Xtinction Agenda

Fleet footfall, jump, hang, glide. Physics is your plaything, Bond. A full-lipped quip in a red dress. A lithe, lip-biting woman who craves your death, pulling you down into the rocks below. Always pulling. As you escape.

"Oh, please James, spare me the Freud. I might as well ask you if all the vodka martinis ever silenced the screams of all the men you've killed... or if you find forgiveness in the arms of all those willing women, for all the dead ones you failed to protect."

These young people, they give me hope. They don't turn their backs and they don't walk away. Not when innocents are caged and shipped and filmed and shot. Not when the alphabet agencies collude with transnational human traffickers to line their shifty pockets. They take aim at the heart of corruption and they pull the trigger.

(NOTE: Apologies for garbled sound at the end. Not sure what happened!)

"That's really going to clean me out."

She is

living

in a material world

and she is

a material girl.

"Sea bear!"

Endless streams of words, jumping like fish from the cool flowing river, frolicking and diving, feeding green and grey, leaving readers rolling on floors and hiding their tears. This was the literature of youth, handed over to us by a man who could not grow up. We only miss him now that he is aged, broken, and gone.

"Hold it men! Better do as she says!"

Silence, having emptied guts onto mossy rock, meanders through mud. Then, long days of salt, fog and wave, God of death, up from hell, voiced by child, marks his teetering grave, offering life for life, innocence saved.

"God brought us out of that mist for a reason. We claim this land in His name."

Hear us Oh Wise Odin, we who hang from the world tree and slither our lives like vines fated along branches. Hear our call. Send seeress and he-witch to wake us from our hatreds. Give us a choice between kindness and kin. So that we might choose what must be done.

"Prowl in shadow, slayer of my people. Hide. Even though your brother stole my eyes... I see you."

The trees move. The trees themselves move in the wind. Like the fire snake moves. And weaves down into the farmlands and the throne room. Stakes laid sharp to keep it out. But only in the cave shall you face it. Her. With her big breasts and venomous fang.

"Merciful Father, I have squandered my days with plans of many things."

Thou dost speak without care, spouting ill of Jerry Ordway. His hoary pencils mark a lost greater age. Similarly, does thou show thyself a villain true to favour Jose Ladronn. I stay my hand only in respect of your good view of Dan Jurgens. Count thyself fortunate.

"Kneel before the might and fury of Mangog!"

Lotta fucking technical difficulties in podcast land for your Xtinction Crew. We've had some casualties. We've had some setbacks. Even the recording on this one is all computer-y and fucking garbage. Still though, we've again--despite the adversity--produced yet another A+ product for the ages. You ever wonder who would come out on top if Spider-Man's villains fought Batman's villains (mostly)? Wonder no more!

Eat the Rich April is on pause for a moment. Old Man Stuff. Crisis upon us. For the time being, let's see what happens when hack writers from the 70s are given free reign in their own universe. Spoilers: they devolve to their natural state, cruel and mischievous. Or show themselves to be otherwise hopeless and nonsensical. Where in Sam Hill was the editor on this one?! Oh, right, he was the one with the cosmic treadmill in his desk...