Rick Barlowe

"Rick, Rick, you still despise me, don't you?" asked Peabody, the little round-faced minion holding the silver snub-nosed revolver currently pointed at my guts. His wheedling was getting on my last nerve, so I snapped at him more unkindly than I could have: 

"I would if I thought about it," I drawled. I pulled a cigarette from my jacket, leaned against my desk, and scraped a match across the bottom of my shoe. I touched the resulting flame to the fag and took a deep puff, contemplating the ceiling fan that whirred above, undisturbed. 

"Stop mocking me!" Peabody spat, brandishing the gun. "I'll shoot you dead if you don't tell me what I want to know!" 

An ironic chuckle slipped free before I could suppress it. "Kid, if you shoot me dead, you're the one that's going to need answering--to the Slender Man." 

"I'm not scared of him!" Peabody yelled, quivering. "He knows I'm loyal!" 

"Oh sure," I said. "So was Dunwich. He was loyal. Quimby was loyal. They were loyal all the way down to the bottom of the bay." 

Peabody burst into tears, cradling his head in his hands. "Oh, if only that witch hadn't interfered! We didn't care about the inheritance! Only the notes! Only the Steinbrunner notes!" 

"Here's a note for you. Get out of my office and tell the Slender Man to come in person next time. I don't talk to flunkies." 

I thought Peabody's eyes would pop free of their sockets, so great was his rage. But after a moment, he left, stomping his size four feet all the way down the hall. 

I turned off the lights so I could stand in the dark for a while. Hallway light spilling through the glass window on my office door painted my name across the weathered wood floor at my feet. The letters were distorted, angular, like buildings in a German expressionist movie. It was the perfect visual metaphor for my state of mind--questioning who I was and what I was doing mixed up in this mess. A younger, smarter version of me wouldn't have gotten involved. But my hair was silver now, and climbing three flights of stairs up to my office had become an unwelcome chore. 

One way or another, this would be my last case. I wondered if I'd finish it dead or alive. 

 

Slim

She walked into my office that stormy night with neon letters--E-A-T--reflected in eyes of midnight black; her pinched brow finished the sentence with S-H- --

But never mind that. I hadn't had a client in weeks and I was down to my last nickel. When she sat on the edge of my desk and dangled one stiletto heel from her toes, only part of my booze-fogged brain absorbed the details of her case; the other parts were focused on her writhing toes and the curve of that nylon-wrapped foot. Something about an inheritance due her, an inheritance contested by a long-lost supposed black sheep half-sister showing up on her doorstep at a time so inconvenient it beggared belief and buggered up the works. 

Somewhere along the way I caught her name: Slim. Well, slim she was, and so were her cigarettes. Also her patience, because she was snapping her fingers right in front of my eyes. 

"Are you going to take the case, gumshoe, or are you gonna keep staring at my feet?" she barked. Her breath smelled like coffee grounds and tar. I liked it. 

I drew back from her percussive fingers and rose up from my well-worn office chair. 

"My fee is ten bucks a day plus expenses," I said. "Don't ask me to carry a gun or otherwise fool with rough stuff. I'm strictly an investigator. I'm no one's enforcer, no one's goon, no one's gunsel. Get me?" 

She smirked with lips glossy as patent leather. 

"Sure, I get you. How you do your business is--your business," she said. "Besides, if you get yourself killed, no medical expenses. Or any expenses, I suppose." 

"You'll pay my secretary," I growled. She shrugged as if the cash didn't matter at all, then turned on her heel and walked out the door. 

I flicked off the light switch and stood by the window, looking down at the street, the big neon EAT sign flickering on and off, red-yellow, red-yellow. I hoped to see those long legs again, marching off down the sidewalk, but she must have headed west instead of east. 

I thought about going downstairs to the diner to spend my last nickel, but a coffee went for ten cents these days and I hadn't asked for an advance. My mind had still been preoccupied by the sheen of nylon stretched over smooth, uncallused feet. She was the kind of gal who used a pumice stone. 

