crime to fight, leaving the Huntsman to depart, angry and dismayed.

We think a Huntsman movie would be a brilliant alternative to the smash-pow, special effects-laden superhero blockbusters of today. It could just be two hours of The Huntsman and the commissioner talking, lamenting on how quiet the city is, and pondering on the good of a crime fighter with no crime to fight.

Then, The Huntsman could leave in a huff, kicking a bin on the way out, which could be rendered in state-of-the-art CGI just to keep the audience happy.

One ticket, please!


So there you go, Hollywood, some ideas for you to try out. There's no need to thank us, we just want to make sure you keep pumping out those super-powered pictures.

If you must thank us for saving your sorry behinds, please make all cheques out to Digital Sickbag.

Thanks!

- Fanton.

You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'

Wow. You guys. You guys.

Since yesterday's rather pathetic plea for cash donations to help renew my hosting for my www.thecarrottykid.co.uk domain, you gorgeous, lovely people have taken pity on my terrible plight, and left me richer to the tune of some forty pounds.

Big, sticky thank yous go out to Summer, Shawn, Stephen, Richard and Diane. You are all one hundred percent spectacular. Thank you!

I am genuinely touched and humbled by your generosity. It's the spirit of kindness and humanity on display that has really made me a richer man today.

Well, that and the forty pounds, obviously.

All this loveliness has made me want to dance with joy. In fact, let us all dance together. Let us dance naked, like this lot in this excellent video for a song called Toejam, done by the Brighton Port Authority (aka Norman 'Fatboy Slim' Cook, Talking Heads' frontman David Byrne and Dizzee Rascal). This video made me smile, the song is lovely and it features the most inventive use of censor bars I have ever seen.

I bestow it to you as a big, sloppy thank you to all of you who donated to Carrot Aid.

Enjoy. And thank you again!

- Fanton.

Money For Nothing

Money, money, money
Must be funny
In the rich man's world.

- Abba, 1976.

Ah, how wise those Swedish songsters were!

Money must be funny in a rich man's world, because it sure as heck isn't funny in this particular poor man's world.

Yup, I'm utterly skint this month, due to a hilarious (read: depressing) chain of events involving the Student Loans Company, my bank and a shed-load of charges. Bastards.

As such, I have precisely fifteen pounds to see me through the rest of the month, which means I could well be dead by the time you read this, if my new diet of super-cheap pasta and baked beans conspires to kill me.

To rub further salt into my penniless wounds, I received notification that my renewal payment for www.thecarrottykid.co.uk (my excellent webcomic) was declined, due to the aforementioned lack of funds, which is doubly annoying because I spent the past two days working on that damned site, only to learn it could disappear just like that.

I have tried to reason with my webhost, but they tell me its an automated process, and after an unspecified period of time, accounts that are in arrears will be deleted.

Sigh.

As well as wiping the Carrotty Kid from the internet, this'll also have a knock-on effect on all the sites in the Likely Empire, as Lord Likely's site and this very blog both use The Carrotty Kid's webspace to host various images and bits and pieces.

IT COULD MEAN THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT.

I don't like to beg, but as the forces of evil rise against me, I figure I might as well throw down my hat and ask for a few pennies from benevolent passers-by.

So, I give you: Carrot Aid.

If you have ever found yourself chuckling at my crazy cartoon carrot, or if you have simply enjoyed the bright colours and swirly lines, then perhaps you would like to donate a little bit to the Carrot Aid Carrot Fund. Or, if you are an avid follower of His Lordship, maybe you too could see your way to throwing a few coins in my virtual hat? Pretty please?

Obviously, I'm not going to force anyone to part with their precious cash, nor will I hate you if you don't give anything, but in these desperate times, desperate measures are called for, so I thought I'd give it a try anyway.

You can give to Carrot Aid via the ChipIn widget below, or via PayPal directly. Or, alternatively, you could buy one of my fabulous t-shirts on redbubble.com, and thus get something back for your donation!

Just two pounds could save me from having to eat Pot Noodles ever again.

Fifteen pounds could save a young carrot's life.

