The print version of Spwug has the great honor of carrying Captain Space, written by Mookie Terracciano of Dominic Deegan fame. When we last saw Captain Space he had just boarded a hijacked trade ship and was battling his way to the bridge to confront the leader of the infamous Void Angels!

RESUME TRANSMISSION OF SPACE JOURNAL ENTRY 2RKX.62
The Void Angels, a band of space mercenaries hired to keep the Beldarian Trade Belt safe from criminal activity, were no better than a murderous gang of outlaws themselves. They had hijacked the trader class space cruiser Treasure Chest, captured the acclaimed Captain John Courage, and had been running illegal operations out of the very Trade Belt they were commissioned to protect. One of their number, a teenage girl named Grex Obil, had summoned me to stop her comrades for reasons yet unknown to me.

I was on board the Treasure Chest when the badly wounded Grex Obil informed me that Captain Courage was being held hostage on the bridge, and he did not have much longer to live. If I didn’t act quickly, young Grex would also perish from her injuries.

There was little time to formulate a plan. I set my Space Blaster to Stun and approached the bridge. The doors slid open and I found myself staring at two space assault rifles. Two Void Angels were preparing to pull the triggers. With only space-seconds to react, I ducked under their deadly guns and delivered two vicious blows to their abdomens. The mercenaries doubled over and dropped their space rifles. Unfortunately for me, space rifles are terrible weapons with no setting besides Kill. Fortunately for me, as a trained member of the Space Patrol, my greatest weapons are my mind and body.

I had a precious few space-seconds to assess the situation. There were five Void Angels with space assault rifles. The command crew of the Treasure Chest remained at their stations, flying the hijacked ship. The leader of the Void Angels, an imposing Fleggarian known as Bamrukku, stood over the bound and motionless form of Captain John Courage. They all looked to me as I strode over their incapacitated comrades.

“It’s Captain Space!”

Laser beams sizzled over my head as I ducked behind a computer console. This was going to be difficult. I had to subdue the Void Angels without harming the Treasure Chest’s command crew, or else there would be no one to fly the space cruiser to safety! And if the Void Angels became desperate, there was a strong chance they would turn their deadly rifles on the innocent crew.

“Surrender, Captain Space!” Bamrukku barked. “Give up, or I will blast Captain Courage into cosmic debris!”

There seemed little option for me then. I slid my Space Blaster out from behind the computer console and stood with my hands raised in surrender, but not before flipping a small switch under my helmet. What little hope I had sparked in the command crew of the Treasure Chest fizzled out as the space mercenaries approached me with their assault rifles.

“Bwa ha ha ha!” Bamrukku guffawed. “That’s the problem with you Space Patrol pansies! Just threaten someone’s precious little life and you’ll do anything to keep them alive! Even surrender!”

“What’s your game, Bamrukku?” I demanded as the Void Angels moved to bind my hands behind my back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why else? For money!” He arrogantly swaggered over to me, leaving Captain Courage unattended. “The Beldarian Merchant Guild will easily turn the other cheek to illegal operations in their Trade Belt if you give them enough incentive. We do their ‘protection work’ for no cost to them at all, and they let us make our money in whatever way we see fit!”

“You’ll never get away with this. The Space Patrol will not allow it.”

“Bwa ha ha ha! Somehow I doubt that. By the time your precious Space Pansies find you and Captain Courage, you’ll be cosmic corpses and no one will know who destroyed you!”

I could not help but smirk. “Is that so?”

The Void Angels cried out as a massive battleship appeared on the bridge’s main screen. It bore the symbol of the Space Patrol proudly on its hull and aimed its impressive array of guns at the Treasure Chest. It was the pride of the Space Patrol fleet, the Shining Star. A familiar voice came through the open channel.

“This is Admiral Orbit, commanding officer of the Space Patrol! Stand down and surrender! I repeat, stand down and surrender!”

I watched realization dawn on Bamrukku’s face. He was so proud of himself for capturing two members of the Space Patrol that he had neglected to check if I had activated my own emergency distress signal. Fortunately for me, the warp drives on Space Patrol ships are the most advanced in the galaxy.

“You’ll never take us alive!” Bamrukku roared. “Void Angels! Kill them all!”

