Monday, May 07, 2007

You Have Been Reading

(Weeks 1 and 2 were undocumented as Ralph was mostly hiding under a wardrobe.)
Week 3: "would I like a hot beverage"
Week 4: "foam foam yib yib yib"
Week 5: "CliffBen GrimmSteele the RoboThing"
Week 6: "A isn't B"
Week 7: "I swear I was getting an erection"
Week 8: "the red elongated trotsky"
Week 9:"goodbye forever"
Week 10:"I know what happened on Mount Olympus"
Week 11: "big dog, big dog, bow wow wow, we'll crush a bit of evil, now now now"
Week 12: "headquarters are my clothes"
Week 13a: "YOU BASTARDS"
Week 13: "presumably a metaphor"
Week 14: "Emily Dickinson is a world-famous ho"
Week 15a: "suck it... in hell"
Week 15: "the sucky dance, is your chance, to do the suck"
Week 16: "cold and alone on Misery Street"
Week 17: "Doctor Robert Lynchmob"
Week 18: "me and Sheriff John Bunnell"
Week 19: "What do I care about your unsightly nose hair? I've just seen a universe die"
Week 20: "coprophagia in my rooms"
Week 21: "stylin' safari suit"
Week 22: "just like the capitalist world"
Week 23: "get thee behind me, changeling of Satan"
Week 24: "Fredo had to have an accident"
Week 25: "nobody will mourn your johnson"
Week 25a: "Happy Halloween, Phantom Stranger"
Week 26: "John Henry Ass"
Week 27: "the Purple Stretchboy"
Week 28: "I took his clothes away"

Week 29: "get thee behind me, fantastic super energies"
Week 30: "the psychotically idle rich"
Week 31: "barking out the morse code for J-U-N-K"
Week 32: "Superman, or if we can't get him, Vartox"
Week 33: "dear reader, you bastard"
Week 34: "all because you thought Christmas was rubbish"
Week 35: "get back in the sky, you scum"
Week 36: "it's only a space feeling"
Week 37: "maggot-infested scum"
Week 38: "this will be my last communication"
Week 39: "Time Magazine"
Week 40: "there lies an obese bitch"
Week 41: "that's merely the most, fellows"
Week 42: "when he coughs it sounds like the words 'evil plans'"
Week 43: "we're two different people"
Week 44: "more like the Egyptian Scotty Morris"
Week 45: "mild hgnitivolek sauce"
Week 46: "the waiter of vengeance"
Week 47: "Linkin Biscuit"
Week 48: "no funny bit in this episode"
Week 49: "Morgan Freeman Narratodroid"
Week 50: "shocked beyond reason"
Week 51: "Willis War One"
Week 52: "And then a giant alien butterfly ate him."

And now I finally get to break character:

Thanks to everybody who read through this little experiment, even at the end when the lead character was dead in a stone tower and I was forced to rely on the significantly less funny supporting cast.

Thanks especially to anyone who improved the blog by commenting in character (Jean Loring, who started the trend, Green Arrow, Booster/Skeets, Kon-El, Wonder Girl - to name but a few) and didn't try to turn it into their own private MMORPG (Swamp Thing).

And thanks to the writers of 52 for having Ralph push that guy out of his wheelchair which was hilarious.

Shameless Plugging Dept: You can find me at Re:Retro, the retro games blog, in the pages of 2000AD and the Judge Dredd Megazine, in bookstores everywhere come June (August for non-UK folk) and at the International Comic Expo in Bristol this coming weekend. Also, Dr Willis will be available for a chat on Monday evening in the Union server on City Of Villains, if you like that sort of thing.

Well, that was fun.

Let's do it all again soon, eh?

Ladies and Gentlemen, you have been reading...


Sunday, May 06, 2007

Heaven Can Suck It

Seriously, it's the most boring place in the world. I mean, technically it's not in the world, but still. At least in Hell you got a decent cup of coffee. Jesus.