Thirty pounds could help keep a sozzled aristocrat in whisky and gin for an entire day.

Thanks in advance to anyone willing to stump up a few coins to allow me to continue churning out my high-quality comedy products. I promise to pay you back in sheer wealth of chuckles!

Maybe.

Cheers!

- Fanton.

I Wish I was a Doodlebug

It's Doodle Time!

The lovely Claire is once again throwing open a doodle-based challenge to all those who read her frankly fabulous blog, A Little Piece of Me.

The challenge? To doodle, dammit!

I missed the last Doodle Week, (due to me being slightly crap at getting around to stuff) but this time I'm ready. I even have my finest crayons at hand.

The theme of today's Doodle Challenge is the Doodlebug, and so here is my take on this particular theme:

Man, I wish I was a Doodlebug. Those extra limbs would come in handy for completing the many projects and ideas I have floating about, but for which I never seem to have enough time.

Curse you, Doodlebug! Why must you mock me this way?

Talking of doodles and projects that have been neglected (God, I'm great at linking things together) today also heralds the return of my semi-successful webcomic The Carrotty Kid. It's been six long months since I last did any carrot-based cartoonery, and I have missed the little orange bugger a bit. Look, here he is now, doing some kung-fu or something:


Bless him. Why not visit the homegrown hero at his website, so I don't wind up having wasted an entire day? Please?

Right, I'm off. I think I've got artists' cramp. Then again, it might just be wankers' cramp. It's hard to tell, really. I've done a lot of drawing today, but I've also done more than my fair share of tossing, as well. Ah, well!

Next time I take on Brent's challenge, thrown down from the almighty Comma! Will I succeed, or fail terribly? And why is everyone out to challenge me, anyway?

Find out at some point this week!

Tara for now!

- Fanton.

The Shirt Off My Back

Hey, consumers!

Do you like t-shirts? Do you like wearing t-shirts? Do you like wearing t-shirts with vaguely amusing pictures upon them?

You do? WELL YOU'RE IN LUCK!

In association with the fine folk at redbubble.com, I have designed not one but TWO wonderful t-shirts for you to look at and then buy and thus keep me alive for another month.

First up, this jolly little number featuring a certain Mr. Grim Reaper:


Oh, Mr. Reaper! You'll be the death of me! Buy this shirt, HERE!

Secondly, it's the return of everyone's favourite homegrown hero, The Carrotty Kid, who has gone from failed TV pilot, to failed webcomic and is now a lovely t-shirt, ready to adorn your chest or breasts. KA-POW!


Buy that tasty little number, HERE.

Who knows? If enough people buy a shirt, maybe I can stop eating the stuff I find on the floor.

redbubble is quite a funky Australian-based site, of which the marketplace is only a small part. There is an excellent social side to the site, allowing you to meet some sickeningly gifted artists, chat to them, and then you can gaze in awe at their fabulous works. It's a bit like a gallery, except there's no creepy guards following you about making sure you don't touch the Pointilists.

I thank the sexily talented cleandemon for drawing my attention to this wonderful world of wonder.

Bye-bye!

(Buy buy).

- Fanton.

What Time Do You Call This, Sonny?

Hello!

I have rather neglected this blog and all my blogging activities of late, for which I humbly apologise and beg for your forgiveness.

I have been struck with a mixture of extreme laziness and apathy of late, but I took some tablets and it seems to have cleared up nicely.

So: I am back, and ready to roll. As well as all my blogging stuff, I'm also working on what may turn out to be a proper, full-paying cartooning gig; as well as toying with some new ideas for Lord Likely...so watch this space.

In other news, I may be a little distracted this week, as I'm counting down the days until the grand finale of the current series of Doctor Who airs. Last week's cliffhanger had me literally soiling myself with excitement, and I simply cannot wait to see how it all pans out.

If you've yet to see last week's Who, then look away now. For the rest of us, here's the teaser for next Saturday's episode:



Oooh! I just did a little more wee.

I'll be back with a better-quality post soon. Until then, take care of yourselves, and each other.

Byeee!

- Fanton.