There was little choice for me then. I escaped the untrained clutches of the Void Angels that flanked me and knocked them out with little effort. I snatched up their space assault rifles and opened fire on the space mercenaries. Fortunately for them and the crew of the Treasure Chest, I am an excellent shot. They found themselves suddenly unarmed as their weapons were blown out of their hands. They quickly surrendered.

Bamrukku was not so easily spooked. When the shooting started, he quickly returned to Captain Courage’s side and hoisted him up as a shield. By the time I wheeled the space assault rifle on the Void Angel leader, he was cowering behind the beaten and weakened body of Captain Courage.

“Let me pass, Captain Space!” Bamrukku bellowed. “Let me off this ship or I’ll blast Captain Courage into cosmic–!”

“Stop shouting, you cosmic coward!” Captain Courage snapped. He suddenly whipped his head backwards and I heard the eerie sound of a Fleggarian nose breaking. Bamrukku clutched at his face and dropped to his knees. I took the opportunity to retrieve my Space Blaster and subdue the mercenary leader with a single Stun shot.

“Looks like you weren’t as close to death as I had been lead to believe,” I said to Captain Courage.

“I’ve been closer,” he replied.

“Everything under control, Captain Space?” Admiral Orbit asked through the open channel.

“The Treasure Chest is secure, Admiral,” I said.

The Void Angels were quickly rounded up and put into the prison holds aboard the Shining Star. Medical cruisers whisked Captain Courage and Grex Obil to the nearest space hospital. Authorities from Planet Zanatar, the closest planet to the Beldarian Trade Belt, were brought in to help the Space Patrol with an investigation into the Beldarian Merchant Guild’s notorious activities. Even with Bamrukku’s confession, it has been difficult to find further evidence against the Guild. They are a slippery bunch with an impressive team of space lawyers.

Captain Courage recovered more quickly than anyone had anticipated and returned to active duty less than one space week later.

I visited Grex Obil in the hospital once she was permitted visitors. I asked her why she betrayed the Void Angels. She said she’d joined the space mercenaries to protect the Beldarian Trade Belt, but became disillusioned with the group once she discovered their criminal intentions. I told her that she was brave to do the right thing in the face of frightening opposition.

“But Captain Space,” she said just before I left, “now that the Void Angels are out of commission, who will guard the Trade Belt? The Beldarians may be corrupt, but there are still people there who need protection.”

“Don’t worry, Grex. I think I know someone just right for the job.”

The Space Patrol saw fit to leave a small garrison of soldiers at the Beldarian Trade Belt. Now we could keep a watchful eye on the Beldarians as well as on the innocent people who may be in danger. Members of the Space Patrol are stationed there on rotation, except for one very eager new recruit who wishes nothing more than to remain at the garrison and protect the people there. I think Cadet Grex Obil will do well in the Space Patrol.

As for me, I resumed my tireless patrol with a smile. It is always nice to find others who believe that there is always a need for heroes…

…in space!
END OF TRANSMISSION

I was planning to write a post concerning the holidays and other festive things, but something really weird just happened to me and I decided this was way more interesting. At least I hope it is.

The other day I was walking to the supermarket when I felt something in my boot, poking me on the foot. When I got home I fished around inside my boots and found nothing. The next day I felt nothing, even as I trudged through the mall while Christmas shopping. I got home and took off my boots. Nothing.

As I was putting on my boots this morning I felt something poke me in the foot again. This time I immediately reached inside and pulled out the last thing in the world I ever expected to be in there.

It was a Green Lantern ring.

For a split second I didn’t register the fact that it was too small for my hand, or that it was made completely out of cheap plastic, or that it looked like something you’d find at the bottom of a cereal box. All that crossed my mind in that split second were three words… “It’s about time!”

I still don’t know how this little thing managed to get into my boot and evade detection for two straight days. All I know is that for one tiny second I thought I was finally getting something I’ve always wanted for Christmas. Superpowers.

Today is Wednesday, and that means new comic books hit the stores. I always looks forward to Wednesdays, and not just because I’m guaranteed to see superheroes flying around and stopping evil-doers. There’s a tradition that’s developed around Wednesdays that is, quite honestly, the backbone of my week.

Every Wednesday for the past few years I met up with my friend Sandra for lunch. We used to go to Charlie’s Kitchen in Harvard Square and sit in the same booth every time. For an hour or so we’d sit around in Charlie’s Kitchen having a few drinks, catching up on what happened that previous week and generally shooting-the-breeze. The bartender, a stunning D&D geek named Noreen, came to know us by name, and it was with her that I was finally able to say “I’ll have the usual.” I still think about that black bean burger topped in guacamole. Mmm.