I couldn't even say Jesus out loud because every time I did this beardy middle-eastern-looking guy called Yeshua would pop up and ask if I wanted anything. Seriously, the guy had this pager and every time somebody in the world said 'Jesus Christ' the thing went off, so there was this constant beeping any time he was around, and considering he was by his very nature everywhere at once, that was pretty goddamn constant. And then half the time it's somebody stubbing their toe and the other half it's somebody wanting him to blow up an abortion clinic or typhoon the gays or something.

Yesh had his work cut out for him without all that. "Seriously," he'd say, "it used to be in the middle ages that people would work their entire lives in a muddy swamp or a patch of desert or something, living off insects or being whipped daily by their fuedal lord and stuff. So we get them up here and put them to work on the right hand of Dad singing hosannas and they're so happy to not have bubonic plague anymore that doing some fine choral numbers for all eternity seems like everlasting bliss, you dig? But now we've got all the spoilt assholes who want to bring their SUVs and their plasma screen TVs so they can watch all the sinners frying in Hell and they ask who I am, and I tell them, and they say no, he was a white guy, you're a goddamn ay-rab terrorist by the look of ya, and then they all want to meet Elvis, and they can't, because he's still alive, so they start saying about how they're going to take their business elsewhere and convert to Zoroastrianism so then I have to dress up as Elvis and nobody's satisfied because I'm a goddamn ay-rab terrorist apparently. Did you want a coffee or something? I'm buying."

But we never took him up on it. Because the coffee in Heaven sucks.

So basically I figured it was time I got back into the detective game, seeing as I am the greatest detective who ever lived, and Sue wanted to become a ghost because that's a lot more interesting than just being dead, plus you get to meet people and travel around the world if you're haunting a cruise ship or something. So we decided to combine the two.

Yeshua wasn't having any of it, needless to say. Apparently the Spectre is already being a dead ghost detective because the Spectre is a god damned hog and just being a grim spirit of vengeance isn't enough for him. So Yesh was saying that if we went off and had fun being ghosts, everybody would want to do it and we were nice people and everything or Sue was at least but he really couldn't make an exception. We'd be staying on this side of the veil for all eternity and that was all there was to it.

And then a giant alien butterfly ate him.

Seriously, this gigantic space insect just erupted into Heaven and ate Jesus. And then he started eating Heaven for good measure until he was chased away by what looked suspiciously like Booster Gold. Both of him. So thanks for destroying Heaven, Booster. I'm sure when you're called to account in the next world for being an incredible famewhore your callous murder by space butterfly of the enchanted saviour prince of legend won't count against you. Much.

Anyway, we escaped in the confusion and found ourselves in a post-nuclear hellscape ruled by men in suits of armor riding gigantic dogs, which apparently is Earth-17. It turned out that because of Sue's love of eighties electronica she had in fact gone to Heaven-17 - unfortunately Heaven 17 themselves were not there as they had given in to Temptation and were at that very moment being tormented by adorable creatures with unacceptable features. In Hell. Which I understand is just the high cost of loving.

Anyway, we finally got back to Earth on the Friday.

Obviously I wasn't expecting to have to engage my therapist in a life-and-death struggle for the fate of the planet. And I definitely wasn't expecting to have to do it in a kindergarten classroom. I mean, no sooner had I used my ghostly powers to look in on what Dr Willis was up to - voyeurism being the number one pasttime of all ghosts and Superman - then I found him boring up through the floor of a playschool in some kind of fire-spouting burrowing machine, with an army of half-pirhana half-spider monsters and the most bizarre outfit you ever saw. I mean, Dr Willis isn't a thin guy. A skintight green and purple outfit covered with skulls and a giant 'W' isn't going to suit him. And the really wierd thing was that he was answering his comments at the time. There is such a thing as internet addiction, Dr Willis.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, he was all like, "my bomb will destroy the world!!!", and I was all like "must... use... poltergeist power!!!!" and then I clocked him one and Sue beat up his Giant Scorpirhana Queen before it could birth a new generation of criminal fish-scorpions who liked to rob banks and then I said something like "looks like this mystery had a real 'sting' in the 'tail'!!!!!" and Sue said that was totally my coolest mystery-solving end line ever. And then I kicked Dr Willis really hard in the face until he started crying. It was unbelievably awesome.

