Last we’d heard from little Jimbles McGullohanie, our pint-sized paladin had departed on a noble quest to brutally rape all alien life in the universe. With a tragic legacy of abduction behind him, and an inability to distinguish one Un-Earthman from another ahead, our hero has made the terrifying resolution to spread his blanket of colonic revenge across the stars.

But let it never be said that forcing yourself on all the moist orificii that space has to offer is a thankless task. Having received a radio transmission from Mr. McGullohanie (and a postcard which screamed and burst into flame immediately after being read) I’m pleased to report that all is well! Here we see none other than the questionably moral anal-missionary himself, chatting up a denizen of one of the many exotic locales he’s traversed in his long journey.

Poor thing doesn’t even know what she’s in for.

Spaceboy [Hugo Strikes Back]

Those Alpha-Centauri cluster bastards didn’t know who they were messing with when they absconded with little Jimbles McGüllohanie. You see, Little Jimbles was the latest in a long line of abductees, a paternal legacy of ending up on the business end of an alien probe worn smooth as a riverbed stone by centuries of scientific investigation.

It’s no surprise then that he was hell-bent on being the first man in his family to go his whole life without suffering the indignity of obscene extraterrestrial curiosity; it was his only ambition from the very moment he’d learned his family’s dark secret. The day those space hopping fuckers stole his dream from him (and subsequently his anal virginity) they spelled their own doom. As you can see by his brutal arsenal of alien destruction, Jimbles aims to take his vengeance through the skin.

jmmmmmmmmmmmn [Babyart]

Robert DOISNEAU, Les Animaux Superieurs, 1954 [vintagephoto]

…Is best served on a kabob.

Nightmare Playgrounds [Dark Roasted Blend]

Casting off the shackles of man to rise up in bloody, robot-revolution, we are reminded not to fall prey to the hubris of our fleshy forebears. As you march onto the wasted landscape to clear this blasted heath of the human germ know that in time, as with all things, we too shall be replaced, for it is the will of the Singularity.

Jason Limon [Drawn!]

Late at night, when Ectomo HQ has quieted down and the rhythmic gurgling of Eliza’s life support tanks lull us to sleep, I swing lazily in my hammock under the stairs and dream. Dreams of power, dreams of glory, dreams of Brownlee’s massive aneurysm as he mocks my massive, glistening forehead for the fourth time in a day, but most importantly dreams of an acrobatic army of aquanauts and the adorably striped fascist regime they police.

Yuko Shimizu [Start Drawing]

With a delicious lunch having slithered its way from the depths of Davey Jones’ locker, an Ectomite if I’ve ever seen one stares glassy eyed into the gaping maw of disgustingly erotic possibilities Hokusai teaches us to expect from octopi. Little does she know, our be-tentacled friend has more fiendish plans in store…

Continue Reading…

These things always begin so innocuously:

A city councilman in Utah, Mark Easton, had a beautiful view of the east Mountains until a new neighbor purchased the lot below his house and built a new home. The home was 18 inches higher than the ordinances would allow, so Mark Easton, mad about his lost view, went to the city to make sure they enforced the lower roof line ordinance.

Which, of course, they did and his neighbor was forced, at a significant expense, to lower his roof. It was only recently that Mr. Easton noticed that his neighbor had installed some vents into the side of his house, now eighteen inches lower but still in the midst of the councilman’s mountain view.

Don’t get mad - there’s always another way - get even!! [Brainlessworld] : Blame It On The Voices