A great magazine by Mr Jasper Gibson which slipped away into the aether. These are some pages of illustrations made for them back in 2001.
It was printed on a double page spread to the poem (below) follows the story latterally.
A Christmas Tale
Christmas Poem
Jim Le Fevre
Below the streets, the people shopped
In and out of stores they popped
The madness they called Christmas Eve,
with dreams of gifts they would receive.
‘This time of year’, if asked, they’d say
‘Is not about the retail trade
No, no’ They’d cry ‘Throughout the land,
We celebrate the love of Man.’
But looking down from high above,
There sits a man who mutters ‘Love?’
The man who knows this field of war,
The cruel dictator Santa Claus.
General misconception:- One.
That Santa Claus is lovely.WRONG
Throughout the land his troops are poised
but holding guns instead of toys…
…and on their helmets reads the phrase
‘Only one more shopping day’
Father Christmas strokes his chin,
At Ten to Twelve Phase One begins
The Pixies, trained in martial arts
Slip silently between the cars
And through the back-streets thousands pour
Unnoticed by the shopping hoards.
But things may not go as he planned
For unbeknownst below the man
There stands our last line of defence…
…A lethal group of violent men
Astride a military cannon,
The crack force leader’s Neil Buchannen,
Second in command to Neil,
the lovely, dangerous Anna Friel,
Behind her, smoking fags, the third,
Explosives expert Thora Hird
None the wiser Santa stands
His walkie-Talkie in his hands
And with a violent cry of WAR!
Commands his fearsome hungry hoards.
This year his force will make it evens,
Burning tapes of Shakin’ Stevens,
And visit Oxford Street this night,
And piss on all the Christmas lights.
But lo’! Our team springs into action
ready for the main attraction
In one humungous, graceful leap,
Thora Hird clears Regents Street…
As Anna Friel karate kicks
through waves of Reindeers fast and thick
Michael Aspel, naked, save,
For tattoos, takes the second wave.
And from his view point Santa sees
these ruthless trained celebrities
These D-list stars with no more use
dispose of all his festive troops.
But progress touches all bar none
And Santas’ laptop duly hums
confirming that down from the skies
a flaming Christmas pudding strike.
When suddenly from round the back,
The man who gave us Art Attack
In one successful pincer move
Surrounds the fat man on the roof.
All his minions indisposed
The fat man turns to face his foe
And there, with age pitched against youth
A bloody fist fight thus ensues.
Trained in hand to hand our Neil
Dispatches Santa with a squeal
And screaming Father Christmas drops
And hits the ground outside the shops.
So when you sit on Christmas Day,
rejoicing in your presents, save
A Thought for all those un-thanked stars
Who saved the world on our behalf.