A little while later I'd find out I was wrong about a lot of things regarding Slim and her case--but not the condition of her feet. 

 

Harpo Barx

This poor fellow had a little bit too much to drink, and the results are all over the pavement. 
 

Sockbot and Flattop

Here's another pair of robots for Star Schlock. I find the sculpts for these guys pretty charming. 
 

83

Dad would have turned 83 today, had pancreatic cancer not taken him away in 2018. Here he is at left with his father, William Woods, sometime in the late 1950s. 

Happy birthday, Dad. I hope you're flying something cool. 

 

The Runner

 

Doc Brown and His Time Machine

 

Spy Smasher

Technically this is a Gyro Raider mini from Pulp Figures, but something compelled me to paint him in Spy Smasher colours. I think he makes a pretty good Spy Smasher.

Here's one of the images I used as a reference. 

Union Landing Party

 

Courageous Mountaineer

Like brave mountaineers
We never were much bothered by time

 

Vivisection 31

Star Trek: Section 31 (Olatunde Osunsanmi, 2025) is the first direct-to-streaming Star Trek feature film. It also has the distinction of being the worst Star Trek feature film of any kind. 

Based on Section 31, the shadowy spy organization first seen in season six of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, this new film pulls Section 31 from dark corners and into the spotlight, thereby subverting and missing the point of the original DS9 episodes featuring 31. Rather than asking questions with some nuance and ambiguity about moral actions in times of war, Section 31 (the film) tries to turn one of Star Trek’s most despicable villains into a hero while replacing spy intrigue with fight scenes and explosions. 

Mission Briefing

Control speaking. You are directed to watch a very special episode of Mission: Impossible reskinned in Star Trek: Discovery and Suicide Squad (the worse one) garb. Believe in the extremely plausible redemption arc of Emperor Philippa Georgiou (Michelle Yeoh), admitted genocidal cannibal and torturer from the Mirror Universe! Watch her team up with a ragtag assortment of unlikeable Section 31 agents to chase a McGuffin before it wrecks the galaxy! Revel where no Star Trek story has revelled before! Revel, I say! 

Well, in the words of another Control before me, “That’s why it’s called Mission: Impossible, not Mission: Difficult.” 

Dark Origins

Originally developed as a new Star Trek series, Section 31 was whittled down into a single film presumably because Michelle Yeoh became way too busy (and expensive) to commit to a series in the wake of her escalating popularity rising from Everything Everywhere All at Once. This turn of events is a blessing, leaving us with just a couple of hours of agony instead of several seasons’ worth of pain. 

13 Things Wrong with Section 31

• Cinematography. The camera can’t sit still, transitioning from snap-zoom to snap-pan to shaky-cam to torturously elaborate spins and swoops that distract from the story telling. 

• Editing. The hyperkinetic editing brings to mind the excesses of later Bourne movies; it’s distracting and fails to capture the stunt work of the fight scenes, rendering them impotent. 

• Plot. In a remote corner of the galaxy, outside Federation space, someone has a doomsday device and it’s up to our heroes to get it out of the hands of the bad guys. Absolutely by-the-numbers with not a single interesting take on a very old trope. 

• Dialogue. The dialogue is filled with painful catchphrases stolen from 21st century sitcoms and action movies, ruining our immersion in what’s supposed to be the far future while annoying us at the same time. None of the cheap laughs land at all.

• Characters. Aside from Emperor Georgiou, who benefits from the character development she enjoyed on Star Trek: Discovery, none of our protagonists exist as other than as science fiction tropes decades old. There’s a sexy vamp, a grizzled combat veteran (with a thrown-in backstory established strictly in dialogue to tie the story back to better movies and shows), the comic relief, a shapeshifter, the Starfleet officer pressed into Section 31 service because she somehow messed up (never explained), and a guy in a really janky-looking mech suit. 

• Cheap laughs and cultural insensitivity. Two of the characters have exaggerated Irish (?) accents because ha ha, accents are funny and just add to the quirkiness of this lovable bunch. You’d think we’d have outgrown this kind of humour by now, but no. 

