#22 Keith Brentford

I think the lesson where I’m concerned is “Never make fun of the local wise woman.” But I’ve not let my exceptionally small head hold me back. Quite the reverse in fact. I’m one of Mothwicke’s leading sports retailers and my distinctive head has given me quite an edge when it comes to drumming up business.

“Where should I go for some cycling shorts?” people might say.

“Go to Keith Brentford’s, the home of quality and value.” will come the reply.

“Who’s that?” some people who don’t know where my shop is will maybe say.

“That guy with the tiny head. You know, the curse victim.”

And they’ll know straight away who I am because obviously I’m regarded as something of a freak locally.

Yes, I was seeing Rachel for a while. We were together when she disappeared. Not “together” together, obviously! Otherwise I’d find myself implicated in what could quite possibly turn out to be a horrendous crime! But no, I mean we were seeing each other at the time. She’s a wonderful girl. Very giving and kind. And in bed? Well. A gentleman never tells. So I probably shouldn’t have brought that up. Now I have, I feel obliged to say she was exceptional. You know the feeling you get when you do a stock take of a large inventory of sporting goods and it balances off pretty much to the item? It’s a rare and beautiful thing.  But being with Rachel was up there. Almost as good.

Have I been lonely since? Of course. But it’s not about me. Someone out there knows something about Rachel. Someone can tell me and everyone else who cares about her whether or not she’s alive. So I don’t think of myself as “being lonely”. I am fairly well off. I can always get another woman.

#21 Sadie Maggotcorpse and Imelda Satan

Imelda: Has Satanic Metal given us a new lease of life? I should say so. A lovely young man came to speak to our Guild, wasn’t he lovely Sadie?

Sadie: Lovely.

Imelda: So softly spoken and polite. Well, anyway, he came to give us a talk about Black and Satanic Metal and how Satan was the way forward and well, I just turned to Sadie and I said, I said, “Sadie, this is for me.” Did I not? Did I not say that Sadie?

Sadie: You said, “This is for me.”

Imelda: And that was that. From that moment, knitting just didn’t do the job. I resigned from the church and got straight into the Black Metal. Candlemass, Mayhem, Gorgoroth…

Sadie: I’m not so fond of the Norwegian stuff.

Imelda: Och away Sadie! That’s the blackest of all the Black Metal! Black! Like the vast emptiness at the heart of the cosmos! Black! Like the primeval essence at the centre of all humanity!

Sadie: Here she goes. Look Imelda lets not fall out about this. It’s all good. Hail Satan.

Imelda: Fine. Fine then.

Sadie: There are some drawbacks to it though. It’s hard for me to do the Satan Horns with my arthritis. Plus the warden at our sheltered housing is always moaning at us to turn down the music and to stop bothering other residents about Satan. But what are we supposed to do? We’ve got to harvest as many souls as we can for our Dark Master.

Imelda: It’s easier than you might imagine to get people to sign up. A lot of our neighbours have dementia.

#20 Oliver Cherbourg & Zechariah Gwinn

Cherbourg: Of course we do all the latest styles. That is why all the young people come here. Everywhere needs a barber. One thing you cannot buy online or order through one of your fancy new telephones with no buttons.

Gwinn: How do they work, these telephones with the no buttons? Ah. If only my mother were here. If I told her the things that they had these days she would slap me and call me a liar and then she would continue to slap me until I admitted my lies and then she would chain me in my punishment sack until I was duly penitent and promised to be good and not to let the devil tempt me into telling such lies. Such awful lies. Awful lies that suck, suck, suck the good from you. In many ways it is good that my mother is no longer with us.

Cherbourg: A son must escape the apron strings and make his own way. This is something that I and my partner here have found. My friend Gwinn and I have never known the touch of a woman and in that sense remain free to do as men do. To be as men are meant to be. Please do not misunderstand. We have the utmost respect for women. It is for this very reason we have chosen not to sully them with our manly ways. Women are not barred from our establishment. Oh no. That would be illegal. 

Gwinn: Hmm yes. Illegal.

Cherbourg: But neither is their presence desired or encouraged.

Gwinn: We are not lovers to be clear. Oh no. Although many talk. My partner and I have over the years discovered and indeed developed many tinctures capable of assuaging the urges. The urges that keep a man from his primary purpose. Business.

Cherbourg: Ah yes. Business.

Gwinn: BUSINESS!

#19 Glenda Vessles

See, the thing about Mineral Meditation is it centres you. Which is just what I need to help me pack in the shoplifting. I can’t be doing that anymore. Not these days. I used to be able to outrun security guards but not now. Not since the change.

Now what you’ll probably not know is that everyone has their own place on this scale called the ladder of souls. So what you do is you arrange your soul minerals in accordance with your place on the ladder. The more minerals you have the better it works obviously. What? No it’s not like Crystal Magic at all. Crystal Magic is completely different. And a load of rubbish I might add. Mineral Meditation on the other hand is completely authentic. Minerals come from the earth don’t they? And there’s nothing more real that dirt.

