Thank you for the music, the songs we're singing, what would life be... and with that, well, hours ago really, the end of the event known as the February sale.

Last ever, as in no more, and it's done. To death, with no sunshine further in the end of the month that is St Valentine's own four week stretch of marketing moola. Hence the cut and slicing of a limb mentioned on flyers and the like.

Farewell and bye-bye where the mascot chosen, Wolverine from the Age of Apocalypse universe, is much easier to render than the blinding initial vision in the mist of rain.

Apparently, the image of one of the many zombies littering the fields of corpses, with limbs adroppin' leper like, not the clearest of a bright and future meaning. Oh, but the things you'll see when you walk the night across town with the brains and guts dragging behind, tagging along a little dog that just won't stop yapping.



Next up and to clear the calendar to make an appearance at, the very much anticipated August birthday sale. Wherein the Comic Shop will have notched a full year at the new location next to the Liverpool library.

Be there. Or be there the next day.

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Effective pretty much immediately, well a couple days ago really, all standing order customers start picking up their comics on with a discount of 5 percent.

It's a free service and benefit of being a regular, committed customer. And it's that commitment to the love of comics that pays back.

And as long as the terms are abided by, a sweet deal really. Doesn't come slapping the cheeks with a charge in order to save. That's not the right kind of baked ham being served.

Better still, it goes on beyond comics and applies to T-shirts (them cotton good ones and such), action figures, statues, busts and all other sorts of merch.

As mentioned, there are terms and conditions. Such as one regular ongoing title and discounts not applicable to sale items or already discounted booty. And other things on the back of the card.

Drop by in store for more details and to start a standing order up today.

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Nurples, sadly, being of an undefined variety of being/state/object outside the closing rhyming half of the nipple twisters. If that's what other people know them as. Very subjective, all about growing up in certain parts of the school in the world, trying to name all manner of playground and office room torture.

Now, one thing that remains as unclear as the seed on talking about nipple cripples is that of Grimace. The purple blob that hangs about Ronald McDonald in his adventures in spreading his clown love of flat tasting burgers around the world.



Not unlike a mini entourage all by himself, he supposedly represents himself as Ronald's friend and best mate. Getting into the burger parties using the clown's name and generally living the high life as a hanger on. Seriously, it's what most of the friends of high profile celebrities find their lives falling into.

Which says nothing of what kind of creature he really is. A milkshake, a taste bud, a result of too many Quarter Pounders through the system. Nothing is clear.

Brazilians call the glob "Shaky" in their part of the world. Two things that come to mind are that he is possibly milkshake incarnate. Or that he just couldn't stay away from the vices and is now scratching himself like the Tyrone Biggums.

Sure seems happy though.

The Fry Kids are fries, Ronald is a clown, Big Mac is a piece of cardboard and the hamburglar is a lecherous coot. But what, pray tell, is Grimace supposed to be, if anything?

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Weeks ago, a lone can of Dr Pepper was left in the drinks vending machine next to the arcade machine. Blocked from rolling in with the rest of the soft drink choices, it's a show of support, however passive, on wanting to bring back the fizz.

Apparently, one regular was so enticed by the token can that they almost jammed their hands up the flap, nearly breaking it, in trying to fish out this magic vessel of soft drink.



Just like the scene in which Homer finds himself in two vending machines in "Marge on the Lam."

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One day after Valentines and it's Blaze on with Ghost Rider finally hitting the screen. Can't comment on much outside this constant drive to whiff the film poster hanging at the entrance of the Comic Shop. Them smaller ones which disappeared quicker than the larger ones certainly giving up more than their share of nasal delights.

And these are the ramblings of a code head.

Quick, making full of the head squeeze as the story jams into a tiny slit across the frow, and it's the expected reading sensation of Casanova #7. Where, like any short form worth its salt, a story starts and ends between the covers. It's diversionary, it's quick, it's enough to pass the cheap time on the walk from one end of a suburb to the other.

Which can't really be said same for a tome like Hellshock Definitive edition volume 1. Jae Lee's story started and aborted many years ago finally finds the last chapter to close out the book and wraps it up nicely all painful like with this collection. Not buying it though.

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Jeff Smith works the prestige magic on the little Marvel Boy at DC. It's a back flash with a step into where Captain Marvel came from and the wizard Shazam. Smells glossy.

Pricey, as expected for the format, binding is tight as a fist with a severed nerve making it unable to open anymore. Bit of a squeeze in reading much like any other comic for simple consumption that isn't in with a collection.

Cute is the large beacon of light which signals this incarnation of the tale. After all, when it's Smith working his magic, there is little chance that it will bear out any other kind of result. And the charm and ball of goodness that it is makes well of this fact. Or perhaps that's the back of the brain talking to the tip of the tongue. Slight knock on the head when looking up will do that.

Having made no effort in prior reading on who this character with the massive bolt down his front, it's an enjoyable and easy read. Nothing is made to grapple at lingering nuances or threads from other series in the canon and with the 12 Step program by Judd Winick on the shelves, reads fine without accompaniment. Damn accessible thus far.

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