JOHNNY RADICAL, IT WAS REALLY NOTHING

The radical one was very tall but had very small feet. He also had a great many powers, none of which he had a clue of how to use. The first power was curiously tied into an almost computer-like ability to empathise with whomever came into contact with his pet dog, Doogie Howser the Fifth. Be they a cold-blooded killer, a collector of erotically charged cacti paintings, the local priest, or just an ordinary meat-butcher, Johnny Radical could make that special connection. He really knew how to make people feel better. Doogie Howser the Fifth certainly brought out the best in him.

J.R became aware of his second great power on that fateful spring night before Doogie Howser the Fifth's untimely demise. This second power was strangely tied into an almost human-like ability to destroy whomever made mention of the words "abject failure." Be they an American president, an ageing pop-star, a young rabbi, or just an ordinary house-wife, Johnny Radical could cut their cheeks with the greatest of ease. He really knew how to make people feel awful. Abject failure certainly brought out the worst in him.

Johnny still isn't aware of his third great power and probably never will be. Only one person knows how to unlock the "mighty three" power hidden behind the radical one's apish forehead. Unfortunately, she's dead. In the unlikely event that she somehow miraculously rises from the earth, Johnny Radical will be freed to use this third power in ways that would help everybody but himself. A strange power for sure, but one which would do him much good. Dead girls rising could certainly bring out the demonic wizard in him.

We could go on but the true nature of this story has yet to be told. Johnny Radical never fully used these powers for any special purpose, rhyme, reason or song. The radical one floated through life, one day to the next, learning nothing, putting up with the same old junk night after night. By not using those powers, he slowly let himself rot away from within. Somewhere on an island situated near the south of Mexico, Radical now sits dying in a tiny old people's home. He still speaks fondly of Doogie Howser the Fifth, still cuts the occasional cheek, still isn't aware of the "magic-three" power which lies behind that apish forehead. In short, Johnny Radical wasted his one and only life. What a pity.

Or maybe, it wasn't?

At night, when he went to bed and rested his head on the grease-stained pillow, J.R dreamt of adventures that could never go without being told. Fantastical visits to the dirty German porn priestesses of Gutterdammenstritenfurter, followed by magical walks along mountainous hills made of ice cream, big boobs, people who always say yes and pink skies. Johnny Radical had seen the future and it was pure bullshit. Glorious, wonderful, semi-meaningless, psychedelically tinged, tooth decayingly painful, partially meaningful bullshit. If you could do it, would ya? Would ya waste this useless, once in a lifetime opportunity to use those special powers hidden deep within for the chance to dream magnificently sweet, porno filled, fucktastic dreams for the rest of all time? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya? Would ya?

SOCK

SMOKE

SHINY