Mindless Ones

Sorry I’m late, been ill. Consider this white and creamy palmfull my contribution to the first annual Mindless Ones Dot Com todgersonthetablefest.

Hero of the Year

2008 – Year of the Bat

more after the jump

Hey!  Great to see you!  Yeah, great party!  That Amy Poodle sure knows how to get a great looking, interesting and fun group of people together in a room and provide appropriate circumstances for that group of people to enjoy themselves!  Anyway, me and the rest of these Mindless Ones are off to a quiet corner to talk about comics.  You coming?  Great!

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Hey! Look at these!

Enjoy some pictures of stuff we plan on talking about at this great party after the jump…

This list is going to be a little unconventional. It’s going to include things like websites for starters, because, hey, this is the future, and we want to let you guys know we’re not all *old media* here in the dark dimension. Also, it’s going to alternate between an ‘amypoodle recommends’ kinda thing and an actual ‘best of’ list. If it was solely the latter, then I’m afraid it would be rather boring:
‘I went to see Batman at the I-Max and it was reaaaally gooooood’, you know the score. And most of it wasn’t produced this year either. Sorry.

poodle xmas dance, poodle xmas JUMP!

…And here’s the second part of our disturbing bounce on Father Tymbus’s knee (part 1 here). If you listen to the end you’ll find the unveiling of our amazing competition. Two competitions in fact! With prizes!! GREAT PRIZES!!! Actually one of them’s great and the other one not quite so.

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[audio:http://mindlessones.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/moxmass2.mp3] More after the jump…

Enjoyable season to you, dear reader!

A few weeks ago, Myself, Amy Poodle, Bobsy, Zom and The Beast Must Die all got together for some festive fun. We thought it might be a good idea to visit a remote Xmas theme park that had recently been in the news for all the wrong reasons. Father Tymbus’ Xmas Grotty turned out to be a magical visit that none of us will ever forget, a visit that we here at Mindless Ones are happy to share with you today.

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Jump for images and apologies…

…said Steve the shop. Luckily, I had the issue in my hand already, thereby narrowly dodging another cruel flechette of conversational shrapnel, saved from a fresh scar of shame and age gouged from the old character armour.

Candy covers – Pic’n’Mix (Woolies RIP)

If it hadn’t a been for Jimmy Jump

Definitely in Greatest Hits mode at the moment, repackaging old tat to get ready for Christmas. 2.5% less VAT. Catastrophes averted by less.

Ancient Chinese Wisdom say: Jump! Juuuump!!

Who would be your

DREAM DATE?

The book, Dream Date by Fraser Geesin and Tim Leopard will be out on the 9th of December from Running Water Press.  To pre-order copies for the knock-down price of £3 (rrp £4.99), send an Email stating your name and how many copies you want to:

[email protected]

When I was about 11 years old my Father and Stepmother moved into an enormous Edwardian house in Surrey, owned by an eminent Buddhist scientist and a Thai Princess. The House had extensive grounds, being situated in a large wood complete with an old cottage that was now a private residence but would have been the servants lodgings a hundred odd years ago. My Father’s family rented one half – again, probably the servant’s half – of the main house, while the owners, complete with jet-setting, Lamborghini designing children, took the really posh bit. There always was, and is, something strange about moving through the main downstairs corridor that connects both family’s ‘homes’ – from the shabby, sepia tinted wallpaper that represented the world I lived in when I stayed there, and out into the clear, white, airy space inhabited by the other residents. There was a feeling of intruding, of being out of one’s depth. But as I got older and eventually got to know the entire place, I started to feel differently. In the end, the overriding feeling was simply that the way the other half tried to present itself was inherently dishonest. Not intentionally so, but nevertheless there was something anachronistic about the kind of aristocratic world that they, and the house, represented. Like a good deal of Edwardian stuff, it felt as though the house and its inhabitants somehow embodied the last, glorious, sad throws of a world that had only recently been devoured by social mobility, daytime telly and cultural relativism. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but there was something deeply melancholy about it – as though by peeling back the thick, red, draped curtains that weighed heavily on the bedroom windows, you could reach out, through, and touch that other world of bright sunny days, tennis on the lawn, and all that E M Forster crap. The place, even in the high rent bit, always felt faded, and like all proper mansions was cobwebby, the black wrought iron window-catches didn’t work properly, the grass in the orchard was often unkempt, and it was COLD. Wherever you went in the house, my abiding memory was that it was often bloody freezing. And it hasn’t changed much in that regard.

You have to kick the backdoor to open it – it’s bloody stiff!