Afterwards we paid the bill and tipped Noreen we would walk a few stores down to the comic book shop, where the employees came to know us by name as well. We’d go straight to the “new this week” section and grab our favorite books, sometimes alongside the employees who were pulling that week’s subscriptions. We’d bullshit with them for a little bit, then I’d see Sandra off at the bus and we’d go home to read our new comics.

I am very much a creature of routine and I still think very fondly of our “Comic Book Days” in Harvard Square.

Things changed, like they do. I moved to San Antonio for a year and was without any friends to share my comic bookery and gossip about people we used to know. There were no bartenders who knew exactly what I wanted every week, much less any I could talk to about my 5th level half-orc mage. I was still able to go buy comic books, but it just wasn’t the same.

I returned to New York briefly, where the comic book shop I went to featured an owner that would routinely yell orders to his employees, often with me standing right beside him. He would also try to sell me comics that I never wanted. “Yer gettin’ this, but not this? Dude, lemme grab you this title over here. Yer gonna love it. It’s only a coupla extra bucks more, right?” He was a very nice man, but every so often his voice still rings in my ears.

I recently returned to Boston where I was reunited with my beloved routine, even though it had also changed, like things do.

Sandra and I no longer go to Charlie’s Kitchen because we live closer to another bar, which has much better lighting and beers from around the world. The waiter who always serves us doesn’t know us by name yet, but when it comes to my lunch I can say “I’ll have the usual” and he knows what I mean. Score.

Noreen moved to New York City, where she is much happier and enjoying great success on her chosen path. I saw her this past summer. She’s still a D&D geek and she’s still stunning.

As for the employees at the new comic book store we go to, they call Sandra everything from “Sarah” to “Sondra,” and they basically know me as “that guy who always comes in with Sondra.” Close enough.

Don’t worry, Sandra, I think you’re stunning, too.

I could write about something geek or gaming related, but I since I’m driving to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving today I can’t stop thinking about food. Food. Glorious food.

Good gravy, I love Thanksgiving. It’s one of the easier holidays to get behind because it’s all about stuffing your face with the most delicious food you’re going to eat all year. In my house there are no religious obligations attached. We’re only thinking about stuffing our faces with the most delicious food we’re going to eat all year. Oh man, I’m drooling on my keyboard just thinking about it now.

I’m a vegan, so I get to enjoy my own personal Thanksgiving feast. A nice, big tofurkey (don’t knock it til you try it) smothered in gravy with a generous helping of potatoes and vegetables. Pasta with my mother’s homemade tomato sauce. Marinated mushrooms. Edamame beans that I have to fight my father for. Finally, just for me, a big (vegan) chocolate cake that will ensure my descent into pure and irrevocable gluttony. Delicious gluttony.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I grew up with video games. Literally. When I was a kid I played Space Invaders on my Atari 2600 and nowadays I play The Legend of Zelda on my Wii and World of Warcraft on my computer. When I was a kid I would play Galaga for maybe half an hour before turning it off and running off to play with my friends. Now that I’m a big kid I spend more than a few hours playing World of Warcraft alone.

But it’s not because I’m addicted and can’t stop playing. It’s because it just takes longer to play the damn games.

My ex-girlfriend was not a gamer by any means and thought I was committing too much time to games. She expressed her concern on more than one occasion and I had to break it down for her. My explanation did little to comfort me, either.

“You’ve been sitting in front of that game for three hours now. You’re addicted.”
“I’m not. I started playing with the sole purpose of doing ONE quest.”
“And you’ve done, what, twelve?”
“No, I’m still on the same one.”
“….huh?”
“See, first I had to find the guy who gives me the quest. That took fifteen minutes. Then I got the quest and had to find the area where the quest takes place. That was twenty minutes. Then I had to find the monsters I had to kill in order to complete the quest, but some other people were logged in and got there first, so I had to wait my turn. Now every time I get a ‘game over’ I have to run back to where I died from the starting area, twenty minutes away. And sometimes the monsters I’m supposed to kill don’t give me the items I need to complete the quest at all.”
“So why don’t you just stop playing?”
“I can’t. I’d have to get to a save point first.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“It takes another half an hour to get there.”