Anyway, now that I'm dead and I beat up my therapist and sent him to jail for trying to destroy Planet Earth with a huge bomb and an army of half-insect pirhanas, I guess I can finish off this journal. I am completely cured, after all, as Doctor Willis's face will be happy to tell you, particularly the back teeth I have in a little jar in my trophy room.

So I guess this is it.

Although I should mention there was one more wierd thing that happened on Friday. After we'd beaten Dr Willis like a red-headed stepchild we went to get coffee, and when we came back for the press conference, we stumbled into something out of a nightmare. A nightmarish nightmare.

Just before Willis had burrowed up through the earth in his Infernodrill Tank, the children in that classroom had all taken out their pads and crayons and started drawing something - something I hoped I would never see again, but that seems destined to follow me into the grave itself. Every single one of those children drew the same awful apparition on that paper, and it's no wonder that poor teacher had hysterics and one of the cops blew their own head off while the other took sanctuary in a monastery.

I never thought I'd see Superboy's penis again.

But sketched in crayon it is more hideous than ever and must be fought at every turn. Clearly, while the terror of Superboy's engorged thang is looming over the world, there is no time for a detective, even a ghostly detective who just saved the entire planet from Robert Amersham Willis's dastardly schemes, to be sitting around blogging. Not when he could be sipping cappucinos in Milan, anyway. Also the guy at the internet cafe actually died of fear while I was writing this entry with my transparent ghost fingers, and I don't want too many of those on my conscience. Not unless I want to end up like Martyn Ware.

So at this final stage, before I say my last goodbye and float off into the sunset with my beatiful wife, I really should thank all my readers for putting up with me for this past year.

But I'm not going to because you can all suck it. Do you hear me? Suck it! You won't have Ralph Dibny to kick around anymore!

I am the world's greatest detective and Batman is a ho!


Ralph William Dibny

Sunday, April 29, 2007

I've tried to be decent about this, but global genocide is really the only option left to me.

I honestly thought when I embarked upon this new career as a supervillain - which is progressing very nicely, thank you - that I wouldn't be one of those who attempted to destroy the entire world. I mean, it hardly seems fair. I thought when I began this course of action that I would be merely dealing the red hand of my bloody vengeance to those who had smited or snubbed me. Or Ralph. No, Ralph, I didn't forget. Those who wronged you shall pay. Yes. Yes, Ralph. Yes... look stop yammering at me, man! Jordan and Queen will die with the rest of them! Shut up! Shut up!

You see what I have to deal with.

Anyway, my death toll was originally only going to be a few thousand. A million at the very most. Just those who have earned my undying enmity. Not many at all. A small snack for my army of mutant spiderhanas.

(I should explain here that a spiderhana is a sort of cross between a tarantula and a pirhana. They scuttle about eating all day - raw meat, mostly. Expensive to keep, but you'd be astonished what you can get on the black market if you're willing to spend a million or so. Needless to say the practice has been pretty much liquidated along with most of my other assets, so if you're still sitting in the waiting room in the hope of wasting my time with your endless neuroticisms - by all means stay there. It'll be a Starbucks next week, and I'm sure they're very good listeners.)

I was all set to declare war only on those who had wronged me. And then you had to go and have your little ceremony.

I know for a fact that Ralph hated Superboy with every fibre of his being. No, they can't hear you, Ralph - only I can hear you, we established that. I'm sure they know why you hated Superboy, you had to stare at his genitals a dozen times in statue form - yes, yes, fine, I'll tell them.