The therapist on my last stretch said that she thought that my shoplifting was about trying to steal back my youth. That I was subconsciously trying to steal a little thrill back from life that I felt had been taken from me. Sounds good eh? Isn’t true though. The truth is I do it for the kiddies. Not mine of course. Mine won’t speak to me. I mean the kiddies of all the folk I sell the stuff to. They must have kiddies, some of them. Don’t you think?

#18 Grimoire

Alan: I wish people would just see us like human beings, like for what is inside and not what’s on the outside? Am I heavily pierced? Have I had my teeth filed? Yeah, fine, that’s my thing. I don’t see why people should be all up in my face about it. I mean John, he’s got an ampalang and sometimes it hurts…

John: It does yeah. I have to dab at it with ointment…

Alan: ...but you don’t hear him giving it all that about his problems. Why can’t people just leave us alone?

Jill: Yeah I mean if I want to go to the pub and kiss a woman…

Alan: But you don’t yeah? 'Cos you’re with me?

Jill: Yeah but if I wanted to…

Alan: Yeah but you don’t. We’re not going out by the way.

Jill: We are seeing each other…

Alan: …but that’s different yeah? We’re not going to be told, “Get married, get a job, make babies, exist as a cog in the machine”. You know. The machine? No way. I ain’t buying what you’re selling. Machine.

Jill: But we are seeing each other…

Alan: So we do covers right, but only to get money because we need a van. We do stuff like Kings of Leon and Coldplay and that. But totally ironical like. Soon as we get money for a van we’re off. I’ve got so much inside me waiting to get out. This place can’t contain me. And neither can mum. Soon as we get the van. Then we’ll see who’s roof I live under. Then we’ll see who’s sorry. Cliff can drive and he knows someone in Nottingham that can give us a gig. Isn’t that right Cliff?

Cliff: No-one tells me how to live.

Alan: No Cliff mate. I’m talking about the van? Nottingham?

Cliff: Oh. Right.

Alan: Sorry, he’s a bit hard of hearing.

# 17 Mervyn Purvis

“Hell Toro” is a bullfighter who neglects his wife and children in the pursuit of fame. He loves the money, the trappings, the roar of the crowd more than he cherishes the simple pleasures of domestic life. Then one day, tragedy strikes. His family are murdered by a rogue bull, jealous because he cannot experience human love. Driven mad by grief, Hell Toro gives over his soul to vengeance in a desperate bid to appease his dead family, whose souls unquenchably thirst for justice. I created him for Victory Comics in 1967 and he’s been a very successful character for me, particularly in Latin America.

He started appearing at the end of my bed silently inviting me to join him for tea and cakes about three years ago. It’s been very difficult to sleep ever since. He comes to me in dreams as well you see, but in my dreams, he does much worse stuff. Much worse. Every time I have had one of the dreams, something dies. A plant, a pet, an old school friend. So I try to stay awake.

I don’t know how, but I know that when I see him at the end of my bed, the tea is my life and the cakes are my soul. I want to eat the cakes and drink the tea but something tells me not to. Something in me screams no. Screams no so loud that soon it is beyond sound and it becomes a light, a white light that blanks out everything. I close my eyes and when I open them again he is gone and everything in my room is broken.

My tip to anyone starting out in comics? Perseverance.

#16 Idris Bull

See, the trick when it comes to the ladies is make it about them. Talk to them. Make it seem like you’re interested.

It doesn’t hurt to look good either. I know I’m not as young as I used to be so a strict regime is absolutely essential.

Firstly, wardrobe. Learn this phrase. “Ladies love leather”. They might tell you they don’t but they do.  You know what they’re like. Tasseled leather? Don’t get me started. It’s like catnip.

Secondly, jewellery. Chunky. Gold. Nothing sentimental. It’s purely about showing you have a wedge and can afford the finer things. Few can resist.

Thirdly? Hair. This is all-important. You can’t spend enough in this area. I for one get my streaks re-done every three weeks. This is for two reasons. One? To cover the grey. Go to a club with grey hair and you might as well douse yourself in shit. Nothing destroys the illusion of youth like grey hair. Second, it shows you’re right up with the latest cuts and styles. I need to point out at this stage that if you are balding you MUST GO CUEBALL. Brynner style or nothing. I really can’t stress that enough. If you go clubbing with thinning hair or partial baldness you might as well douse yourself in shit, piss and the sick of an old lady or something. What I’m saying is you really won’t do well.

Lastly you need to arrive in style. There’s nothing more masculine than riding around on your chrome stallion, steel horse or as many call it, motorbike. In a lot of ways it’s much like a throbbing motorised phallus, except you use it mainly for transport. When you are not actually riding your motorbike, and the ladies cannot see you on it, I like to carry around my helmet to indicate that I have been riding a motorbike recently, and will shortly do so again.

Follow these rules and I promise you like me, you will be able to boast you have slept with in excess of four women.