TABLE OF CONTENTS

RKYV # 8 {January 2008}

RKYV ONLINE LOGO - David Marshall { current }
- Roy G. James { original }
- R.J. Pare { original online adaptation}
Virtual Cover # 8 - art by Wade Ferris Poetry - “some short songs” - by Noah Burstyn
- layouts by David Marshall “Pare’s Poetic Perspectives” - by R.J. Pare
Editorial Column - “Pass The Stuffing” - R.J. Pare
Fan Fiction - “The Shadow of Shazam” - by R.J. Pare
Health Columns - Non-Fiction - “Futurism in the Funnies” - by Roy G. James
“So how are we feeling today?” - Leanne Bechard-Stiers
Family Life - “Cook Book for Working Families” &
Interior Art - “My Journal” - by Amanda Fortin
pieces by Noah Burstyn, Santiago London, Stan Nelson, Josh
Bowe, Lee-Ann Marie Macdonald, Wade Ferris, Marc Ngui, Pop Culture -
Roger Formidable, Mark Laliberte, Rodney Mercer, Ignacio “Raised on Saturday Morning Cartoons” - by Pauline Harren Pare
Rojas, Belinda Da Fonseca, Sherril Anne Tucker

Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca Abstract Study - by Josh Bowe

 Forgotten Colors - by Ignacio Rojas
It was a Good Summer for Dick - Marc Ngui
 Pass the Stuffing
Letter from the Editor
{Jan. 22} So... I went to do some writing yesterday... and the keyboard was not responding. Now I was understandably
perplexed.... why isn't my keyboard working?

I tried a re-boot...

I received an error message "Keyboard Failure". This seemed ominous... I tried to inspect the keyboard to see if there was any...
obvious damage... or maybe a wire disconnected. I noticed something odd.

Well I suppose NOT odd really... I mean NOT all that odd if a keyboard is supposed to SLOSH!!!!!!

That's right. SLOSH!

Hmm... this bears investigation... some of the keys are a

little sticky...

I turn the keyboard upside down...

Fruit Punch spills all over my desk top.

!#$%^&*@!

My OLDEST daughter informs me that my YOUNGEST

daughter had spilled her juice all over the keyboard and she
had tried to wipe it up...

Yes the desk was wiped up... THAT's WHY DADDY

DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING WAS WRONG!!!!!

Eyez - by Santiago London

Did she think the juice INSIDE the keyboard would just dry
up eventually??????????????????????

I dis-assembled my keyboard... cleaned everything... dried

everything... and put it all back together...
As you can tell ... IT WORKED!

When I asked my daughter why she didn't tell me... she gave
me the line about NOT wanting to get in trouble...

BUT I said ...

“YOU TOLD DADDY IT WAS YOUR LITTLE SISTER??”

"Yes, But ya see... the thing is daddy, well I... I... I..."

YOU WHAT!?!?

"Well, the thing is... I wanted a sip of her juice... and she
wouldn't give it to me..."

GRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

The little darlings.

Anti Claus - by Stan Nelson

 Now onto RKYV business. I am beginning to seriously consider getting this mag it's OWN domain. This would allow a location
where submissions and downloads of issues can both be done. As well as OPEN forums for discussions and reviews. I would
appreciate feedback from all of you... the readers, subscribers, participants and staff... BEFORE I make such a move. Share your
thoughts and suggestions with me: randy.pare@rogers.com

RKYV ONLINE is pleased to have kept a monthly schedule since we launched in May of 2007. The beautiful art from our varied and
talented contributors has been a sight to behold and over the months the writing has been an entertaining mix that is sometimes
funny... thoughtful... angst-ridden... and hopefully even exciting. In 2008 we are hoping to ADD more regular columns. RKYV
ONLINE is looking for you to share your thoughts on topics like POLITICS, the ENVIRONMENT and SPORTS. If you or someone
you know can contribute in this area... please send submissions to our FaceBook site or my e-mail listed above. In an effort to continue
to build this mag and increase readership {and thus increase exposure for all of our developing talent} I would encourage ALL readers
and contributors to SPREAD the word and feel FREE to pass along copies of RKYV to acquaintances, friends and family. Together
we can ALL make 2008 a banner year for
RKYV!

Fingerprint-head - by Mark Laliberte Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca

Untitled - by Josh Bowe
 Health
So how are we feeling today? - by Leanne Stiers
HERE WE GO AGAIN...I am writing to you today, sitting in my easy chair, sick. I have what seems to be the same viral infection that
everyone else in this area has..and there's not a darn thing I can do about it. I went to the doctor this am, sat in his waiting room for
nearly an hour to hear, "go home to your bed, drink plenty of fluids and you'll probably stop coughing in about two weeks". Are you
kidding me? Being a diabetic myself isn't helping much either. Any type of infection completely messes with my glucose level..so that
feeling of being hit by a truck, has truly kicked in today. The difference between a common cold which is a "viral" infection, and a
"bacterial" infection are sometimes really difficult to distinguish. Viral infections like your common cold, or sore throat simply need
time to work its way out of your body. With rest, plenty of fluids and some analgesics for those all over body aches..in time it will go
away. It just takes what seems like an eternity.

It's the bacterial infections you need to be careful of, strep throat, a sinus infection, urinary tract infections.. all the good stuff that can
cause pain, fever, and worse case scenario, organ damage. That's when its time to see your friendly neighbourhood doctor. Infections
like this usually require a swab or specimen of the area infected and a subsequent course of an antibiotic. The problem with antibiotics
are, the more you use them, the more your body becomes accustomed to them, and in time they no longer work effectively..many
people have to go on several courses of an antibiotic to treat one infection. Is there much you can do to stop the spread of infection?
Sure, but many people just don't, especially kids. Wash your hands, and use the antibacterial kind of soap, yeah the creamy liquids
smell better, but don't do much for killing germs. Cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough and wash your hands right after each
episode. Stay out of public places, like restaurants or shopping malls as much as you can...it’s a breeding ground for bacteria. And..of
course, like I say in every article, if you're feeling ill, see your doctor right away, the sooner you know, the faster you can treat.

So, for the next two weeks or so, I am going to drink as much fluids as I can without drowning my internal organs, get plenty of rest,
as long as my kids allow it, and wait...and attempt to find the driver of that truck that ran me over in my sleep.

Stay Healthy and Wash Your Hands..A lot!

