Showing posts with label Space. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Space. Show all posts

Saturday, 15 February 2014

INSERT COIN TO PLAY


These days, the vestiges of fame predominantly clinging to Hot Gossip are as the flexible and untamed troupe of half-naked jezebels who gyrated provocatively during the Kenny Everett Video Show. Their musical career, which spanned from 1978 to 1985, is perhaps less well documented, although their first single (and only hit) ‘I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper’ remains a fond memory for fans of hi-energy space camp disco kitsch which, let’s face it, is more or less everyone, isn’t it? 






In 1980, they released ‘Space Invaders’. It wasn’t particularly successful, but it did nicely encapsulate the spirit of the emerging arcade gaming industry: fun, trivial, repetitive, annoying, hopelessly outdated almost as soon as it’s released. 



Don’t expect to like it, but do be aware that it will probably haunt your waking hours from now on, and then creep insidiously into your dreams. Eventually you'll contemplate walking into the sea. If you do, warn your family not to expect anything from us in the way of compensation: we've been down this road before and, apparently, our I.Q's are below the level at which we can be found legally responsible for any of our actions.  

We’re going to start posting a bit of hi-energy space camp disco kitsch with synthesised sitars at the end from now on, which will be great, won’t it? 

We’ll take your stunned silence as a resounding ‘yes’, shall we?

Friday, 29 November 2013

COSMIC WOOFER




This dog is from outer space. He can do all sorts of stuff that makes The Cat From Outer Space and Digby, The Biggest Dog In The World look like right mugs. We won't give any more away just in case this is on your 'to read' pile, or is the next masterwork under discussion at your Book Club.

The frontispiece carries the dedication -

'In memory of Ching, 
whose spirit now roams the stars' 

Don't mourn for Ching, he or she is with Laika, Pchyolka and Mushka now, probably rooting through an alien's bin.  
...

The cover reminded us of the terrifying climax of the superb 1984 Italian art film 'Rats: Night Of Terror'. 







We accept no responsibility for soiled undergarments. We won't even acknowledge that we have a washing machine, even though it's right there in the corner, and we can all see it.