It’s a dog’s life

Every once in a while, 2000 AD serves up a new strip that manages to attain ‘classic’ status, despite the premise being fairly ordinary. On balance, perhaps it’s actually this ordinariness—with a typically 2000 AD twist applied, of course—that marks such a strip out for longevity, because it’s not trying too hard.

A case in point is Kingdom, scripted by the usually reliable but rarely remarkable Dan Abnett. On the face of it, Kingdom is another future war story, following a battle against swarms of highly evolved insect-like creatures, referred to as ‘Them’. The twist is that the protagonist, Gene Hackman, is a tough bipedal dog-like creature wondering the Earth with his pack, getting guidance from unheard ‘urgings’ and discovering there’s more to his life and world than ‘scrapping’ and orders.

On the page, the story comes across as an odd mix of Mad Max 3, the battle scenes from Starship Troopers, and Grant Morrison’s We3, with its mix of post-apocalyptic settings, stunted language, massive and bloody battles against overwhelming odds, and intelligent, genetically enhanced canines. However, the twists in Abnett’s tales, his deft characterisation and the assured changes in pace (from frantic battles to thoughtful contemplation of Gene’s aims and desires) give the strip an identity all its own.

Abnett’s dialogue is a particular standout. Rather than aping the irritating broken English of the film world, he crafts a new language for his characters, simplifying the English tongue. Peppered with phrases known to dogs, the language comes across as a living, breathing thing (a particular standout being the phrase “your mouth is full of wrong”), and so, by extension, does the entire strip.

Ably assisted by Richard Elson’s workmanlike art, with its direct storytelling, clean lines and strong panels, Kingdom is a joy, and deserves its place amongst the very best of 2000 AD’s titles.

Kingdom: The Promised Land is available now for £11.99. For more information about 2000 AD graphic novels, check out the 2000 AD Books website.

Zoom (brake), zoom (brake), zoom!

1. Speed up!

It might have escaped your notice, but your speedometer has some numbers on it that are greater than 40. This is because your car is actually capable of travelling faster than 40 mph. Therefore, if you happen to stumble upon, say, a motorway, while ambling about, oblivious to the world, you are allowed to drive above 40, and will thereby have fewer fellow road users cursing the very day you were born.

2. Slow down!

OK, so I know this one is going to confuse you, since I just told you to speed up, but you know when you entered a built-up area and saw that big, round sign with a red border that had astonishingly clear ‘3’ and ‘0’ figures in? Well, that was to tell you the maximum speed allowed in that area.

This will probably be a big shock to you, but when you’re faced with a 30 mph speed limit, the ’30’ does not in fact mean ‘carry on at 40’. The aforementioned sign should have alerted you to this simple fact. If not, just watch out for frightened children darting out of the road and scowls from angry pedestrians in future, and take that as an indication that you’re a total idiot who’s driving too fast down a high-street.

3. Speed up!

Yeah, I know—you’re probably thinking “make your mind up”, but here’s the thing: cars don’t topple over when you go around a really slight corner during your 40-mph mission. You don’t need to brake at every single bend, especially if your car is barely moving at that point. Now, I’m not suggesting careering round a hairpin bend at 40, just that your brain doesn’t go: “Corner ahead. Must brake for no discernible reason,” every single time.

4. Enjoy the pretty orange lights

A quick final tip: you probably won’t have noticed this, but there are a bunch of orange lights stuck to your car, towards the sides. These are called ‘indicators’ and they are used to indicate your intentions. They’re not there to make your car a bit prettier, nor to tell someone all about the exciting manoeuvre you just made.

If you’ve watched or read the news over the past few days, the antics of Jonathan Ross and unfunny man Russell Brand can’t have escaped your notice. Having left some fairly insulting and immature messages on former famous person Andrew Sachs’s answer machine regarding Brand’s relationship with Sachs’s granddaughter, and had said messages broadcast, Brand has now quit the BBC and Ross has been suspended for three months (which, annoyingly, means no more Film in 2008).

I’m not going to defend the pair’s actions, nor those of the person responsible for okaying the transmission of the segment, but this entire farce does highlight the very worst of the United Kingdom, in terms of reporting and ‘sheep’ mentality.

Prior to the tabloids getting in a mouth-frothing frenzy about the incident, there had been two complaints, and those were about Ross’s language. Now, there are thousands, presumably composed by people whipped into apoplectic fury by something they didn’t even hear or experience. And the reporting on the subject has been uniformly dreadful. Do people realise this entire episode was sparked by Sachs being a no-show for an interview? Are people aware the show’s producer rang Sachs for permission to air the clip? (Sachs claims the line was ‘bad’, which led to ‘confusion’ regarding what was being asked.) Doubtful, judging by the hate and bile spewing from most people’s mouths.