I’m glad I’m not a kid during this era of gaming. I rarely made it outside because I was busy reading fantasy novels and comic books. Mom and Dad tolerated that because at least I was reading. The argument I presented to my ex-girlfriend would never have flown with my parents. I know this because I tried it when I visited them this past summer.

*click*
“Mom! What the hell? I didn’t get to a save point first!”
“Tough shit. Days of Our Lives is on.”

I’m in the middle of my Nekobakuretsuconathon at the moment (which is my attendance of Nekocon last weekend and Bakuretsucon this weekend) so my brain isn’t feeling terribly profound. I’d like to write something insightful or even somewhat meaningful but I’m even struggling with a writer’s block regarding Dominic Deegan.

One thing that saves me from writer’s block and the weariness that comes from having done three conventions in four weeks is music. Here are some of the songs I’ve been listening to lately that inspire me, get my blood pumping, and get the horns thrown up in the air.

“The Serpentine Offering” by Dimmu Borgir
Powerful and darkly beautiful metal. I’ve gotten more than one sore throat “singing” along to this one.

“Through the Fire and Flames” by Dragonforce
It’s impossible not to get pumped up by this blisteringly fast and awesome song.

“Becoming the Dragon” by Trivium
The title alone says it all.

“Read A Book” by Bomani “D’Mite” Armah
Ridiculous twist on crunk. Its positive message is infectious.

“Freya” by The Sword
Old school hard rawk about the important stuff… goddesses and battle.

“Cry of the Blackbirds” by Amon Amarth
This song makes me want to be a viking.

“Eden” by Hooverphonic
An honestly beautiful song that never fails to calm me right down.

“The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight” by Blind Guardian
My favorite Blind Guardian ballad ever. This one speaks for itself.

Maybe I’ve opened your ears to something new, and maybe not. Either way, I’m going to pump these songs into my chariot and ride into battle… er, I mean I’m gonna play these on my iPod while I go run errands. Either way, I’ll be a happy Mookie.

I left my house to go to ONI-CON last Thursday at 2pm. It would take me about an hour to get to the airport via public transportation, and after that it’d be an hour before my flight left at 4pm. I arrived at the airport, checked my luggage and waited at the gate with plenty of time to spare. I was going to be in Houston by 9pm Central Time.

That’s where everything went wrong.

Pulling out of the gate, the pilot announces that the airplane’s air-conditioning has broken and we need to pull back in to the gate so the technicians could manually fix it. This delays us substantially, since we also have to wait our turn again on the runway. We land in Detroit at around 7:30pm, which is an hour late, and fifteen minutes after my connecting flight to Houston has already left.

I go to the desk to get a ticket for the next available flight out to Houston. I’m told it’s at 9:30am the next morning. Fourteen hours from that moment. The lady at the desk gives me a phone number to call for a “distress rate” at a hotel and advises me to make sure that whatever hotel I choose has a shuttle so I don’t have to pay extra for a cab ride. With a hotel room not in my budget at all, I decide to stay in the airport all night.

After a long night of walking the airport halls, drinking at the overpriced airport bars and trying to sleep in the uncomfortable airport chairs, I get a phone call at 7:15am that next morning. I’d already been there for twelve hours. Only two more to go and then I’d be on my way to the convention… except that the phone call is an automated voice telling me that my 9:30am flight had been canceled due to “airplane maintenance” and the next flight out wasn’t until 12:15pm. I nearly put my fist through a window when I realized I would be waiting around for another five hours.

I decided I was going to fetch my checked bag and take my business somewhere else. I searched for anyone to speak to, which took me another twenty minutes. When I found the proper employees, they directed me to the customer service gate where someone would be there to help me. What I found were two empty desks, some ticket scanners and cell phones that one would use to call the customer service help-line. I told the person on the other line, very calmly and patiently for a man who’d been up all night in an airport, that I wanted to get my luggage and book a flight on another airline. She said she would connect me to the “customer service baggage claim help-line.” I got a busy signal and the phone hung itself up.

At this point I’m starting to get delirious from the combination of exhaustion and anger.

I tried to book a flight on another airline and have my bag sent to me via the later flight, but thanks to my fatigue I ran the wrong way to the connecting terminal and ended up going past security and out the doors. The woman at the new airline gate told me “too bad, you won’t make it” and sent me on my way back through security.