Blade Runner

So, there I was, minding my own business, walking home after a long ten-hour shift at work, when a couple of guys stop me and one of them pulls a knife on me.

It's funny how these things suddenly happen out of the blue, isn't it? Of course, by 'funny' I mean 'horrifying'.

It was a Friday night like any other, and I was heading home, taking the same route I always do. The Sweeney Todd soundtrack was playing on my MP3 player, and as I enjoyed Johnny Depp's mock-cockney tones mourning the loss of his dear Johanna, I noticed a couple of figures on the other side of the street.

Based on a cunning survival strategy of not approaching strangers, I chose to ignore them, and crossed over to the other side of the road. Unfortunately, it seemed these strangers did not want to ignore me so easily, and so crossed the street as well, and thereby went from being completely ignored to fully acknowledged.

One of the two went behind me, while the other took to the front, a classic Pincer Movement as favoured by military campaigners throughout history, and by lions in the wild. Which would make me the hapless gazelle caught between two predators.

The guy in front of me blocked my path and refused to budge, forcing me to dislodge the singing barber from my ears and ask what it was that they wanted. I figured they'd be after a cigarette, or something.

"Do you want something?" I said.

"Yeah," came the rather blunt reply. What that something was he didn't elaborate on, and just stared at me.

"Well, what?" I continued. "What is it?"

Then there was a sound that I recognised all too well from my time unpacking boxes in a supermarket - the ratcheting sound of a blade being pushed up several notches on a retractable blade. I looked down to where the noise was coming from, and there it was, clutched in the bloke's hand, blade down.

Terror gripped me, and a thousand thoughts jostled for supremacy in my head, the loudest of which was simply, 'SHIT!' Not very useful, maybe, but entirely appropriate.

I had no idea what to do. I'm entirely useless in any kind of confrontation, and posses precisely zero kung-fu skills, despite having watched dozens of Jean Claude Van-Damme films. I could not formulate any feasible plan to ensure my continued survival, and was almost resigned to the inevitable stabbing.

"What?" I said dumbly, hoping to get some vague idea of what these two wanted. The man in front of me said nothing, fixing me with an ice-cold stare. He angled his body towards me, while the other guy remained behind. Fuck, I thought. This is it. This is how it ends, at the hands of two shitty little bastards, on a dark street in Portsmouth. What a crap way to go. If I had to go, I'd rather it was at the hands of a dozen, nude, wild nymphomaniacs or something. Not this. This was rubbish.

What the hell did they want, anyway? Were they just wanting to stab someone tonight? Or did they want to mug me? If it was the latter, then they'd be sorely disappointed. I had approximately seven pounds on me, and the MP3 player I had been enjoying Sweeney Todd on cost me a fiver form Tescos. I almost hoped they did want to rob me. The slim pickings upon my person would teach them to pick far wealthier targets in the future.

Whatever they wanted, I began to wish they'd get on with it. But still they remained silent and unmoving, not giving me the slightest hint of their intentions. I was sure I was going to be struck at any minute. I was sure they were going to pounce in a flash. Any time now...

However, it seemed that my time was not yet, for at this moment the fates intervened, or God chose to spare me, or Lady Luck fluttered her eyelashes, whatever you choose to believe. For suddenly another man passed-by, going about his business entirely unaware of my current situation. His sudden appearance took my two captors by surprise, and they both seemed to relax themselves, in an attempt to make it look less like they were about to stab me, and more like we were just hanging out together, having a lovely time.

Suddenly, my brain stopped hurling expletives around my skull and threw out an order to the rest of my body.

NOW! It screeched. Move now! Don't wait for the passer-by to pass on by, so we can resume the business of getting stabbed. Just get the hell out of here.

My legs happily obeyed, and I brushed past the guy with the blade, figuring that he'd be reluctant to do any stabbing in front of this passer-by. The blade-wielding bloke seemed surprised by my sudden movement, and tried to slow me with his elbow as I passed, but I was not stopping for anyone now. I was out of there.

Bizarrely, I didn't run. I walked fast, of course, but I didn't take to my feet at full pelt, which seems odd when I look back on it. I just marched up the road, and didn't look back, not even when one of the guys yelled, "You were lucky," after me.

