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.

 

Case the pub and watch the history channel flicker through the war times of Germany and the sequel to the World War. It's a grand slam boxing ring of seeing just who is the bigger jerk between Logan and Jackie Estacado's father, Danny.

Drinking, talking, walking around in shadows, more beer, and more talking is about the extent of this crossover. Sure, things start off with pools of bad blood between the X-Man and the Darkness bearers, but then drizzles to nothing come the last page. All sound and fury, but never quite getting it up in the morning or when the sheets are off.

 

Reeling from the waft of the old age smell of some nasty comics. Marvel Comics' The Incredible Hulk to be precise. Issues 179, 180, 182, 183, 184 and 185 to be just so pedantic about it. That's right, no magical 181 in that lot. Just the famed cameo in 180, then the story picks up just after the full on debut issue of the Canuck.

A customer was kind enough to drop them by for the boys on the weekend. They had a hard time divvying up the goods. Naturally, referring to the guide on which half of the six was best taken to, taken to after the split.

Written by Len Wein, pencils by Herb Trimpe and inks by Jack Abel. The issues are both fairly fragile and rather stocky. Nice heft to them too. The stench like an invisible clouded punch right to the back of the brain. A percentage of the hit you'd be facing if you walk into a certain comic book store in the city.

Maybe this is right, and maybe you shouldn't dig your nose into the spine and crank up the olfactory vacuum for kicks. People do, and those people are the people you best leave alone.