Leanne Stiers
Hello Nurse, Health Columnist
RKYV ONLINE
 Gallery Art

X-mas Reaper Goddess - by Stan Nelson

Jump and the city Buildings - by Elza Von

Zansen
L A Raven self portrait - by Lee-Ann Marie
Macdonald
Untitled mural - by Sherril Anne Tucker Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca

Arms behind back study - by Josh Bowe

Untitled - by Rodney Mercer

Dungeon Bitches - by Roger Formidable

Untitled - Mohammed Abdullah

Azreal - by Noah Burstyn

Untitled - by Josh Bowe
 Poetry
Song 1 - by Noah Burstyn
The lack of logic astonishing,
Hysterics of the mind consuming all reason.
Stumbling through the pitch, your spirit giving way,
Your consciousness’ treason.
For the senses illuminate nothing of fearful silhouette,
Nothing of cruel or sinister form
Yet this must be the calm before the storm.
Paranoia, an abominable anxiety coursing through every nerve.
No energy saved, no sanity is conserved.
Fear of the unseen.
Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca
Fear of that which could have been
Terror of the knowledge of the unknown, and
In such misery all rationality is overthrown.
The seeds of faith are hereby sewn.
The crops of deception are hereby grown
Vast fields, an endless sea of tainted fruit,
To be harvested by deceitful reapers.
Fear of the dark, cold and stark
Is it raven, or is it lark, who’s song guides your panicked strides.
For perhaps upon the answer, to this query, your fate it rides
Imaginary Portrait - by Josh Bowe
What monstrous fiends, Fear of that which could have been.
What forms of evil lurk in this the darkness of the moonless night?
Is the eye that sees holding you captive in its sight?
Its terrific vision? Terror of the knowledge of the unknown, and
Are the hands which bind paralyzing your mind, In such misery all rationality is overthrown.
Disrupting any decision? The seeds of faith are hereby sewn.
What is it there that can’t be seen? The crops of deception are hereby grown
Is it the beast or is it divine? Vast fields, an endless sea of tainted fruit,
Perhaps it is something in between. To be harvested by deceitful reapers.
Fear of the dark, cold and stark
Is it raven, or is it lark, who’s song guides your panicked strides.
Fear of the unseen. For perhaps upon the answer, to this query, your fate it rides.

Song 2 - by Noah Burstyn

Running.
A fate whispered melody serenading you toward your destiny.
The path unclear, clouded by shadows, long lost vestiges of faith.
Moving in no direction, with no intent.
An eternal suspension of your animation.
Your stagnation of spirit, your apathy,
Will bring you a life of misery.
For without a purpose, a compelling cause,
All you’ll see in yourself is weakness, your flaws.
Standing, still as stone, untouched by the chisel of society.
A perfect mass of silence.
Undefined yet firm in your confidence.

Untitled - by Rodney Mercer

You stand alone, and when you hear that song you will intone.
I stand here a statue a clean slate of stone.
A testament to my tragedy, statue of a visionless visionary.
A martyr to sacrifice part of his soul.
To bring me to life and give me a goal.
Once I’m given form to this body by a master’s hand.
I’ll find what I seek and go forth with command.
Standing.
Still lifeless and cold.
Awaiting the next chapter to unfold.
As you desire your life to possess forward motion,
You realize your true nature.
Inanimate emotion.
Inside you realize the waters of time
Will erode the surfaces of the prison.
Beating you down into further submission but
Although you are lowly humble
You’re not and you’ll strive for attention with all that you’ve got.
Song 3 - by Noah Burstyn
What but the husk would be left of this the stalk
Of this tragedy that is faith,
Should that faith be stripped away
Like the layers of the fruit its tree hath born?
Will the crest of a man’s creed persist, will it still be worn?
The germination of such vile seeds, planted in the minds of men,
Is the root of human malady, summons to the villain’s den.
You stand alone, and when you hear that song you will intone.
I stand here a statue of still uncut stone.
A vigil guarding the memory of a dearly departed visionary.
A martyr to sacrifice his good intent,
To give me a heart to be heaven sent.
Once I’m given form from this obelisk
I’ll give back what I’ve taken and my sloth I’ll confess.
Yet until that day, that I’m given the way.
I’ll forever remain a formless stone.
The visage of nothing, cold and alone.
Such an existence I’ve chosen indeed.
I have nothing to offer this I concede.
And when I hear that song I’ll forever intone
I stand hear a pristine stone.
Unmarked by the hand of society.
A perfect mass of piety.
Undefined and absolute in my empty resolutions.
Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca
Upon their hallowed ground, stands the wretched tree, Driving you to distraction,
A veil of leaves, covers the true, putrid nature of the bark, But blindly you would wander, arm, twig,
the knotted mass that is a termite’s temple. Used to perform the bloody action.
The insects, as the evangelists, bore through the trunk,
Networks of tunnels weakening the structure. The roots, secured in toxic soil, continue to absorb the poison,
The heart, festering pulp, they are soon to puncture. While countless veins, spread it throughout the whole.
Drink of the sap, sustain your leaf,
What but the husk would be left of this the stalk And save your faithful soul.
Of this testament to faith,
Should that faith be stripped away
Like the layers of the fruit its tree hath born?
Will the crest of a man’s creed persist, will it still be worn?

The trunk, twisted,

Wrenched into a horrid perversion of its noble form.
Constantly assaulted, swayed by the minds of men,
A cyclonic storm.
The branches tossed by the squall,
The leaves torn from the appendages
Ripped away like the meaning hidden amidst prophetic pages.

But what of the mist which shrouds the scene,

The words of their martyrs producing a screen
Through which the truth can not be seen.
The vaporous cloak is too dense, with the droplets,
Prayers of deception.

What but the shell,

Employed by the wicked as a shield would remain?
Would I hold your conviction in such complete distain,
If you wouldn’t kill me in the name of your god?
And it is the question that defines the answer,

Raven on a Moonlit Night - by Noah Burstyn

Pare’s Poetic Perspectives - by R.J. Pare

Bob was a prodigy and he was bored

The world was young as Bobby won
Establishment’s acclaim, all the records
Opponent’s disdain, the black and white board
Of malady, we could not see
That Fischer’s mind was in brilliant discord

Bobby was a champion when he played

Played for change, random re-arrange
He changed the game in ways strategic
But fame brought fear that like baggage stayed
Of malady, we would not see
Only seeing the vict’ry aesthetic

And what part did we play?

