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Longshot Island

The Last Place on Earth

Comic Encounters

Featuring art by Chris Riddell and Heath Robinson

The newest issue of Longshot Island is available now.

 

STORIES
The Hell You Say By Bruce Golden
“We need depravity. We need pugnacious, spiky-haired deviants. We need the cream of the corruptible and incorrigible. We need some flaming head-cases and we need them now, Dweezil.”

Petri Parousia By Matthew Hughes
To me, the human body was not a quasi-metaphysical mystery to be unraveled. It was a kind of soft machine whose parts could be repaired when they broke down, or – even better – replaced entirely with materials God would have used if He’d only had access to teflon and stainless steel.

M is for … By Paul Beckman
Mirsky’s mother is laughing. She is laughing great peals of laughter. If his mother had a gut she would split it. If she had tears they would be running down her cheeks—if she had cheeks. She’d be slapping her knee in laughter—if there was a knee or a hand to slap it.

Green Fingers By Jonah Newton
I suppose you could say that he had ‘green fingers’ – although, in those days, all of us moon-settlers did. We were obliged to take nutri-mineral supplements you see – and, well – to put it bluntly – they turned our fingers green.

The Edge By Fiona Jones
“Finally gonna PROVE the earth is FLAT,” he typed enthusiastically. “How we’ll prove it? By SCIENCE!!! Empirical observation, just like the science establishment always claims to use. As Photographic Officer of the Antartican Scientifical Substantiating Expedition I will travel to Antartica, all the way to the high rim of the earth, peer over the edge and PROVE to the world with REAL PHOTOGRAPHS that we do NOT live on some sort of spinning sphere.”

BONUS
Three Drunks and Two Cops By David W. Berner
“This is not good,” my sister grumbled. She had had more beers than any of us, and getting into a police car brought back bad memories.

Fortunately, the Milk… Review by David R. Grigg
Written by Neil Gaiman
Illustrated by Chris Riddell
Some collaborations seem made in Heaven. That seems to be the case with this edition of Neil Gaiman’s children’s story Fortunately, the Milk… illustrated by Chris Riddell.

Night Gown By Pete Johnson
I have to come clean, dear readers, and tell you one of my dark secrets. I am a wearer of dressing gowns. Not those seen in Victorian dramas or old Sherlock Holmes films, worn over smart clothes after a day at the office, or solving crimes. No, big fluffy ones, that keep you warm, and make you feel cosy.

 

Lawrencium
by Liz Kellebrew

There was a giant jellyfish in the St. Lawrence River, which was impossible, but there it was. Its rainbow-colored tentacles streamed through the muddy waters, rising in the wakes of passing boats. It was fifteen metres long from head to tip, and its head was as big around as an inner tube.

But no one goes tubing on the river here. It’s way too cold. So we just drifted by on our boats and took pictures of the jellyfish, hoping it had plenty of other things to eat besides our prized Muskies.

One morning, we woke up to the jellyfish humping our clock tower. That’s right, it was amphibious, and here it was slithering its tentacles all over the clock tower, bumping it rhythmically and leaving behind this strange glowing goo.

Fortunately, no one lived in the clock tower. But we all stayed home from work that day, just in case, hoping that the taller buildings and skyscrapers downtown would prove far more attractive to the jellyfish than the short, square houses we lived in.

Months went by, and the jellyfish kept coming out of the river to hump skyscrapers.

The Guest
by Robert Boucheron

Fair and rather short, hands in his pockets, a young man sauntered a residential street still decked for the holidays. Artificial frost encrusted windowpanes. An inflated vinyl snowman stood guard with a broom in a front yard dusted with white. A snow shadow? Real snow would have melted. Late rays of sun lit up the scene like a stream of glory.

The young man took a deep breath. His chest expanded. His new silk necktie shone like the sash of a conquering hero. A newly hired sub-adjunct at Poindexter College, his advanced degree was in entomology. His article on dung beetles was in the current issue of Coleoptera Review. He was writing another for The Scarab.

He shot his left cuff to check the time on his wristwatch. The band was gold-plated. It would not do to arrive on the hour. A few minutes after would be about right. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, made of handwoven tweed. The invitation was there. The house on the corner must be the one.

The oak door gleamed, its panels rich as honey. He was about to knock when the door swung in, throwing him off balance.

Comic Encounters

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D. S. White Editor-In-Chief
contact@longshotisland.com
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Longshot Island

Longshot Press
Eugene, Oregon, 97401

ISSN 2573-4253 (print)
ISSN 2573-4261 (online)

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