I was lucky. I already knew that.

The full shock and horror of this night-time encounter didn't really sink in until after I had gotten back home, and even then it wasn't right away. No, the first thing I did when I got in was to go and make a cup of tea. Sadly, however, we were out of milk, so without even thinking I went back outside to go to the shop to get some more.

What the fuck was I thinking?

It was only when I returned from the shop, and sat down with a nice cuppa and a few cigarettes that the shock caught up with me. Panic and fear enveloped me, and one thought kept circling through my mind - what if that passer-by hadn't appeared?

I was in quite a state, and I had no-one to talk to as the house was empty. So, I picked up the phone and called my dad, who listened as I blurted my story down the phone, stammering and blubbering in equal measure. I felt bad for burdening my parents with my woes at such a late hour, but I did manage to get most of the previously bottled-up emotions out, and began to regain something approaching some form of composure.

My next duty was to telephone my place of work, and let them know of the incident so they called forewarn any of my colleagues who might be planning to go home that way. Then I phoned my housemate and warned him (who heeded my warning, despite being steaming drunk), and then I finally phoned the police, which proved to be a massive waste of time because they were 'too busy' to come and take a statement from me, but they told me that they hoped to drop by in the next couple of days.

I'm still waiting to hear from them.

So there you go. That is how I spent my week-end. How was yours?

- Fanton.

I'm Bringing Carrots Back

While I take a break from the ball-crushing schedule of updating The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, I have begun work on a couple of new and newish projects.

The first is TOP SECRET and cannot be revealed yet, lest I jinx the whole enterprise and ruin it for ever. Not that I'm superstitious or anything. (Anyone have any four-leaf clovers or rabbit's feet on them?)

The other is the return of my other, more family-friendly creation, The Carrotty Kid.


I stopped updating The Carrotty Kid's site earlier this year, largely because I began to think that maybe I was actually no good at this cartooning lark, despite having doodled and scribbled for most of my life.

However, I still draw the odd picture for Lord Likely's site, which I've enjoyed doing, and thanks to my recent assignment of drawing comic strips for the vue cinemas newsletter, I've suddenly felt a resurgence of confidence in my (admittedly limited) abilities. Especially when I submitted the last vue comic, which I was particularly proud of, and which I've reproduced here for you to look at with your eyes:

Haha! Oh, Batman!

As well as rediscovering my artistic mojo (as it were), I've been reading a fair few webcomics which have all inspired me to pick up my pens again. Stuff like the ever-excellent Dinoballs, Jamie Smart's new venture Whubble and the legendary Beaver and Steve have all given me the cartooning itch, which I am now determined to scratch. Scratch hard until it BLEEDS.

Thus inspired and full of fire, I've decided that I am going to relaunch The Carrotty Kid's website next month. I love the little vegetable vigilante, as he was a creation I came up with as a kid and has been my most successful idea yet, earning me some paid work from the UK's finest animation studio, Cosgrove Hall Films, which in turn led to CK becoming the star of his own three-minute pilot episode which would have led to a full series, if only Children's ITV hadn't imploded in on itself. The swines.

The new-look Carrotty Kid will be a bit different from before. I'm going to re-jig the character's design slightly, and I'm going to change the site's format a bit to prevent me (and the readers) from getting bored. Hopefully the end result will be one-hundred percent excellent, and nought percent rubbish.

Of course, with me going back to cartooning, my other ventures may have to suffer slightly. Lord Likely will be dropping to a twice-weekly update schedule (from his current three posts a week), and my spoof showbiz site gaup may well be killed off altogether, unless anyone reading wants to pick up the baton and run with it.

So there you go. Get ready for the return of everyone's favourite kung-fu carrot, coming to a monitor screen near you in June 2008. Go and visit the website now to see a bit of teaser art, and an exciting countdown clock, counting down the days until CK's rebirth.

It's so exciting, you might just PEE.