By looking the other way

"I am the true world chess champion"

Sincerely, Bobby Fischer.

His behaviour it went un-diagnosed

A piece of him, each time he’d win
Those around him willfully selective
His beautiful mind the evident host
Of malady, oh can’t you see?
His mind festers a poison invective!

Tom Waits - by Josh Bowe

 On the run hunted by Patriot Acts
Without a land, he found Iceland
We just treated sickness as eccentric
In his rants, raves and hate that did distract
His malady, we would not see
The man was paranoid schizophrenic!

Karpov, Kasparov and Spassky

What do they mean to me?
Do what I say, or I won’t play
To your packed theater
Try to make me stay and I’ll run away
Sincerely, Bobby Fischer.

And what part did we play?

By looking the other way

You were the true world chess champion

Sincerely, Bobby Fischer.

Untitled - by Belinda Da Fonseca

 Fan Fiction
The Shadow of Shazam - by R.J. Pare, based on the DC Comics characters
{all rights reserved}

“You would be wise,” the old man sneered, “to refrain from making
any sudden... foolish movements my dears... heh... heh.” Bald,
bespectacled and wrinkled with years, he hardly made for an imposing
figure. Until, that is, you looked at the gun in his trembling hands, all
black and menacing. One part a silly looking futuristic contraption,
straight out of some Flash Gordon strip... and one part a deadly seeming
viper swaying back and forth, ready to strike, from this old mad man’s
withered and shaking hands.

Dr. Thomas Wayne wasn’t really sure what to make of all this. Just
moments ago his bride, Martha, and he were about to leave and go out
for lunch. “Perhaps the Plaza,” he had thought, “it was always nice in
the spring and the fresh air on the patio was pleasant. Martha says she
has a surprise for me... something she wants to tell me. Well it doesn’t
take a physician to diagnose these symptoms. After all,” he thought with
joyful pride “she was lingering over that basinet in the department store
window the other day. A father...” Thomas could hardly contain his
anticipation “maybe, perhaps, a son!!”

“COUGH!... COUGH!... h-h-HACK!...” {SPIT!!}

Thomas Wayne’s reverie was cut short by his very immediate

concerns over this strange intruder in his home.

“You’re a vile, horrible, man!” Martha cries out at the aging villain,
her eyes drawn to the disgusting wad of mucus he has just spat on her
By David Marshall
beautiful new Chesterfield.

“My dear, lovely Mrs. Wayne,” the old man begins “where are my manners?” He snickers, gleefully. “Allow me... please... to
introduce myself. I am... Dr. Sivana” he says while adjusting his glasses with his left hand (his right shaking all the more, now,
supporting the weight of his weapon alone). “And, I fear, I shall have no choice but to kill your husband...” Sivana waits for the effect
of his threat, enjoying the gasps of shock and fear. Martha Wayne clings tighter than ever to her husband for comfort.

“Heh... heh...” Sivana continues “yes, yes I will disintegrate your husband before your eyes... your, oh so handsome, new husband
unless...”

“YOU SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!” Sivana thunders with strength in his voice quite the opposite of his frail appearance… a
strength that revealed an inner steel to this mad man that sent shivers down Martha Wayne’s spine.

“What,” she thought, frantic with despair, “what will happen to us?”

Meanwhile, in the skies above Gotham, flying toward stately Wayne Manor, a powerful champion for truth and justice... pauses. There
was a time, when the Wisdom of Solomon did not prevent him from rushing into situations like this. A time when his fellow heroes
fought by his side... in the Justice Society... sadly, this was before the rest were chased into retirement by a paranoid government.
Now, without any backup (should a danger be more than he can handle) Captain Marvel considers his actions, acutely aware, of the
burden he bears. Should he fall, this world would be without a protector... then who would stop the cruel and twisted minds that strive
so hard to harm this beautiful planet. If only they could see the endless bounty they have been blessed with... if only they could share
the wisdom he’d been granted... then maybe they would change their ways. Instead, the Strength of Hercules is what they usually
understand... and then not always right away. Sighing, the Captain observes silently and not for the first time... “I am getting too old
for this...”

“Now what can Sivana want with the Waynes?” Captain Marvel muses. “It just seems so ordinary... so beneath him. Kidnapping...
robbery... ransom...” The world’s mightiest mortal shakes his head. “His schemes are usually grander, more elaborate ploys to destroy
me and take over the world!”

The Captain’s informant had been clear on this point though. Dr. Sivana had fled Fawcett City for Gotham and he had targeted
Thomas and Martha Wayne as his latest victims in whatever twisted plan his deviant mind has now cooked up. Straining his senses,
Marvel could hear a woman sobbing in the mansion below. “Very well Sivana,” he decides “it may be some sort of trap but I’m not
going to let that stop me from putting you behind bars once and for all!!” With that, a red and yellow comet speeds, plummeting,
towards Wayne Manor and whatever waited for him inside.

“CRASH!!!”

Thomas Wayne could hear the front door of his family home as it was smashed off its hinges and held Martha all the tighter with
his left arm. “What now?” He thought. At the same time he used this opportunity to turn the both of them slightly, in what appeared to
be nothing more than a protective embrace, and get a grip on one of the fireplace pokers with his free hand. “If only this Sivana
character is distracted enough by this...” Wayne thinks, hoping he might yet have a chance to save his wife and unborn child before
this lunatic can do them any permanent harm.

“I am getting very tired of having to do this Sivana!” The newly arrived mightiest mortal proclaims. “Why not just come quietly
this time, and I’ll make sure they reserve your regular cell for you at Blackgate Prison?” Captain Marvel asks, knowing in his heart
that a man... a creature... such as Dr. Sivana would never surrender without endangering lives and property. At least, he thinks, this
time the dangers are minimal. This manor house is out of the way and other than these two hostages, there doesn’t appear to be much
danger of innocents being caught in the crossfire. Marvel shakes his head… thinking, “it just doesn’t make sense… Sivana knows that
with the Speed of Mercury I can disarm him before he has a chance to harm this lovely young couple.”

“I suppose, you big neanderthal, you BIG RED CHEESE...” Sivana snarls “You’re wondering why? WHY, I the great and powerful
genius that I am... Why, I am holding these two?” Dr. Sivana pauses, and moves slowly deeper into the room keeping his weapon
trained on the Waynes.