I can't have a moment's peace.

Superboy didn't even have a proper costume. If every sullen emo kid in a T-shirt had their own yearly memorial service, we'd be constantly expected to stand around in public squares sobbing and wearing skintight outfits and anyway it's pretty obvious that Superboy being beaten to death by himself like that was just the Superman Family equivalent of a tearful Evervescence fan slitting his own wrists. It was simply the most efficient way the wretched little turd could do the deed. Now stop giving the pathetic little bastard attention and get on with your lives! All of you!

That was Ralph, by the way. Not me. I'd never think that. But unfortunately the Superboy worshippers are on the death list nontheless.

So you can imagine my concern when Steve Lombard - already destined to be casualty #305 in what will be known to the future as Willis War One - covered the event for GBS, saying that "The whole world must be weeping for the plucky youngster whose bones were shattered for us all! Over to you, Bambi!" I slumped back in my chair, too overcome even to notice Bambi introducing that week's Face You Want To Mace (Because They Hate Freedom) - probably Al Gore again. So it had come to this! The entire world worshipped Superboy! Except possibly the scientologists, and they also must die!

Well, as Emily Dickinson said, it is better to be the hammer than the anvil, and thanks to my foresight in preparing to take on my new career I have just the hammer for the task. Indeed my finger is on the button as we speak. A true gentlemen must allow those he disagrees with the opportunity for a rejoinder, and also the chance to put any outstanding affairs in order, so you have until Friday before I activate my Thanatonotron and detonate the planet like a gigantic bomb. Please confine any protests to the comments section - you'll never find the Hidden Lair Of Doctor Willis, and if you do, the spiderhanas are ravenous and the cost of raw meat is prohibitive in these uncertain times. I think you get my meaning.

The world ends on Friday, by the command of Dr Robert Amersham Willis, PhD! You're welcome.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

My life has been turned upside down by one shocking change after another!

I was planning to write about the terrible events of what is already being called 'World War III' - much like many other terrible events have been - when the entire world was decimated, as prophecied on the Steve Lombard show, by one of Earth's greatest living legends of swing. But frankly, I think we're all quite aware of the sordid details of that little episode and it would be crass in the extreme to harp on about it in the face of so much global mourning, grieving and assorted bereavement. There are simply too many dead to make light of Black Adam's actions.

Especially considering I was evidently not considered worth killing. How dare he! I'd have considered it an honour to be rent in twain by the man's immaculate fingernails and he knows it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if this whole sordid brouhaha wasn't some callous attempt to snub me. Yeeees, it's all so very clear. He knows I'm his greatest fan. Hasn't he been watching me? Watching me through the walls with his secret X-ray vision that he tells no-one of, so he can watch me? He's never mentioned having X-ray vision - and that's proof he has it. And why would he lie about such a thing unless it was to watch me when I make my ablutions?

Well, there's a space in the cellar for you, Mr Black Adam. I hope you still think that your little game was worth it when I apply the red hot pincers. Oh yes, you'll pay! How you will pay!

Anyway, we shan't talk about Black Adam today. I think you'd rather hear about the wave of shocking changes that have happened in this week, changes that have turned my entire universe upside-down!

For one thing, the superintendant at my apartment block was so horrified by Black Adam's antics that he sank into a terrible depression - and then had a haircut and bought a new shirt! This shirt is a dark shade of blue as opposed to the previous light one, and he's finally snipped off that hideous combover and embraced baldness with dignity. "As the faces of the endless dead flashed through my mind," he told me, "I looked at myself in the mirror, and realised my hair looked ridiculous and cyan wasn't my color. I figured if I was going to meet my maker at the hands of that man, I should get some kind of makeover first."

If you'd told me a year ago that one year later Mr Huggins would be wearing a different shirt and would have gotten rid of the combover he's had for years, I would have been shocked beyond reason. I would have demanded to know how this could have happened. But this isn't the only shocking change that's occurred in my life.

