The Number Of The Beast

This Is By Way Of An Experiment
And, consequently, it will probably take me three times as long as usual to post this daily dose of drivel.  Now, I know what you're thinking - after all, DARPA have just invented that telepathy helmet - and No!  This post has nothing to do with the classic heavy metal album by Iron Maiden that just so happens, entirely coincidentally and by sheer happenstance, to share the blog's title.  Though, if you came here expecting to see that zombie thing they have as a mascot, I suppose I'd better not disappoint.  Art?

No, Art, no.  Let's try again -

     Excuse me whilst I attach the Tazer to our mains supply and educate Art in what pictures to choose for the blog, which will him a whole lot more than it will hurt me
     <sounds of electrical discharge and shrieking>
     Okay.  "The Number of the Beast", Art.

Finally!

     Stop whining and put salve on it.  
     No, this first blog post's title refers to that black and white monster classic, "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms", and we're going to look at those numbers a bit closer.  You see?  Numbers?  Beasts?  I'm watching it at present whilst typing this out, hence the prediction that I'll be here for ages, which will not go down well with Edna, who expects an afternoon walk as a right, not a privilege.
     A little mathematical jiggery-pokery proves what some other anorak/saddoe/extremely prescient film fan* also noticed, that this critter comes from far too deep in the abyssal depths - 20,000 fathoms comes to a depth of nearly 23 miles, and the deepest part of the ocean is the Challenger Trench, at less than 7 miles.  Tut tut!  

Conrad: happy happy happy.

     Happy at finding fault, that's me.  Nor is that all - the film is based on a short story by Ray Bradbury, which title he changed to "The Fog Horn" as it concerns the beast in question attacking a lighthouse, because the fog horn sounds like another beast making an audible challenge.  O Rly?  It heard the fog horn from (let us be generous) five miles down in the briny deeps?
     Now we've got that vitally important nit-picking out of the way, let us push the motley off from the highest part of the ski slopes!**

My Newest Project
I did mention that I've been collecting the "Invincible" trade paperbacks, for lo! several years now.  It starts off quite light and fluffy, then rapidly becomes EXTREMELY VIOLENT, which is what we want in a comic, right?  Now, let me poke Art with a fork -

     That's the collection to date, with three off-shoot titles as well, and I believe there's a couple more one-offs that I haven't yet collected. Anyway, my bright idea is to read the whole lot in sequence now that they're just about to end, which will probably take so long that the final edition will be out before I reach the finish.

Opprobrium Not Encomium
Or, more of Conrad slagging off the Nork 'Special Forces'.  The thing about that title is that one is led to expect soldiery up to the standards of the British Legion of Death-Dealing Dastards, or the S.A.S. to you.  Actually, given that the ethos of SF forces in the West is Quality Not Quantity, Conrad is suspicious of the Norks claiming that their 180,000 SF are at all special, because you can't have Quantity like that with any degree of Quality.

The Only Fat Man In North Korea is annoyed at BOOJUM!
(we can live with that)

     The other thing, as has been pointed out, is that these so-called super soldiers are combat virgins in an army that hasn't seen combat for over sixty years.  Your humble scribe rather suspects that these circus performers are less special than 'politically reliable', in that they can be counted upon to do what they are told, regardless of circumstances.  Your average Nork conscript, if he invaded the South, would be seduced by the bountiful food available in vast amounts and varieties, and would immediately throw aside his (aged) AK47 and gorge himself into a stupor.

Danger!  South Korean booby-trap lying in wait

     Well, TBF2KF has reached the point where they've tentatively identified the monster in question, which is a good point for Conrad to cease his typing, get some food and take Madam for a trot.

Later!


*  Delete where applicable
**  Sounds quite harmless, doesn't it?  Yeah, well - rocket-skis.