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Megg & Mogg In Amsterdam And Other Stories

Megg & Mogg In Amsterdam And Other Stories Megg & Mogg In Amsterdam And Other Stories Megg & Mogg In Amsterdam And Other Stories

Megg & Mogg In Amsterdam And Other Stories back

Simon Hanselmann


Page 45 Review by Stephen

T is for Transgression!

Hurray for Transgression!

But also for Tales so Toxic your skin might start itching and skunk so soporific that you run the risk of suffocation. It billows in pungent green clouds from almost every one of these pages so that if you're not properly ventilated your mind might grow light and your stomach may turn.

Megg is a witch, Mogg is her monged-up moggie and this will be so, so familiar to anyone who is - or ever has been - so drug-dependent that you'll do almost anything or anyone to get more, after which your decision-making processes are even further impaired.

Whatever I have found in the way of interior art above, below or to your right is infinitely cleaner than almost every page. Clue: Megg and Mogg are in a relationship. A sexual relationships. Pray, do not go there - unlike Megg.

The sordid sequel to Hanselmann's MEGAHEX, this is empathically not the FABULOUS FURRY FREAK BROTHERS who, for all their derring-doobage, at least kept it amicable and none of them interfered with FAT FREDDY'S CAT.

This is far from amicable, for Mogg and Megg share a flat with Owl who wants a clean, quiet house, secure from burglars, so he can sleep soundly. He is going to get none of those.

Neither Megg nor Mogg are disposed to give a fuck, nor is their neighbouring drug-dealer called Werewolf Jones who - over and over again - manages to wangle his way into their home along with his delinquent ten-year-old kids whom he's brought up as personal slave-labour and public performers on webcam. Those sorts of performers, yes - as a rule of thumb, if you want to infer the worst from whatever I write about this, you would not be far wrong.

At home the kids are content to shit all over their lawn because it's their turf and they are wolves. At Megg, Mogg and Owl's they're still left to amok, one of them shattering Owl's beak with an ashtray. Twice. So well drawn is this that if you don't immediately think of and fear for your own teeth then I'd be very much surprised. Parental supervision?

"I blame the school system."

To be fair, Owl is an uptight, judgemental prick. On the other hand it must be hard to find your clean white towels strewn all over the bathroom, shit smeared all over the toilet, junk all over the floor, a naked, jaundice-skinned witch passed out next to a stinking bucket bong, a dildo on your kitchen table, crumbs in your best butter (crumbs in your best butter!) and a cat in your kitchen sink:

"Quit whining, Owl.
"Nothing matters. Everything is meaningless.
"Stop trying so hard."

A triumph of injustice, I present you with the unhealthiest comic ever committed to paper, a dire warning never to share a flat nor invite any guests over ever, and the most careless, callous and often mean-spirited miscreants ever to spoil your party / meal / gig / camping trip / holiday abroad / quiet, private time / underwear / appetite / fondest memories imprinted on photographs.

All of the above actually included.