However, the thing that galls me most about this incident (well, bar the fact that one of my favourite shows is now dead for the year) is that it totally confirms how alive and well the cult of celebrity is in this country. It’s pretty obvious that had Ross and Brand ‘targeted’ a general member of the public, not even a peep of outcry would have happened. And as for Sachs’ granddaughter, Georgina ‘Voluptua’ Baillie, to protect her grandfather’s privacy she got Max Clifford on board to sell her story in an exclusive to the Sun. After all, what better way to protect someone’s privacy and minimise their humiliation than to talk about what happened to them in an interview for the UK’s top-selling newspaper? (Of course, this would have nothing to do with her being an ‘aspiring model’ and a member of the oddly named dance troupe Satanic Sluts, which could, presumably, do with a bit of publicity.)

So, it’s really business as usual. All-comers are lining up to rant, using the incident as an excuse to give the BBC a good kicking. A nobody who wants to be a somebody is whoring themselves out under the premise of being a poor widdle victim. And energy is being spent on something so appallingly pointless, when it could be put to far better use. For example, if those many thousands of people had spent their time conversing with their MP about issues that actually affect the country, rather than bitching about a radio show, our politicians might actually feel accountable for once.

And talking of politicians, Gordon Brown should be thoroughly ashamed for his part in this. You’d think with Britain’s economy getting smashed to pieces that he’d have more important things to deal with than a couple of middle-of-the-road presenters taking the piss out of an ex-comedy star and his fame-hungry granddaughter. Still, way to distract the population, Mr. Prime Minister. Maybe you can get Ross or Brand to make another faux-pas just before the next election!

Before you make me punch you repeatedly in the face

1. US prices do not show taxes, but British ones do

Bitch, whine, moan. That pretty much sums up what spews out of many British mouths when comparing prices in the UK and USA. In some cases, our American chums do get it better, but often they don’t—it’s just British people being stupid.

Case in point: the new Apple MacBook line. “Wah wah wah,” have gone lots of Brits, in a Kevin-the-teenager-style emo tantrum, moaning how it’s so unfair that a $999 laptop in the USA costs £719 in Britain.

Here’s the thing: US prices are shown without taxes. Therefore, you have to compare with Britain’s ex-VAT rate. At the time of writing, the US price is about £575, meaning the UK price is a full 37 quid more. And given how much Sterling’s getting kicked on the markets right now, Apple’s actually been pretty good with its ‘internal’ exchange rate and built-in cushion.

So, for all you people bullsh*tting about how you can “fly over to the US and get a laptop and still have change for munchies”, just try it. See how far you get with your 37 quid. You’ll probably be dropped out of the plane before you get past Ireland.

2. Rinse and repeat

Go back and read point 1 until you actually understand it, and then stop whining about how expensive items are in the UK unless they actually cost significantly more (Hello, Adobe CS4!)

These aren’t tears of joy—they’re tears of pain

1. Refresh your material

Yes, your material is clearly the funniest thing known to man, and it bears repeating to everyone on the face of the planet, including undiscovered tribes in the deepest, darkest reaches of the jungle. But here’s the thing: when I’ve already paid to see you live last year, in an entirely different tour, and you come on stage, mentioning that you were part of the last tour and are lucky enough to be included in this one, it’s probably best to actually have something new to say.

This might surprise you, but while repeats are bad enough on television, they’re far more annoying than a billion Janet Street Porters when you’ve paid 20 quid per ticket to watch a word-for-word regurgitation of a year-old act.

2. Adapt your material with care

I know I’m probably being ungrateful here, and that you should in fact be able to go on stage, play a tape recording of your act, and just read the paper and drink beer in front of me, but what I’d actually like to see is something unique and original. When you clearly have in your canned script ‘insert current location here’, it makes me want to insert something into you, like a really sharp stick into a nervous-looking eye.

To take an example—entirely at random, obviously—if a certain support act were to happen upon an Aldershot venue and try to do jokes about the town, don’t fire off the exact same jokes with the same generic information that you used a year ago when doing the exact same act in a totally different venue a number of miles away. It just makes you look like a lazy git—and, frankly, if you can’t come up with some new material for a 25-minute support act during an entire year, I think those dreams of playing Wembley Arena should be shot to pieces right now.

3. Refresh your material

Yes, your material is clearly the funniest thing known to man, and it bears repeating to everyone on the face of the planet, including undiscovered tribes in the deepest, darkest reaches of the jungle. But here’s the thing: when I’ve already paid to see you live last year, in an entirely different tour, and you come on stage, mentioning that you were part of the last tour and are lucky enough to be included in this one, it’s probably best to actually have something new to say.

This might surprise you, but while repeats are bad enough on television, they’re far more annoying than a billion Janet Street Porters when you’ve paid 20 quid per ticket to watch a word-for-word regurgitation of a year-old act.