• Direction. There’s no tension in any of this. There are foot, hovercar, and spaceship chases without any zing or real stakes. Also, the actors are either explicitly told to ham it up or the director just can’t control them. Half of these performances are so over the top you want to throw things at the main viewscreen. Er. The TV, I mean. The other performances are TOO understated. And finally, an unforgiveable sin outside of parody: the protagonists walk toward the camera in slow motion to show how badass they are. At least there wasn’t an explosion blooming behind them. 

• Twist. There’s a twist. This isn’t a spoiler, because you’ll see it coming from a mile away. Actually there are two twists. You’ll  see both of them coming from two miles away. Each twist is explained with exposition and flashbacks to be sure you understand each twist. 

• Music. The music, even though created by the talented Jeff Russo, is bland as bland can be, especially for an action film. 

• Phasing. Remember that episode of TNG where LaForge and Ro are out of phase with the rest of the people on the Enterprise, and yet they don’t fall through the floor? Section 31 makes the same mistake and compounds it by having a character get stuck while passing through a wall without the wall exploding or their foot being severed at the ankle. 

• Most embarrassing surprise cameo ever. Oh boy, I would have loved this for this person if it had been any other Star Trek project. Alas. 

• Extreme stakes. Far too often in modern Star Trek the heroes face galaxy- or even universe-threatening disasters, and Section 31 does the same. NOT EVERY STORE CAN HAVE STAKES THIS HIGH. The impact is utterly lost. 

• And most importantly and most damning of all: Why is this even a Section 31 story? The way this tale is structured, it could just as easily been the crew of the USS Cerritos taking on this mission. Or the folks from DS9. Or maybe a pack of Klingon warriors. Any of these would have worked just as well as Section 31, because there’s no spycraft in this story! There’s no skullduggery! No questions of morality or ethics are ever raised, aside from one character’s note that “I’m here to make sure no one gets murdered.” This film is about Section 31, but aside from the limited participation of Control—the mission commander—this story has none of the essential trappings of the organization it’s purportedly about, nor does it touch any of the original themes raised in DS9 in any meaningful way. It’s “rule of cool” taken to ridiculous extremes, except none of it is cool.  

Stories I Enjoyed More Than Section 31

Every other Star Trek film. Yes, including Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, Star Trek: Nemesis, and Star Trek Into Darkness. 

“The Alternative Factor”

“And the Children Shall Lead”

“The Way to Eden”

“Turnabout Intruder”

“Shades of Gray”

“Endgame”

“These Are the Voyages”

Season two of Star Trek: Picard

At least these episodes and movies, as flawed as they are, were made with a level of professionalism and pride that eclipses the laziness and cynicism on display in Section 31. Every example named above tried to be about something--or at the very least was brought low by production difficulties. Section 31 has no such excuse. 

I would also rather rewatch

• Any Transformers film
• Artemis Fowl
• The Blind Side
• Attack of the Clones
• The Rise of Skywalker

Well…maybe not that last one. But boy is it close. 

Shrieking Dale Arden

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY HANDS?!" 

Sorry, Dale. At least the rest of you looks decent enough. 

Dr Cyclops

This is one of my favourite pulp minis. I love the retro mad scientist vibe, masked behind a radiation suit and wielding a futuristic ray gun. 

As another Doctor Cyclops (below) said, "Now you really can call me Doctor Cyclops...because I have one good eye." 

Joey the Trainer

"Ya gotta hit him from the left, ya lousy bum! Are you throwing this fight on purpose? You better be, because if this performance is really the best you can do I'll make you start sparring with my gramma! She'll teach you a thing or two, you lazy louse!" 
 

The Ref

"Okay boys, remember: I want a dirty fight. No hitting above the belt, no one goes to their corner until one of you is unconscious." 
 

Buddy Flynn

Boxing manager. Tough, but a good soul. Relatively speaking. 
 

Bucky the Kid

Wuxtry! Wuxtry! Gun moll turns on Scruffy Doyle! Doyle faces the chair! Read all about it! 
 

