Amidst a series of server overloads, Warren Ellis' Engine fired off this week with a loud trumpet of the iconic writer's return to the forum community arena. The Engine has since stabilized and as the dust settles, it's beginning to look like a well structured setup, worthy of Warren's prognosis for a better comics industry. A declaration of no superhero comics angst in The Engine, echoed through the pre-launch announcements the writer made in his email communique, Bad Signal. Though destined to raise the irk of some in comics fandom, this will undoubtedly contribute to the more refined dialogue he's hoping to nurture there. Other notable features in the forum structure are the Creator's Stage and Creator's Conference sections, open to the public with thread starting privilege given only to comics creators. The two sections will hopefully nurture the type of dialogue in the creators' community which we've called for here at Flaming Sword, namely the coalescence of a unified voice of the creators, for the advancement of creative and economic independence in the industry.
Amidst the tension of The Engine crashing several times and Warren seeking solace from the frenzy at the local pub (as he told of in Bad Signal), it appears he might have been accosted by one or several born-again Christians peddling their faith. Otherwise, it's hard to imagine an explanation for the tirade he dispatched a few hours ago in Bad Signal, as The Engine began to stabilize. I'm passing it along here (with Warren's permission) because it's a hilarious release, in the classic Ellis style. Be forewarned, however, it's not for the squeamish.
bad signal WARREN ELLIS
Jesus Christ's liver tasted of gin and semen. I gobbed it out on to the floor and looked around the control room. Somewhere out back, the Pope was still screaming. If I hadn't punched the teeth out of the pirahna before I poured them up him, he might be dead by now. The only thing muffling his fucking noise was the mouthful of used condoms. The Virgin Mary came out of a side door with a shotgun. I bit off the end and spat it in her eye, laughing. "Virgin Mary my arse," I said. "Any wife of mine coming home with that story would have been left out for the lepers before midnight. You like the taste of dadpaste and no mistake. I've chewed open your son and washed his raw meat down with a bottle of shit wine. What do you think to that?" As the Virgin Mary went down on her booted knees and skilfully guided my purple-headed battering ram past her prehensile tonsils, I looked at the control panel. There was a depression in it with a red button at the bottom with the sign DO NOT PRESS. At the last moment, I ripped my beef missile free of her vocal cords with both hands and shoved it down into the control console.
The world exploded.
And THEN I ejaculated.
The end. Fuck off.