My waiting room has been repainted in off-white, from canary yellow.

I decided to have it done on the spur of the moment. If I had had the opportunity to travel forward in from a year ago to now, one year later, and I had chanced to witness the new soothing shade of my waiting room walls - I would have died of fright. But now that I've lived through this titanic change that has rocked my very world to its foundation, it seems almost like an afterthought - like some mighty yet overworked God shoehorned it in desperately in the middle of something else.

I suppose profound change often hits us like that. Oh, also I quit my psychiatric practice and became a supervillain. But the walls are the important thing.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

My rage can be fettered no longer, yumyumlovelycocktails402.

Oh, I see. So it's like that, is it?

Yumyumlovelycocktails402 is not content with auctioning off one of the greatest heroes of music. He then decides to throw him away in one of the most flagrant displays of carelessness it has ever been my displeasure to impotently witness! Not that I mind that Black Adam has been loosed upon the Earth and intends to return to his one-man war against all of humanity (a subsection of animal life on the planet of which I am part), no doubt not ceasing in his horrific frenzy of violence until no single living human is left to disturb his melancholia. Oh no.

No, I'll be happy to lay down my life in such an assault, happy in the knowledge that my rent flesh may in some fashion provide comfort to the King Of Swing! I'll be glad to - wait. Sarcasm isn't really appropriate here. I actually will be quite happy to do that. Perhaps he can do a quick medley before he tears my head off and dropkicks it into a bus full of burning orphans. That'd be nice.

No, what I cannot abide is yumyumlovelycocktails402 now attempting through the medium of eBay to sell me a giant robot.

Has he no shame?

Is there nothing the man will not pimp through the medium of online auctions? And of course he had to pick Sivana's Omnibot. He couldn't have sold Kobra's Hissotron-X or The Penguin's 200-foot high Morgan Freeman Narratodroid. No. He attempts to sell me the Omnibot, knowing full well that it formed part of the set of Godard's 1960 masterpiece A Bout De Souffle.

How dare he.

How dare he. He knows I can't turn this down. That robot is a historic piece of French cinema. He's doing this deliberately, that's what it is. He's deliberately trying to mock me. The sculpture, Black Adam, and now this - it's an orchestrated campaign against me. All of it.

As I remember, Ralph used to get himself in fixes like this. I told him that he was paranoid. Deluded. On the verge of wigging out utterly. I said, if I recall, that such intricate plots to ruin his happiness simply could not be.

Fool that I was! He was right! Right all the time! They were out to get him, and now they're out to get me - especially the eyes! They float with their accusing stares in the very air itself! To think I told him that he needed medication to control himself! If only I'd known the truth - that ghost hands were coming out of the ceiling to steal the things that I love!

Well, I know who's responsible for the ghostly hands. Oh yes. I'll be answering your feedback request, yumyumlovelycocktails402, but not with a positive rating. Oh no. With a bomb.

What's that you say, Ralph? To destroy... is to enjoy? Yes, Ralph, Yes. To destroy is to enjoy. I see that now. And the world will soon see that as well!

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Yet again yumyumlovelycocktails402 has destroyed my day.

I should start this off by apologising for Richard Dragon's unnecessary intrusion into this most personal of spaces last week. But I shan't. Because as far as I'm concerned, none of you deserve an apology. Where were you when I fought my lonely war against yumyumlovelycocktails402? Where were you when hostilities opened again on Friday?

Oh, he was my Spring, my Summer, my Autumn!
My Artie Shaw, my Jelly Roll Morton!
Dean Martin's talk, Sinatra's song!
I thought I could beat yumyumlovelycocktails402 in an online auction, I was wrong!
Pour away the cocktail, stub out the jazz cigarette,
Dismantle the trumpet and pack up the clarinet
Let the stage lights flicker and grow dim
For I'm going to kill yumyumlovelycocktails402 when I get my hands on him.