Commando Cody

AKA Rocket Man, etc. A key figure of the old movie serials. "Let's see, I wanna go up, and I wanna go fast. HEEEYYYYY YOOOOOOOO . . ." 

In Dreams, He Walks: David Lynch, 1946-2025

When you exclude family and friends from the equation, my approach to life is upheld by three great pillars: Superman's altruism, Star Trek's optimism, and David Lynch's surrealism. And as much as I adore Superman and Star Trek, it is the works of David Lynch that bring me closest to understanding--or at least appreciating--the great mysteries of existence. 

My first exposure to Lynch was The Elephant Man, followed a few years later by Blue Velvet--both incredible films that pitted cruelty against compassion, a common theme in Lynch's work. 

But it was Twin Peaks that captured me, heart and soul, way back in 1990. I saw in Dale Cooper, Deputy Andy, Deputy Hawk, and Sheriff Truman the kind of men I aspired to be. I saw in Bob my terrible weaknesses and darkest thoughts. And in the world Lynch built, one of awe and mystery, compelling and unknowable, wondrous and terrifying, I saw the landscapes of my dreams. 

Much of Lynch's work is rife with violence and misery of the harshest kind in settings that seem rational on the surface, but hide corruption and malignancy. Thankfully, the evil in his worlds is matched by figures of great kindness, integrity, and valour, and forces of light that help in the limited ways they can.  

Lynch's heroes often fail, Dale Cooper chief among them; as revealed in The Return, his saviour complex ultimately dooms him, along with poor Laura Palmer, "saving" her from her true salvation to the forces of light in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me. 

Or that's one interpretation. Lynch's work is full of delicious ambiguity; it demands our full attention and cries out to be re-watched for new meaning. Despite that ambiguity, though, I believe a couple of themes shine through his body of work. 

First, David Lynch loved people and felt deeply about the cost of human suffering. Second, David found amazing beauty in the universe, even if that beauty was contrasted with terror; perhaps he felt one was necessary for the other. And third, to paraphrase Stephen King, I think David Lynch suspected there are other worlds than these. I hope he's exploring them now and creating new art. 

For these reasons and so many others, I felt a deep connection with David Lynch--though I'd never met him, and never will, except in dreams. 

Thank you, David, for the gift of your art, in all its baffling and wondrous forms. Rest in mystery. 

Callous Captor

"I try to treat my guests with compassion and respect. I try to give them dignity. But the Master makes me wear this awful red hood and carry around these shackles. And he won't let me wear a shirt, because he says my muscles intimidate the prisoners. I mean, guests.

"They call me Callous Captor. I'm your host, and this is Dungeon Break." 
 

Twister Ramirez and Pugsy Flanagan

 

Captain Marvel

Here's the Big Red Cheese himself, Captain Marvel. I'm mostly happy with this except for the amount of red wash I used--a bit too much. 
 

Weaponless Tong Warriors

I painted the weapons for these guys months ago, but I haven't looked for them yet. So now they just make threatening gestures. 
 

Mexican Federales

I love the last guy's dead-eyed stare. Horrifying, like the violence implied. 
 

Sparks the Mechanic

 

General Fierro

I wonder if one really could fight effectively, in pitched battle, wielding a melee weapon in one hand and a pistol in the other. I suppose many soldiers have. 
 

Three Monks

 

Woke Up This Mornin,' Painted Myself a Minifigure

 

Dale Arden

Dale's ready to bring peace and freedom to planet Mongo!
 

Hoover Dam Monitoring Station

 

Ravenhawk

The mysterious, ebon-clad Ravenhawk! Is he friend or foe? An ally to Flash Gordon and Dale Arden, or a Hawkman traitor? 
 

Flash Gordon Dismounted from a Hawkman Rocket Cycle

To facilitate transitions in gameplay, I painted Flash in the same colours I used for his rocketcycle model. 
 

Flash Gordon Approaching on a Hawkman Rocketcyle

I painted this model inspired by colours used by Alex Raymond in the Flash Gordon comic strips of the 1930s and 1940s and by images seen in the 1980 film adaptation.