“To be honest, you sad little man, I don’t care why anymore...” the captain sighs “I have heard enough of your mad scientist
monologues to last me a lifetime...” The Captain moves slowly, into the room, following Dr. Sivana and trying to get himself in
between the gun and Sivana’s intended victims. “This is over, Sivana, right now. Do not make me have to hurt you...” Captain Marvel
states, confident that this time, at least, there were no murderous grand schemes in play. There was just a sad, bitter, evil old man...
who needed to be locked away.

“Oh... stop right there you!! You haven’t heard the best part” Shouts Sivana. Captain Marvel pauses, aware that there could be some
sort of death trap at play that could harm the Waynes if he moved them carelessly. He observes the surroundings, he doesn t see any
of the usual insane devices the brilliant psychotic Sivana loves to build.
 “All right Sivana, what happens to the nice couple if I attempt to save them?” He asks “is there a death ray set to go off? A bomb
that’s triggered if they move? Come on... I can tell you can hardly contain your enthusiasm you grinning ghoul... Out with it, why
shouldn’t I take that pop-gun and crush it in my hands and cart you off to the authorities this instant?”

“COUGH!” Sivana is laughing so hard now he is having trouble breathing. “Hahaha... Because my friend might have something to
say about that, after all it was his idea to lure you here... Bwahahaha.... cough, cough, cough”

“Oh stop that incessant chortling before you kill yourself, my... ‘partner’...” a new voice says from behind Captain Marvel.

A chill comes over the Captain, he knows this voice, it is a dangerous one, and he will have to act quickly. Using the Speed of
Mercury he spins and attacks Mordru the Magician before he can utter a spell...

Or, at least that is what Marvel tries to do.

He finds that he cannot move his feet... he seems to be held in place in the centre of the room. “What!!!?” The frustrated champion
utters in growing fear for the lives of the innocent captives. “This won t hold me for long Mordru!”

“Long enough mortal, long enough...” the sinister sorcerer replies. “Long enough for me to take every last bit of magic in you and
add it to my already considerable powers...Behold!” And, with a swipe of his hand, the mystical trap in which Captain Marvel finds
himself is revealed. The Captain sees he is standing in the middle of a pentacle, one that is surrounded by six circles each separated by
writing, mystical runes of a language even the Wisdom of Solomon does not allow him to decipher.

“The Wisdom of Solomon; the Strength of Hercules; the Stamina of Atlas; the Power of Zeus; the Courage of Achilles and the
Speed of Mercury.... all this magnificent magical power. The Powers of the Gods! And you... you prattling, preening, perfect
simpleton... you dress in pajamas and play the hero for them?!?!” Mordru exclaims disbelievingly.

“What I do, I do for the sake of others... I don’t expect villains like yourselves to understand that...” the Captain adds trying to buy
time to figure a way out of this jam.

“Yes, cough, cough, well WE don’t care for your boy scout monologues either... {hack}” spits the still coughing Dr. Sivana, pleased
he will see an end to his adversary. “Just remember, once he is powerless, he is mine, you hand him over to me Mordru!”
 “Once he has been relieved of the Gods blessings, my good
Doctor, I will have no more use for him... you can do whatever you
wish with him... now for your part, erect the force field I requested.”
Mordru asks.

“I still don’t see why we needed to expend the resources, your trap
has worked he is helpless...” Sivana gloats.

“Of course you don’t see!!” Shouts Mordru. “If it cannot be

explained by science, you cannot, or choose not, to understand. I am
telling you this...” Mordru raises his voice getting angry with Sivana
“if the Gods intervene they may be able to stop us... and I will leave
you alone to face them... I will escape to realms beyond your ken...
what, my increasingly annoying ‘partner’ will you do when the
angry Gods send down their wrath upon you?”

Dr. Sivana produces a small plain box with a single button on it.
“Very well, no need to shout...” he sheepishly adds as he presses the
button. A distant humming can be heard, and the world’s mightiest
mortal hangs his head in disappointment, he knows that no help
from the Gods or the Wizard Shazam is likely to reach him in time.
“That sound Mordru,” Sivana proudly gloats “is my force field
protecting us, now I suppose it is time for me to remind YOU to
hurry it up. This powerful a shield will burn out in minutes... we
haven’t long for you to do... whatever it is your going to do... so
MUMBO JUMBO HOCUS and give me Captain Marvel!” Dr.
Sivana shouts in triumph.

Dr. Thomas Wayne has seen enough. It would be catastrophic…

the power of Captain Marvel… in the hands of these lunatics? The
world would surely perish. He was a medic in the war, he is not
By David Marshall afraid to die if it saves lives. In this case, not only, the life of his
wife and unborn child, but as he now knows, the lives of millions are at stake. He waits for one chance… one chance to make a
difference. He clutches at the iron fire poker and waits.

Mordru begins “very well Doctor, and Captain, watch now as I steal the power of the Gods!” Mordru starts a low chanting, ancient
words that hiss and would tear at the minds of any who might try and understand them. This is the blackest magic, the kind that stains
your soul to use it… not that Mordru hasn’t already crossed that bridge… centuries ago.

“Oh yes… Oh yes hee-hee...” Dr. Sivana chuckles pacing around, impatient to deliver the killing blow to his nemesis once Mordru
is finished with him. “Go on, big man, call out for help. The gods themselves won’t penetrate my shield... and soon ... so soon… yer
gonna be in my hands...” Sivana turns to look out the window “Oh the plans I will have for this world, a world without a costumed do-
gooder interfering all the time!!”

“YOU SON OF A…” shouts a suddenly charging Dr. Thomas Wayne. He does not hesitate. The stakes are far too high. With the fire
poker raised over his head he rapidly closes the distance between himself and the mad scientist.

“Eh? What’s this?” a startled Sivana manages to utter… before the fire poker comes crashing down.

“I hope this works” Thomas thinks as he aims for the box in Sivana’s left hand. He thought of hitting him over the head or trying to
knock the gun out of his hands… but ultimately realized that neither of those options would directly lead to getting Captain Marvel
back in the fight. Dr. Wayne thinks himself a brave man, but a realistic one. Two very dangerous men with powers and weapons well
beyond his experience are about to wreak havoc upon his family and perhaps the rest of the world. He cannot dream of over powering
them with a wrought iron poker from his fireplace. Not when they have already gotten the better of Captain Marvel. No, he decides, if
that device is keeping the Captain from calling for help… then the best chance they all have is for that device to be removed from the
equation.

