The Golden Variant Claim-ification Perigrination



Part three of the 100th Arktoons’ Comic Special! Previously, our heroic little Toon studio (see past episodes of “The Finality”) had offered shiny new logo variant covers. Five of which were special Golden tickets which lucky winners could turn in for a free tour of Tempest in a Teardrop studios!

Three of the five golden logos were claimed by Twitterati. Sadly, being a spawn of Satan automatically disqualifies you from winning. Repent first, yah Dewberries. One was claimed by an a fictive net denizen who wishes to to remain anonymous. And the last remaining Variant…

Signal Boost cos We ain’tn’t Ded.

Well, not yet. And Codex likes the cut of these stories jib@ J.D. Cowan of Between the Wasteland and Sky writes:

Once again we’re back with a new signal boost post, and a pile of new books for you to check out! There’s always something to look forward to these days. Today, we’ve got a few humdingers to talk about.
The first is the above Stellar Stories by adventure writer David Skinner! This is a collection featuring new stories as well as pieces published in places such as both StoryHack and Cirsova magazine, as well as the old PulpRev Sampler! It contains eight different tales for your reading pleasure, and there is even a physical edition available on Lulu. He truly went all out on this one!

RTWT here:


Memorial Day


Remembering our ordinary heroes from before our nation was conquered.

You who live in what is left of America: Hold the line. We who live in the occupied territories: Never forget.

Every American family had these men in their lives: Brother, father, uncle, son.

Ours was an ordinary American boy who left home, lied about his age and joined the Navy. Rising through the enlisted ranks, his XO took the young man under his wing and tutored him for an officer candidate. Unfortunately, a lovely Cuban lady, some time A.W.O.L. and a nearly-missed boat put paid to that opportunity. As late as his 80s, finishing off our second bottle of wine, he admitted he still couldn’t decide whether or not the seniorita was worth it.

He served aboard the U.S.S. Mississippi and was honored for his courage in repairing her battle-wounds under heavy bombardments and kamikaze attack.He was a pattern-maker: If you’re ever visiting Pacific Grove, California, stop by the justly famous Monterey Bay Aquariaum. That lovely brasswork? He made it. Uncle Sam taught him the skills, refined them under fire, and he made of them a gift for future generations. He was the best grandfather a girl could have, even if he was my great-uncle.

For you and all the other veterans who have served our country, and placed your lives between “your loved home and the war’s desolation”… For all the grandfathers and brothers and sons who didn’t come back.  We’ll remember you, from this day to the ending of the age.

Thank you

~ Codex

The Odyssey

Glyph graduated last weekend. I got to make a speech. It was short. It had an audience of one. I’ll repeat it here.

No, you won’t understand. Neither did anyone else, except for Codex.

Me (into microphone): “Glyph? Shakababa.”

She howled in laughter. Mission Accomplished.

Her class (all 4 of them) made a video and in the video they were invited to go on a great adventure called an Odyssey, named after the sole survivor. The acting was horrible and hilarious, a powerful combination. That’s where we’re at now. It’s been an Odyssey.

We’re still standing, though. Except for me, who is mostly sitting due to an aching back. And Codex who fell down some steps and sprained her ankle on Monday. She is also mostly sitting. I keep threatening her and gifting Ibuprofen. It means we have to name our current adventure after Glyph.

That’s gonna be a challenge because I spent all my brain cells on home repairs. Suggestions very welcome in the comments.

The house went up for sale on Friday and sold yesterday. Insane. We ended up getting our full asking price. We had two bidders in the end, probably could have gotten a little more, certainly wanted to list it for more, but in the end we did what we felt was the right thing.

I keep hearing “No Good Deed Goes Unpunished” echoing in the back yard but I think we’ll be okay. Inspection is tomorrow. Septic pumping/inspection is next Thursday. They walk away after that and it’ll cost ’em plenty. They won’t.

I can’t give details but… they won’t.

We’re hiding a note somewhere in the house. “This space dedicated to the Great Hamster Escape of 2012. God Bless. [Our last name]. Original owners. [Year] – 2022. Someone will find it one day. Maybe it will be the new owners.

We love this place but it’s time to move on, for a variety of reasons.

And now, finally, we can get back to comicing! Not sure when it will be. And if you are the praying type, then, well, you know what to do. We can still use them.

–> Codex & Q


It’s been a couple of weeks and I now wake up at 3:30am and think about posting something. Then I realize how many chores are still left on the house, drink an excessive amount of coffee, and continue the slog.

I miss posting. I’m super-happy to say I’ve always been grateful we can in terms of our talent, time, and energy. Soon. Relatively soon. I’m looking forward to it. Quips on social media or the occasional live podcast are nice warm-up exercises, but they don’t replace the real thing.

Maybe I know what real authors feel. Maybe.

The POD arrived today. The delivery was impressive. I’m not sure how our entire house will fit in an 8′ x 8′ x 16′ space, but I suppose once we remove the air the walls and floors will collapse and with a couple of prying bars we can wedge in the “end bits”. Like a sleeping bag. Or a recalcitrant turkey.

Also, ‘haboob’ is a word. Spell check doesn’t recognize it, but then neither did I. It’s now in the vault of “funny” words like “Walla Walla”, “Discombobulated”, and “Green Energy”.

For the record: a ‘haboob’ is a dust storm ginned up by desert winds in the more inhospitable places on the planet such as Sacramento. In this case the storm took place in Minnesota, which is also in the ‘Funny Words’ vault.

I’m mostly still alive and just barely able to write checks. My hands work fine, the pen works fine, and even the pages of the book are okay. It’s the spirit in my bank account that weeps every time we give money away. “That’s a part of my soul!” it wails. “How many Horcruxes must I divide myself into to satisfy your wanton monetary needs?!”

“Just one more,” I reply.

“I’m not the Fed!” it yells back.

Then we go to therapy with our pastor. He doesn’t charge.

Our realtor does though. We’ve know her for more than two decades. She helped us buy the house way back when. But she put her foot down. A firm stiletto heel directly to my liver. “The House Will Go Up Thursday Morning!” My pain is about to end. And begin. We have a POD to pack. And many, many chores to finish.

In the meantime: ‘Haboob’ is funny. ‘Haboobs’ is hilarious.

–> Quizzer

He is risen, ya weirdos!




To all the Odds and the dissidents, the NBCs, bears, and Ilk, and to all our mostly normal (mostly…) cater-cousins who view us with loving amusement, I give you, O wise: Easter filk!

Your tune is the hottest number from our favorite 18th century hepcat, The Symphony Number 9 in D minor, Opus 125. The lyrics are from 1865 and 1984 filk-singers respectively.

Alleluia, alleluia!
Hearts to heav’n and voices raise;
sing to God a hymn of gladness,
sing to God a hymn of praise:
He who on the cross a victim
for the world’s salvation bled—
Jesus Christ, the King of Glory,
now is risen from the dead.

Alleluia, Christ is risen!
Death at last has met defeat:
see the ancient pow’rs of evil
in confusion and retreat;
once He died, and once was buried:
now He lives forevermore,
Jesus Christ, the world’s Redeemer,
whom we worship and adore.

Happy Easter, everyone!