Hello, ancient otherdimensional people!
It's me, again. Gadfly Lad.
Y'know, I could be a whole 13.875... hang on, er... 6922103 percent efficient at my job, if Storm Boy would stop making me review these dopey comic book covers for you. What's that? Oh. The estimating. Sorry. I just can't stand to round numbers off. It makes me feel all dirty.
I'm not blaming you folks in all of this. You're great! Hey, why not give yourselves a big round of applause, for even bothering to read this thing while Blockade Boy is away! 21st century alternate-earth audiences are the best audiences!
Aaagh. I suck at this.
Let's look at today's cover, already.
Lookit! In the back!
Somebody set that poor guy on fire! And then they threw a net on him, and fired him out of a cannon or something. I take it he racked up some hefty gambling debts with the space-mafia. Still, this seems like overkill to me. Usually they just atomize one of your fingers.
Up in the left-hand corner, we have the Universe's comeliest brain-globe. She even has part of a hand, growing out of her stumpy neck. Unless that's some sort of mandible. She seems anxious. Which reminds me: did you know that anti-depressants for brain-globes can cost upwards of [EDITED FOR SPACE] until it looked just like a grub making out with an inchworm. Oops! I got off-track again. Back to the cover!
Then there's a big guy, throwing himself at another guy, or maybe it's a sensibly-shrunken Imskian man who is already way past another guy. I like the second idea. I just hope he doesn't land on that big, floating arrow. It looks pointy. But if he buys the space-farm, I wouldn't mind borrowing his outfit. I bet I could score a whole new class of lady if I sauntered into the hobby store or an astrophysics lecture while wearing that.
And finally, we have the big orange puppet-headed man, who appears to have fallen into an automatic peanut brittle machine. Just like I did once, at that amusement park! I was frozen solid, and some dumb kid mistook me for a dog's chew toy. Luckily, all the space-poodle saliva dissolved my candy coating. After 41.474 hours. That's why I always go to the amusement park with a buddy nowadays. Or with a girl! Yeah. A girl.
You know what I just noticed? Some jerkwad scribbled his name on this cover. And I'm not talking about Storm Boy. It was some other jerkwad. Named... Rich Bucket?!
What kind of screwy name is that?