The fire poker slashes downward with as much force as Thomas Wayne can muster. The panic, the small size of the target and the
slender width of the poker should have combined for a startling but ineffectual swipe at the air… missing Sivana’s control box
harmlessly. It really should have. Luck, chance, fate… whatever you call it… was with Mr. Wayne this day. “If only the old south side
stick-ball kids could see me now” thinks Thomas, recalling days of youth long past. “This is what they’d call a smasher!”
The box in Dr. Sivana’s hand, nearly, explodes into broken bits flying every which way. The force of the blow is enough to shatter the
bones in the mad doctor’s left hand. Sobbing in pain and anguish the old psycho falls to the floor nursing his unexpected injury.
“Captain,” shouts Wayne, “hurry I broke his b-”

“SHAZAM!” thunders the voice of the champion of the Gods, interrupting Thomas Wayne.

Captain Marvel had time to think of his limited options as Mordru chanted. He didn’t like the idea of the Wayne’s trying to fight
these men. But, honestly, he could think of no other way in which they might be able to stop them before Mordru gained enough
power to rule the world… power that would be taken from him. He watched Dr. Wayne take advantage of Sivana’s over confidence
and felt admiration for the man. Thomas had no special powers… no gimmickry… no gadgets or advanced weapons… and yet he
clubbed Sivana with a simple fire poker! The mad genius would be furious and want revenge, after his arm healed, of course. The
Captain could feel the moment the force field dropped… but was still unsure what to do. In years past he would have found a way to
summon aid from his compatriots in the JSA, but that time is gone. Who could he turn to on such short notice? Who could help them
before Mordru succeeded? He realized, of course, that no one could reach them in time… and this made him smile. Captain Marvel
would have to rely on himself… his real self… plain old C.C. Batson. All the power of the Gods would not help him win this battle if
he was still stuck in this mystical trap! There was only one way he could think of to get free and that would be to relinquish his
powers. By using the name of the ancient wizard who gave him these powers… C.C. could transform himself back into his real,
human and frail self. Shouting the name would call down the magical lightning that transforms him. The name Shazam echoed
throughout the Wayne manor as blinding lightning struck the pentacle trap and the champion within.

C.C. blinked and looked around for a weapon. Dr. Sivana’s gun lay a few feet ahead on the ground, so he dove for it. His middle
aged hands seemed pudgy and weak when compared to the strength and vitality they possessed when he was Captain Marvel. That did
not stop them from holding the gun firmly as he turned over… trying to bring it to bear on the macabre master of mysticism.

“Templum Fugio!” Mordru spit with bitter venom and vanished.

“Huh? I guess he wasn’t kidding the old geezer… if it hit the fan he wasn’t sticking around.” The Captain remarked, amused at
Mordru’s cowardice. “You really need to find more trustworthy partners Sivana…. Ha … Ha…”

Sivana, lying face down, hands tied behind his back with Thomas Wayne’s trouser belt was livid with impotent rage.

“You… You… You meddlesome rotten… stinking” Sivana ranted…

“Yes, yes, get it out… it will make the trip back to prison less of annoyance if you get your ravings out of the way sooner rather than
later.” C.C. Batson, lacking the humility that comes with Solomon’s wisdom, gloated.

“BIG RED CHEESE!” roared Sivana. Even the Wayne’s, shaken by their close call with death, had to laugh at the absurd madman.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Martha Wayne looks at her husband and then at C.C. and says “whatever are we to do now… err,
Captain?”

“Well, not really at the moment,” C.C. winks at the good lady. “But I’m sure that’s fine for now… I’ll explain later.” He turns toward
Thomas. “That was a very brave thing you did Mr. Wayne.”

“I… I just couldn’t stand by and let them destroy everything we fought for… we didn’t stand by and allow Hitler to conquer the
world… we surely couldn’t let these nut-jobs either.” Thomas said with the confidence overcoming great evil can give a man.

“I know that I may not have much in common with a hero like your self, sir” Thomas continues “but it really did seem like the only
choice I could make.”

“I think you and I might have more in common then you might think.” C.C. smiles at these folks who he is starting to really like. It is
not often that he finds people he enjoys the company of. Not in this line of work. Not when lives are in danger. Usually, they fawn all
over him like he is a celebrity or their anxiety makes them lash out wondering why he could not have reached them sooner. Rarely are
they composed enough to just talk to him and treat him as a man trying to do a tough job.

“I do think Mrs. Wayne,” he says turning back towards her “that I should be escorting your uninvited house guest back to prison.”

“How… um ya know… can you manage that?” Martha asks nodding towards C.C. and his current non-powered status.

“Oh, that’s easily fixed,” C.C. chuckles.

“SHAZAM!”
Interlude…
Several years pass, in which C.C. Batson and the Waynes become fast friends. He was deeply touched and honoured when they
asked him to be the godfather of their baby boy… Bruce. They share in his heroic victories and offer him true companionship in his
real life. C.C. begins to remember a time when C.C. wasn’t just a secret identity… but a whole and complete person. One day when
his godson was only six years old…

“I don’t see why Dad doesn’t like me playing back here.” A grumpy Bruce Wayne mutters to himself. “There are so many cool
places to investigate and build forts!!” The young swashbuckler picks up a thin, fallen, branch.

“Ah-hah!” he brandishes his rapier-like twig. “No scur-r-rvy pirates are gonna take this fort… it’s defended by Cap’n Wayne!” the six
year shouts with glee.

“Bru-u-ce!” Martha calls out. Bruce hears his mother and decides to hide a little deeper in the bush behind their home. He can always
say he didn’t hear her… except she can tell when he fibs… says he shuffles his feet when he is guilty…”well I don’t do that mom!” he
gripes, shuffling his small feet.

“Bruce! Come on now, your father has told you to stay out of the woods; you know you’re to keep close enough to the house so I can
see you.” Martha frowns. She adores the little rascal, but sometimes he is just as stubborn as his father… and she is not about to have a
six year old calling the shots… no sir-ree-bob she isn’t. “Bruce, you get back here this instant or I’m telling your father when he gets
home!”

“Oh darn it,” thinks Bruce “I don’t wanna get grounded. I better head back.”

As Bruce is extricating himself from behind a large thicket he steps on a mossy area of ground that seems that makes an odd creaking
sound.