In other news, please welcome back Mike Whaite to the internet. Mike was the guy responsible for pretty much all the animation in The Carrotty Kid's pilot episode (which you should go and watch and remark on how excellent it is, by the way) and a guy with whom I seemed to click instantly. He's ridiculously talented and excellent, so check out his wondrous portfolio here and fab little website Popmash. He good.

And finally, keep checking Lord Likely's site, to read some truly excellent guest posts from some fine guest writers. Everyone's done a tip-top job thus far, and I thank you all from the bottom of my trousers. Thank you.

Right. That's it for now. I've got vegetables to draw. Tara!

- Fanton.

What The Hell Am I Doing?

Hello, Sickbaggers!

It's alright, I haven't died or anything. Or maybe I have, and maybe someone else has hacked into my Blogger account and is pretending to be me RIGHT NOW, while in actual fact I am buried in a garden somewhere, covered in ants.

Or maybe I'm a ghost, writing this on my ghostly PC. Which would make me the very definition of a ghost writer. Hahahaha!

Seriously though, I'm not dead.

I've been taking a bit of a break from blogging and inter-netting for a couple of weeks, just so that I can do other things like enjoy the sunshine, read books and throw pens at gypsies all day long. Just a few of my favourite things.

So I apologise for my absence, and for not visiting you and your lovely web-logs, but I just wanted to step back for a bit and take a wee break. As in a small break, not just a break for weeing.

Although, incidentally, I have been weeing during my wee break.

Anyway, I'm jabbering now.

I'll be back in a week or two, but in the meantime why not visit The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely, where a slew of top-notch guest writers are stepping up to the proverbial plate and knocking out some wonderfully excellent (and excellently wonderful) guest posts, while I sit around lounging around doing bugger all. It's a good life.

Speak again soon!

BYEEE!

- Fanton.

Gremlins in the Works

Hello, there!

Below is the best TV ad I have ever seen, featuring not only Peter Jones from off of Dragons' Den (a show I am rather to fond of), but also those pint-sized pests the gremlins, last seen on our screens in Gremlins 2: The New Batch back in 1990. It's an excellent advert, which made me smile and which makes me really want to see another Gremlins movie. NOW!

Here be it:



Talking of gremlins, my job has thrown a few gremlins into the works of late, hence no Lord Likely update since Monday. I know, I'm rubbish, but hopefully his lordship will return over the week-end.

See ya!

- Fanton.

So Close, And Yet So Far

Those of you who follow the fate and fortunes of the publishing industry may already know that The Friday Project - a small publisher set up in 2005 with the aim of converting the best of the web to proper books - went into liquidation last month.

What you probably won't know is that last December I had quite a jolly meeting with the (entirely lovely and very amiable) folk at The Friday Project, with a view to publishing a proper, fully-fledged Lord Likely book. With pages and a cover, and everything.

The meeting went very well, so this news is doubly sad, as it means the end of what could have been the Greatest Literary Event of All Time. But hey ho, such is life.

I'm making quite a habit of getting tantalisingly close to having my work published or screened. As well as the Lord Likely book, I also managed to get very near to getting an animated series made based around another of my characters, The Carrotty Kid. I got all the way up to the pilot episode stage, before the UK kid's TV market seemed to implode in on itself, and the series never came to pass.

Still, I got a shiny DVD out of it, containing an exciting glimpse of what could have been:

So, I'm still struggling on, and still hoping that one day one of my ridiculous ideas will finally earn me some money.

Now, can anyone spare me a tenner?

- Fanton.

Dreadlock Holiday

Hey! Guess what! No, not that. Or that. No, not that, either. I'll have to tell you - I'm on holiday! Yippee!

Of course, being a 'struggling artist' (read: penniless hobo), I can't afford to go anywhere sunny and nice, but hey - at least I'm not at work. Huzzah!

Instead, I am spending some time with my parents, my sister and their pets, back home in Ringwood. Ringwood is a little market town on the outskirts of the New Forest, in the South of England, and is famous for three things:

1. It has a brewery.
2. It was used for location filming for the BBC sitcom The Brittas Empire.
3. The 1st Duke of Monmouth was held in the town in 1685, before being executed.

