Those damnably intriguing QI Elves report that last year David Beckham sent Barack Obama, as a gift, 50 pairs of fitted boxers from his H&M line. We don't know the occasion, birthday, christmas, re-election, if indeed there was one. I've no idea what relationship the two men have, but I assume passing acquaintance at best. I'm struggling, really struggling, to think of a set of circumstances where 50 pairs of pants strikes the giver, whomever they are, as the ideal gift, regardless of who the recipient might be. Did Beckham start with ten pairs, perhaps, but then looked at the roll of wrapping paper beside him, thought 'nah, I've got plenty of paper' and chucked a few more in? Maybe he was going to sent 100 pairs, but Posh thought it too ostentatious. What was the decision making process?
The Birmingham Brummies Speedway Team have a remarkably unimaginative name. (And a weird looking URL.) The Isle of Wight Islanders aren't going to win any novel name prizes either. (And look, another .co URL. Seems like a .co URL is a bit of a speedway thing.)
Real live spacemen are in space and on twitter. At the same time. Doesn't that give you the teensiest bit of a chill?
I've never been comfortable with mercenary or assassin types in superhero comics. It's an uncomfortable topic. Crazy villians offing the populous for the lulz is one thing, but murder for money is another entirely. Superpowered mercenary or assassin types are even more difficult to build satisfying (or even satisfactory) stories around. The granddaddy of this type of character is, at least as far as my personal comics history is concerned, the horribly named Deathstroke the Terminator. Wizard Magazine rated him the 84th greatest villain of all time and the 72nd greatest comic book character of all time. Logical inconsistencies like that sum up both Wizard magazine and most superhero comics, so I suppose Deathstroke has performed a small service.
Mars is only nine months away.