“Huh?” the young boy has time to wonder before the creaking becomes a shattering crack and the ground disappears from beneath his
feet. “Mom……………………………….!” He yells, while the light and the world vanish, as he plummets into darkness. The fall lasts
for just a few brief seconds… Bruce, thankfully, will not remember the jarring landing that renders him unconscious.
Martha heard that. Where did it come from? “Bruce? Bruce! Come on honey tell mommy where you are. Are you okay?” Martha
knows. She is a mother and she knows. She knows her son is anything but… OK.

By the time Thomas raced home Martha was frantic. “I checked in all his usual hidey holes Tom… I’m scared… what if someone has
taken him?” By someone Tom knew exactly what she meant. Over the years C.C, had done his best to shield them from any reprisals
Sivana might concoct… but let’s be honest… a madman with a grudge is a dangerous combination.

“Have you called C.C.?” he asks calmly.

“Of course… All I got was his machine… I left about a dozen messages… Oh honey, what if it is that old psycho and this is how he
gets his revenge…. Oh…oh...oh.” Martha sobs in her husband’s arms.

“Let’s go take another look Martha” Thomas needs to approach this rationally… or he is afraid he might start shaking from the anxiety
and mounting paranoia. “Maybe with both of us looking we’ll find something… it’s too much for one parent to think, worry and
look… they won’t be able to process what they are seeing. Let’s work together.”

With that, the Waynes went out searching their back property. They went deeper than they usually go… deeper than Bruce had any
business going… if he wasn’t so darned fearless that is. Thomas wonders… isn’t there a…

“Oh god no!” he realizes.

“What?” Martha jumps. “What is it?”

“Do you remember the survey of this back lot?” He asks his wife. “The old boarded up dry-well?”

“My god…. Hurry Tom….” and off Martha raced.

Within moments they located the old well. It only took a single glance to know that Bruce has fallen through the obviously rotted
cover. A parent never wants to experience this kind of numbing fear. The knowledge, that your child could be dead, can paralyze.
Thomas Wayne leaned over the opening of the well and peered into its murky depths.
“Thomas, be careful” Martha warns him… she cannot imagine how she could help them if they both fell in. “Do you see Bruce?” her
voice almost a whisper, unsure if she wants the truth.

“No dammit, it’s too dark in there, we’re gonna need some rope and flashlights sweetie. You stay here and call for him… I’ll run back
to the work shed and get some equipment.” Thomas Wayne, the doctor, the army medic, the bane of mad scientists was over the initial
shock. He was in the groove now… triage time… crisis management these were things he was trained in and damned if he wasn’t
going to use them to try and find his son.

“Shouldn’t we call the fire department or something?” Martha asks as Tom is starting to speed away.

He stops. “We can’t be sure he’s even in there hon.” Tom adds, “let’s see what’s what and decide from there okay?” He doesn’t add
that it still might be Sivana behind the disappearance… he doesn’t want to get her going again on that… but such unspoken fears are
always mutually understood when two people have survived a crisis together. He races towards the shed.

Martha walks over to the edge of the well. She’s not sure what would be worse… thinking some lunatic had her child… or thinking he
fell to the bottom of this god awful well. How deep was it? Was there water in the bottom? Oh hell, none of those matters right now…
focus!

Martha leans over the edge and cups her hands around her mouth. “Bruce! Can you hear me, Bruce? Are you down there?” She shouts
into the darkness. “Bruce!”

Young Bruce Wayne woke up to pain. Something was very wrong. He remembered falling. He hurt all over and couldn’t see very
well. Actually he was almost blind. Far above there seemed to be a small glow of light. “Could that be the hole I fell from?” wonders
Bruce. The air is damp and smelly with mildew. Bruce can feel the ground is all slimy wet rocks. A part of him realizes how lucky he
must be not to have broken any bones. He is not old enough to realize something worse might have happened. Death doesn’t exist yet
in his child’s view of the world. He tries to climb toward the light but the rocks are too slippery. He can feel the air flow past him,
further into the darkness, away from the light. He imagines there must be a pretty large space down here… a… a cavern. Just like
where pirates hide their treasure! He starts to walk deeper into the darkness, the curiosity of a child leading him towards a mystery.

Then the noises started. Like squeaks and clicks and strange skittering sounds. Bruce didn’t like it one bit and started to back away…
backing up to the shaft under the far away opening’s feeble light.
“Bruce! Can you hear me, Bruce? Are you down there?” His mom shouts into the darkness. “Bruce!”

“I’m down here mom! Help me!” Bruce shouts back with happiness and relief.

The shrieking is getting louder now and coming closer.

“Mom, something is down here I am scared. Mom hurry up I want get out… mom!” Bruce’s voice is starting to sound panicked and
terrified. Martha looks over shoulder, back towards the house, and hollers. “Thomas, hurry he’s down there and he’s crying for help!”

Thomas Wayne, rope and flashlights in hand, starts sprinting back to the well. He never could imagine feeling so happy his child was
stuck in a well… what a weird thought.

Bruce can hear the creepy things coming to get him. Suddenly something flaps in the air near him. Oh they are horrible! “Mom, dad…
please help me!”

Martha and Tom can hear their son’s cries. “What could be down there?” they say in unison. Martha laughs… you owe me a cola
when this is done.” Thomas stares at her for a moment as if she had suddenly grown two heads. Then he got it. “Ha… ha… that’s very
funny Carol Burnett. Let’s skip the canned laughs and get the kid okay?” He squeezes her hand for comfort and smiles.

“Yes, let’s do that big guy” she hasn’t called him that since they were in school.

He leans over the pit and yells in his loudest voice “okay Bruce, dad’s coming down, just a few more minutes little guy and you’ll be
safe and sound.”

His dad’s voice carried through the cavern and the shrieking turned into a deafening roar.

“Daddy…” Bruce tries to yell but is drowned out by the noise of so many creatures… so many of the flying screaming, horrible…
bats! Hundreds maybe thousands of bats swarm through the cavern racing towards the new opening. Bruce could never have imagined
such monsters… they were everywhere. They buffeted him… landed on him… knocked him to the ground and then continued in their
frenzied flight towards the noise and the new opening.
 Thomas and Martha could hear a horrible rushing sound coming from deep in the well. Then, suddenly, a black cloud of screaming
bats burst forth from the well forcing them to back away and take cover. The Waynes knew their son must be terrified of these ugly
disease ridden creatures. “God, I hope they’re not rabid” thinks Thomas.