At last I found someone at the customer service gate that was not a ticket scanner nor a cell phone. I told her of my ordeal and she apologized on behalf of the airline. For my patience and good nature I received two “inconvenience vouchers.” One had a coupon worth ten dollars at an airport food vendor. The other had a coupon to sign me up for that airline’s frequent-flyer program. Ha.

I did, however, get to ride first class on that 12:15pm flight. I was exhausted and stressed. I was going to miss half a day of the convention and I was sick to death of traveling. The conversation that ensued with the stewardess was a nice ending to this travel nightmare.

“Hello, sir. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Oh god, yes. How much for a glass of scotch?”
“Alcohol is free in first class, sir.”
“…..”
“Sir? Why are you smiling like that?”
“No reason. Just bring me a scotch and keep ‘em coming.”

You know the old saying “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?” That philosophy may be a bad one in the real world, but in the world of webcomics I believe it to be downright damning.

Bad reviews are necessary for things like books, movies, comics and video games because they serve to warn us not to spend our money on something that’s crappy. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve been swayed away from buying a comic or a movie ticket because “I heard it wasn’t supposed to be very good.”

That sort of thing doesn’t work in webcomics because a bad review is still a review, and a review of any kind directs attention to a webcomic, and attention is what webcomics need to survive. With a metric ton of webcomics floating around the internet it’s so very easy to go unnoticed, but with someone going out of their way to single you out and talk about your work, good or bad, it generates interest. Most bad reviews of webcomics provide links to the strip they’re trashing, and it takes very little effort for someone to just drag their mouse over the link and click it, and with every visit that webcomic has a chance to get a new reader. Bad reviews may actually be helping webcomics in that regard.

Ninety-five percent of all webcomics are free anyway, so there’s no money to be wasted in checking out a bad webcomic. A bad review isn’t going to deter someone from at least reading it. It may prevent people from buying merchandise, but there are lots of webcomics I love that I’ve never spent a dime on.

If you really want to deter people from a webcomic you think is awful, don’t say a word about it. Lack of interest on the internet is death. If there are no links, no mentions of a name, no nothing, there will be no readers. I’ve been doing Dominic Deegan for five years and I have a pretty substantial audience, and hearing “your work sucks!” doesn’t hurt at all, but hearing “I’ve never heard of you” can be discouraging.

Real life caught me off-guard this week.

No real post today, folks. My humblest apologies.

But here is a picture of my ridiculously cute cat, Rascal, to make up for my blunder.

It gets a bad name, but I do so love the stuff.

Beer.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m not talking about the watered down crap you see advertised on TV all the time. I’m not talking about the crap that jocky frat-boys and airhead party girls chug down for the sole purpose of getting hammered. That’s not beer to me. Yes, it looks like beer and can get you drunk like beer, but it tastes more like someone dumped a whole lot of water into beer, put it in a can and slapped some (admittedly funny) commercials onto it. It’s piss-water like that, and the numbskulls who abuse it, that give beer a bad name.

I like to think of myself as a classy individual with high standards. In other words, I’m a complete snob. Some people who meet me for the first time aren’t surprised at all when I offer them a nice glass of wine or a single-malt scotch, but every so often I get a “look” when I get excited about beer. It’s the stigma attached to it. Beer is that crap-water in cans that you chug at sports games and smash the empty against your skull. Whenever I get that “look,” I feel it is my personal quest to educate said looker on the marvelous and misunderstood beverage that is beer.

Because beer is a beverage that God let us discover to show us that he loves us.
(someone far more clever than me originally said this, I just cannot remember who it was)

Among my favorites? The delicious and rich Octoberfest brews, both domestic and imported. The thick and hearty goodness of a stout on a winter’s day (and I’m not talking about Guinness, either). The hoppy, crisp and delightfully bitter refreshment of a pale ale on a lazy summer afternoon. The frothy, chocolatey joy of a rich porter with a good meal.  Don’t even get me started on the magnificence of anything that comes out of Belgium.  Variations on these lovely brews are india pale ales, oatmeal stouts, black and tans, extra special bitters, bottle-conditioned ales, and the list goes on and on.

There are many others who know much more about beer than I do, including the history, the various brewing processes and so on.  So if you’re of the proper age to enjoy a nice brew I urge you to go out and appreciate the good stuff while the numbskulls abuse the piss-water.  There’s a delicious world out there waiting to be explored.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered that I’m out of beer.