There's not a great deal to do in the town, to be honest, but its nice enough to return to once in a while, to escape city life for a bit.

So, in the absence of anything else to do, I have been taking snaps of things with my digital camera.

Therefore, it's now...HOLIDAY PHOTO TIME! (Try not to snore too loudly).

Me and my parents' frankly excellent cat, Sid. Look at his cute face!
And the cat's. Hahahahaha! Oh my!

The family dog, Ringo. The stupidest thing on four legs.

Me in my 'I'm Kind of a Big Deal' t-shirt which I won via Fuel My Blog.
I've been meaning to snap myself in it for a while now,
and finally - FINALLY - I have gotten round to it. Hooray!

That darn dog again.

And there's the cat again. Note his unamused face. He is less of a LolCat, and more of a FuckYouCat.

Ringo, meanwhile, auditions to be a RipDog.

Even when on holiday, I'm still hard at work on The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely. I just never stop - and it's all for YOU.

Finally, big hugs to you all. Awwww. How sweet.
(PS: I have my nob out, just out of shot).

So there you go.

Tomorrow, I might go and take some pictures of some crows or something. Or possibly my ball-bag.

- Fanton.

The Funniest Line in Movie History

It just is. DON'T ARGUE.

Taken from Carry On Cleo (1964).

I'm still alive, too. HUZZAH! More stuff...SOON.

- Fanton.

Getting Back to Business

Hello, chums!

This is another slightly dull inform-o-post, designed to fill your head with facts about my life that you probably didn't wish to know. For that, I apologise in advance.

Actually, no I don't It's my bloody blog, and I'll do as I please. ALRIGHT?

Anyway, having been kept busy lately by various work-related shenanigans, I am happy to say that I finished my last comic strip for the vue Cinema newsletter this morning (at the ungodly hour of half four in the morning), thus freeing up my time once more to do other stuff. HOORAY!

First on my agenda is tossing off a post for the British Speak blog, where Lord Likely will be cuming up with as many different euphemisms for having a wank, purely for educational purposes, of course.

Then, I hope to finally get around to updating my poor, neglected gaup site, and maybe even do a few new RIPdogs and other such nonsense.

Plus, I have plans for my sadly abandoned Carrotty Kid site, which I aim to get around to some time this Millennium. Whew!

Of course, most of this stuff will have to wait until 7pm on Saturday, as between 6.20pm and 7pm I shall be glued to my TV set, like a wide-eyed child, gurgling with glee at the return of one of my all-time favourite television shows, Doctor Who.

I can't help it. I love the time-travelling lunatic.

I'll leave you with the trailer for the fourth series of the BBC's family-friendly sci-fi smash-hit, while I go off and visit some of your blogs that I've been too busy to visit lately. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?



I'll be RIGHT BACK.

Tara!

- Fanton.

I've Got Something Big and Hard in my Hands

When not sitting around in my pants writing the three most hilarious blogs known to mankind, I work in my job which pays me money so that I can buy electricity and more pants for me to sit around in later.

The lovely Claire from A Little Piece of Me enquired as to the nature of my employment in the comments on my last post, so I thought I'd enlighten her and all of you by answering that query right here, with words which I will type in a paragraph below.

I work in one of the many Vue Cinemas dotted throughout this land, as a general till-jockey and dogsbody, selling tickets and popcorn to the film-going masses. (Of course, when anyone asks me, I tell them I work in the film industry. It sounds much more impressive.)

The job doesn't pay a great deal, and the hours can be a bit gruelling at times, but I do get to watch films for the princely sum of no pounds and no pence, and the people I work with are some of the nicest and most demented people I have met. So it's all good.

A couple of months ago, I was told that the in-house company newsletter was looking for creative submissions to enliven the news-sheet, and I was asked whether I might be able to supply a comic-strip for it. I agreed, put on my thinking hat and my doodling trousers, and set to work.

After discarding many lewd and inappropriate attempts, I finally gave them the cartoon wonder you can behold below:

Hahahahaha!

Anyway, despite the bloody and violent nature of the comic, the powers-that-be were delighted with it, and it went into the next issue of the newsletter, ready to delight Vue workers up and down the land.