“Hey folks, I think I just might be of some assistance. What’s going on?” The cheerful booming voice of Captain Marvel could be
heard as the bats begin to scatter and disperse.

“Oh thank God C.C. you got the message” blurts Martha… oblivious to the usage of his secret identity.

“Well, yes… ahem” Captain Marvel points at his uniform.

“Oops sorry Captain, I’m just frazzled. First we couldn’t find Bruce and then we discover he’s fallen into this old well! Please could
you get him?” Martha pleads, unnecessarily.

“Of course Martha… Tom… I am just glad that I can help. Tom you take care of her, while I scoot down and get yer boy alright?” The
Captain says hoping that Bruce hasn’t suffered any serious injury. “I’ll be back in a flash!”

“Hah,” he thinks “if Jay were still in the biz he’d rake me over the coals for using one of his catch-phrases….”

Captain Marvel floats down toward the bottom of the old well looking for Bruce.

Bruce can hear again. He doesn’t think anything could ever be okay again though. He is traumatised and begins to withdraw into
himself. Inside, inside… nothing will be able to reach him or hurt him… inside.

The Captain descends. He can see Bruce clearly now. The boy is in shock.

“Bruce, it’s alright. You’re safe now. We can go home.” He says as warm and soothing as he can.

The boy looks up. It is a vision. Like an Angel from heaven… his hero, Captain Marvel is bathed in light and comes to save him.
Bruce uses his stubbornness, his strength of will, to win the first of what will be many battles with his body. He forces himself to
shake off the numbing effects of shock and rises to his feet. He can see his hero land just a few feet away and rushes into his arms.
 Marvel starts to fly up and out of the well to safety and Bruce looks
at him with a question burning in his child’s mind. “Yes, Bruce,
what is it?” he asks.

“Why? Why are there monsters in the dark?” Bruce simple heart
wrenching honesty almost starts Marvel crying. The boy has been
through too much. Still, Marvel knows, he needs an answer.

“They aren’t really monsters… they are animals… they wouldn’t

try to hurt you unless they felt threatened.” He tells Bruce.

“But they are scary” the boy argues. “I mean really scary!”

“Yes,” says the boy’s godfather, “bats can be very scary… in fact
I’d say they possess the ability to strike fear into the hearts of
men.”

“Now let’s get you home and safe, okay?”

“Okay, uncle C.C.” the boy smiles and lays his head on Marvel’s
chest. He shakes his head, more amused than anything really. He
realizes he’s gonna have to start working a lot harder on the whole
secret identity thing. Captain Marvel looks up as he flies away from
the darkness.

“I am getting too old for this…”

By David Marshall
 Non-Fiction
Futurism in the Funnies - by Roy G. James
Roy G. James, artist, writer, co-creator of the RKYV concept and all around knowledgeable comic book guy… published the following essay
many years ago. With his permission we at RKYV are proud to present it to all of you… the RKYV readers, contributors and staff in this
serialized format. It deals with the predictive and perhaps even formative impact that popular literature, specifically comic books, has had on the
development of emergent science and technologies

“Would you tell me, please, which way to go from here?”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the cat.
“I don’t much care…” said Alice;
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the cat.

- - ALICE IN WONDERLAND
Rationale and Purpose:

The little episode above from “Alice in Wonderland” has to do with direction,
purpose and destination. This is so very applicable to us, as members of the human
race and as educators; we ought to know where we’re going, how to get there and
why we want to go there. We have always been concerned with the future perhaps
because it is such a constant source of fascination. We hope that the future has more
design than that expressed by Alice.

The future is now because the future begins now. The popular button motto
expresses the point a little differently, “Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your
life.” Therefore, it is important to look at what we know about the future, what we
hold for the future, and what the experts say about the future in that we might seek
that direction and plan that design.

One of the sources of considerable credibility for at least catching glimpses of the
future is the works of literature inclusive of the comic book medium. The comic
book has the added dimension of multiple illustrations to highlight the printed word.

By Roy G. James
It is the predictive element of the comic book that is the subject of this essay.

By way of comparison, upon the occasion of the Apollo II manned moonshot Look Magazine looked to Jules Verne’s “From the Earth
to the Moon.” Keep in mind that Jules Verne (1828-1905) managed in his novels and stories to anticipate an uncanny number of
modern technological wonders: submarines, airplanes, television --- and space travel. He was no Alice in Wonderland.

“Man’s imagination thrust him towards the stars long before his rockets could --- Verne’s books spread the 19th century gospel of
emergent technology around the Western world, beguiling generations with the dream of progress --- Verne’s long-ago version offers
some intriguing resemblances to the reality of today’s headlines.”

- - A. N. Kontaratos, “The Amazing 1865 Moon Shot of Jules Verne,”

Look, May 1969, p. 74.

Futurism or Futurology?

Before I embark into the comic book world I would like to satisfy a compulsion to clarify a few definitions. As man accumulates more
knowledge he creates corresponding language; as a result new words spring up and they all seem to end in “-ism”, “-ology”, or “-ic”.
The glossary at the back of this essay [Editor’s note: for ease of reference selected glossary entries in this serialized edition will
be included at the end of each installment] is provided for reference and to further illustrate the additions to an already complicated
vocabulary. This vocabulary is an integral part of the comic book world. All is not grunts and groans. An ic is the art or the knowledge
of; an ism is the beliefs, teachings, or system of; an ology is a science or a branch of learning.

This brings up the problem of whether the future, or at least the study of the future, belongs in the category of ism or ology. Is it
“futurism” or “futurology”?

Alvin Toffler in his book “Future Shock” often refers to “futurism” yet never uses the term “futurology”. He says:

“The management of change is the effort to convert certain possibles into probables, in pursuit of agreed-on preferables. Determining
the probable calls for a science of futurism. Delineating the possible calls for an art of futurism. Defining the preferable calls for a
politics of futurism.”
 - - Alvin Toffler, Future Shock, (New York: Random House Inc., 1970-71),
p.460

However, the Britannica World Language Dictionary’s definition of “Futurism”

(see glossary) refers solely to an art movement at the turn of the twentieth
century. The key words in that definition are “dynamic” and “movement by
simultaneity”, certainly elements in change.