I'm sorry, I've been drinking. You would be too if you had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to buy the most important musical legend of your generation and bloody yumyumlovelycocktails402 got in your way again.

On Friday, I had the chance to buy Black Adam on eBay. I immediately put every single liquid, solid and gaseous asset I had together and came up with $1,025,343 including the office, the house, the yacht, the Hummel figurines, the couch, the prosthetic leg and my father's ashes which apparently Keith Richards will pay handsomely for.

I swept onto the auction with a cool million, sure that this was more than enough to buy such a phenomenal item of memorabilia - I mean, enough to rescue Black Adam from his tormentors. Little did I guess that yumyumlovelycocktails402 was at that very moment making his foul plan to thwart my dreams, the cocksucker.

I've had a number of gins since then. You would have too if you'd been denied the chance to have the Egret Of Egypt sing in your home. Suffice to say that yumyumlovelycocktails waited until the very last moment of the auction earlier today and then put forward a bid of one hundred million dollars, and then to add insult to injury he put Black Adam up for auction saying that people hadn't been trying and there had to be someone out there who wanted to buy him and wasn't a swing enthusiast. A personal insult! Probably.

How dare he. Or she. Cocktails and their loveliness are a language that reaches across the gender divide. I don't care, his or her days are numbered regardless. Do you hear me, Mr. or Ms. lovelycocktails402? Your life is mine!

You have earned this night the vengeance of Doctor Robert Amersham Willis! PHD!

Oh God.

I think I may be ill.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

DragonKoans™ - The Koan That Won't Make You Moan™!

Hi, I'm Richard Dragon™.

I was sorry to hear about the passing of Ralph Dibny (pat. pending), perhaps the most fascinating of my students - that is, of those students who failed me, Richard Dragon™, by being utterly useless and unable to grasp even the first principles of the Richard Dragon System™. In the face of such tragedy, I mused with my incredible Richard Dragon Thoughts™, even the most Dragonneriffic™ devotee of the Richard Dragon System™ might find his or herself left stranded, far from the blissful shores of Dragonirvana™, flailing on the rocks of confusion.

If only there was a Zen Koan they could use in such an occasion - one that was picked out especially for them, to meet their needs... your needs. The needs of a man or woman on the go in a fast-paced world. Your world. Koans with a minty freshness that makes you ruler of the boardroom - or the bedroom. Koans that leave your skin feeling smooth, soft, moisturised. Koans that are ph-balanced for you.

If only they had... DragonKoans™.

And now... they do.

You do.


They're a new kind of Koan. A you kind of Koan. A Koan that's proud to be American™.


It's the sound of one hand clapping... clapping you. Applauding you for being the very best you can be. For being the very Zennest™ you can be. For reaching above and beyond. For reaching the stars. For reaching your wallet and pulling out a mere $29.99 plus tax per Koan.


We'll select a Zen™ Koan that's right for you, with the help of expert Koanalysis™ from Fat Steve the Telepathic Monk. A Koan picked fresh from your favourite movie, pop song. or Mature-Readers comic book. A Koan that will make you feel more than just enlightened... it'll make you feel Dragonlightened™. We've got this great one about a goose that we ripped off from some wierd anti-government comic that the kids all dug back in the nineties or whenever. If you're into Blink 182 or Linkin Biscuit you'll probably love it. It's the perfect thing for when your adopted dad's locked himself in a cave for days and when he comes out he looks kind of wierd and he's smiling in a way that suggests serious sexual deviancy. And he won't speak. Not for days. He'll just touch himself.

That's when other kids would start crying.

That's when you reach for a DragonKoan™ and fill yourself with the Dragonlightenment™ you deserve.

All rights reserved.

Also this week - a seminar from Rama Kushna™, the glowing face that respects your space™, on 'Snapping Necks - The Fast-Track Route To Wisdom'. Hope to see more attendance there than there was last week.

This has been a public service announcement.