I was told I would receive a prize for my efforts, but to be honest I wasn't holding much hope for the prize being any good. I imagined it might be a Vue-emblazoned t-shirt, or free popcorn, or something.

Imagine my fully-erect delight when the prize arrived last Saturday, and turned out to be a brand, spanking new Sony PlayStationPortable! I literally peed with joy! (Well, okay, not literally. Although there may have been some seepage).

I was well chuffed, at any rate, and have since been playing the brilliantly barmy Loco Roco pretty much non-stop. It's a ridiculously cute and wholly charming video game, wherein you play a giant, orange blob rolling through surrealistic landscapes eating fruit and avoiding nasties.

It's simple and tons of fun, and thus gets my official seal of approval.

Look, here's my official seal of approval now:

You said it, chum!

So there you go. That's what I do.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. I'm building a Loco House and I need more parts to make a really awesome playground.

See ya!

- Fanton.

All Apologies

Hello!

This is just a short post today.

See ya!

Hahaha! I crack me up.

No, the real purpose of this post is just to explain my distinct absence from the wacky World Wide Web this week. Since Monday, I've barely set foot upon the virtual super-highway, let alone driven a big truck of comedic wonder down it.

That is because my real, paying job (as tedious and unfulfilling as it is) has decided to gobble up as many of my life's precious hours as possible this week. I've been shackled with three ten hour shifts in a row, PLUS I had to attend a stupid staff meeting at midnight tonight, which was RUBBISH, and has left me with no free hours in which to masturbate write my usual HILARIOUS 'stuff'.


I'll be working over the week-end too, but for those who care, I hope to update The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely tomorrow night-ish, and then do a new gaup on Monday-ish. Ish.

So: apologies for not frequenting everyone's fine blogs as much as I would like, and for failing to respond to e-mails and other such gubbins. And of course, I'm truly sorry for depriving you all of my incredible, shining wit and wondrousness.

Normal business will resume ASAP, unless I choose to sleep for a hundred years.

Be right back, chums!

- Fanton.

Egg-cellence

Happy Easter, chums!

As the technology does not yet exist to send chocolate directly through wires and into your mouth, I'll have to give you this excellent Easter gift instead.

ENJOY.

- Fanton


(The above animation was created by the egg-stremely talented Michael Whaite, a thoroughly good egg himself.)

Flogging A Dead Dog

It seems I was not alone in my hatred for those effing lolcats.

Slowly but surely, the RIPdogs phenomenon has attracted loyal supporters like flies around, well, a dead dog, I suppose.

neOnbubble was the first to leap upon the morbid bandwagon, when Mark Hooper came up with two fine additions to the RIPdogs canon of his very own, giving the RIPdogs movement a much-needed shot in the paw.

Then, Mr. Scaryduck, a good judge of excellence himself, gave the RIPdogs a glowing endorsement in this post, which lead to literally many people dropping by the Sickbag to see what all the fuss was about.

Two of these many visitors then clasped the rotting canine corpses to their chests, and chose to highlight this brand new craze in their own blogs.

Sigg3 chose the RIPdogs as his link of the day, and also provided a fine link of his own, containing an image which could be seen as the very first RIPdog. Except not dead.

James Shearhart, of Elysium Asylum followed next, giving the RIPdogs a quick nod in his own fine blog.

Phew! Thanks, everyone, for lending your support to the RIPdogs cause. Soon, we shall have those lolcats (or as I hilariously like to dub them, 'loltwats') scampering back up their virtual tree, where they can stay for all ruddy eternity, as far as I'm concerned.

BUT WAIT! It's not over yet. As the owner of many fine blogs myself, I am in completely the right position to help my own cause, by instigating cross-platform promotion and developing a synergistic approach to branding, or some such bollocks that marketing men might say.

What I'm basically trying to say is that there are fresh RIPdogs (well, as fresh as they can be, in their condition) over on my HILARIOUS showbiz parody magazine, gaup.

Here's a sneaky preview:

Now go check out the rest.

Rest in Peace, out there.

- Fanton.