Another major dictionary carries the aforementioned art movement but includes
“futurology” (see glossary) referring to it as an art and a science, supporting the
ology suffix, or, perhaps, even the ic suffix. Yet, one might tend to agree with
Toffler’s choice of suffix as something not yet nailed down. An ism involves
beliefs and teachings, seemingly a might more nebulous than a more defined
ology.

Glossary (mostly selected from “New Words from Merriam-Webster”

sections of Compton Yearbooks.

Futurism

Italian abstract painting (1911-15) concerned with “dynamic” aspects of life

and the attempts express movement by simultaneity, which gave different
views of an object in the same part are, superimposed on each other.

Futurology

The art or practice of making forecasts about future developments in science

and technology and their effect upon society.

Nude Descending a Staircase No 2 - by Marcel Duchamp

(1912)
Entwined - by Wade Ferris
Enjoy Your Carbon - by Marc Ngui
 Family Life
~Cook Book For Working Families~ - by Amanda Fortin

Five Important Rules: STANDARD PLAIN PASTRY I

1. Have all ingredients as cold as possible. 1 ½ cups Enriched Flour

2. Handle mixture lightly. ½ tsp. salt
3. Use correct amount of water. ½ tsp. baking powder
4. Chill rich pastries before baking. ½ cup shortening
5. Bake at correct temperature. 1/3 cup ice cold water

Enough pastry for 1 two-crust pie of average size, or 1 pie and 6 tarts.

For richer pastry, increase shortening to 2/3 cup. The amount of water required will depend on the type of shortening used.
Sift flour, salt and baking powder. Mix in shortening with tips of fingers or 2 knives. Add water, a little at a time, using just enough to
bind mixture. Collect all moistened particles into a ball of dough. With as little handling as possible, form dough into a round disk.
Place disk on a slightly floured board. The dough should be soft enough not to break when it is rolled; it should be stiff enough not to
stick to board. Handle pastry as lightly as possible. Kneading will toughen it.
Roll dough from the centre outward - always rolling with a light even pressure, to a thickness of 1/8 to 1/4 inch. Line pie plates, tart
shells, etc., and bake as directed.

To Bake Pastry

The baking of pastry is almost as important as the handling of the dough. The oven should be hot enough to make it rise quickly.
When the pastry is fully risen, the temperature is reduced for the remainder of the baking time. If the oven is too hot, the top of the
pastry will become scorched before the pastry is risen to its full height; if it is not hot enough, the pastry will become heavy and
sodden. The shortening in pastry should cook so rapidly that the flour has no chance to become oily.
A hot oven is especially important for puff pastries and rich flaky pastries.
 Layers of cold air have been incorporated into the crust, and the heat of the oven is necessary to
expand this air quickly, and so make the crust light.

Pie Shells - Bake shells for cream pies, lemon pies, etc., in a hot oven (400 f.).
Bake tart shells at the same temperature.
Double Crusted - Bake pies in a hot oven (450 f.).

Once your pastry is complete and rolled out, place carefully into pie tray, fill with your choice of
filling and bake for10 min.

Pumpkin Pie - Single shell ( 400 f.)

Cherry Pie - Double crust (450 f.) Basket top (weave slices of the pie crust over top)
Apple Pie - Double crust (450 f.) Cover top with shell, using knife, cut star or X shapes into surface to ventilate.

In ten minutes, desert is ready. It may sound like a lot of work but it's not. I made a cherry pie with my grandfather and it took only a
matter of minutes to prepare, put together and bake. It was a lot of fun and should be done as a family, great bonding experience with
your kids parents! Give it a try.

A still life - by Lee-Ann Marie Macdonald Sherril Anne Tucker, first airbrush painting
My Journal - by Amanda Fortin
Wow, the power of possession. Holding a key that symbolizes freedom and happiness
but the happiness and freedom is put on hold due to moving issues that with hold you from
the joys of moving into your new apartment. That's right, I have my key but can't move in
until I have the means. I could attempt to carry the furniture on my back but then what
good will it be when I find myself stuck on the side of the road beneath a sofa. Not a
pleasant picture. Well, depends on who is picturing it I am sure.

At this moment I sit in a chair that was next to a guy that was sneezing, coughing and
blowing germs everywhere, my kids are reading and requesting we do this, that and the
other thing and I have 21 minutes remaining to say my peace, so here it is. It is great to be
home. It is great to see those that have meant the world to me all these years. Family,
friends and yes, pets. It's great to have everything that was so familiar to me in the past
back on track and my joy restored. It's great to finally be where I belong. I live only a walk
from the library where the kids can enjoy family readings on Saturdays at 10:30 and the
park where my husband and I said our I do's (which we were supposed to say, I will) is just
down the road and everything is all falling into place so as it stands, I could attempt to
carry everything on my back but maybe it's best I just be patient, enjoy the company of my
mom and dad and move when the time is right.
Gavin Brad and I - by Lee-Ann Marie Macdonald
Age 2 Soon I shall be home. Soon I shall be happier than ever but new things arise. My husband and
mother approached me regarding a possible job for my husband. It sounds great but one
by problem....aside from the $$$ he would be making, earning and free to spend, the loneliness of
him living in Newfoundland for the summer is what eats me up inside. I married that man to be
Lee-Ann with him, not be apart from him. What a terrifying decision I must make. Loving someone is so
Marie difficult. So, until next time.....I'm in taking it slow! Day by day only time can tell what the future
Macdonald holds.
 Pop Culture

With the writer’s strike entering it’s 13th week, networks are scrambling for
programming. CBS is interested in picking up “Dexter”, which is my favourite series
from Showtime. Several networks are in meetings with Canadian production
companies to buy series that are currently in production. The new series “The Border”
is one that they consider to have a high enough production value and content that will
interest American viewers. For more info see:

http://www.nationalpost.com/story.html?id=268205

There is also a deluge of (shudder) reality shows. In order to avoid being

accidentally addicted to one of these atrocities... try” The Sarah Conner Chronicles” on
Monday nights...I have been pleasantly surprised by the great storytelling and good
acting on this show. Lost Season 4 premieres this Thursday Jan. 31. Jericho, the show
saved by nuts(literally), premieres on Feb 12 and Battlestar Galactica is showing
season 4 on Space. If you haven’t been following these shows, you can rent all the
previous seasons. I highly recommend these three series. Everyone cross your fingers
that this strike will be over soon!

Cass - by Santiago London