Monday, October 31, 2016


What a hideously miserable Halloween morning -- dismal, dark, and drenched with ruinous rain.

What an appropriate atmosphere, indeed, for this blog's long overdue demise.

Yes, it's true, my Upstanding Outlaws -- whoever you are, and however few -- and all of you drifting by bits of Lurkie-Loo flotsam. There shall be no last hurrah of Halloween highlights, no final fusillade of jack-o-lantern flame fueled traditional TNGD end of spook season salutes, this year or any other year for that matter.

Oh, I'd planned on it, certainly. One last "Honorary Zombie Award". One last "Raising Hell" apartment decoration display, and perhaps a last "Boo's Who" featuring this year's newest additions to our October ornamental-institution inmate population. A final trifeca of "Quest For Horrah" Halloween movie marathon candidates -- or even just a single Quest review, if nothing else (and, yes, it would have been "Creepshow"). I even got the ball rolling with the customary posts about this season's candy acquisitions, our usual display of wedding anniversary artwork, and of the dire doodle I mailed off in the Halloween greeting card to our East Coast coven of younger relations.

Alas, a hideous case of the plague swept through our twisted neck of the woods around early October, blowing out my final TGND Halloween post projects enthusiasm like so much thickly clotted nose candy, further followed by a week long run of depression fueling downpours and morning light muting overcast skies, a cycle which has repeated itself again at October's dying ebb, and I found myself unable to summon the ol' inner devil and get stuff done.

Plus, bullshit football season started, and work had to start scheduling me for early shifts on weekends to help cover game time surges, squelching any opportunity to get any post writing done two days out of seven, expanded to early shifts every day this last pre-Halloween week because one crucial coworker took time off to fly across country and celebrate his belated birthday with his family, and to take his sister's kids out trick or treating (a goal which, infernal ire aside, I can't begrudge him).

For all those reasons there shall be no semblance of any Halloween Blogathon style celebratory send off from TGND, and for one other: I'm tired.

This blog has long since passed on from opportunity, to semi-accomplishment, to rut-walled obligation, to ossified albatross, and it's long past time to throw a rope around its neck, hoist it off from around mine, and let it drop.

I won't delete it, or wall it off behind the tomb walls of "private blog" settings -- at least, not for a while yet. 

THATGALAXYNEXTDOOR's corpse will linger, for the adventuresome and unwary to visit and explore. I may even peek in on it from time to time, to see how many mourners and morbidly curious sorts have been by to pay their respects or to piss on its grave. But this will be our final conversation (one sided though it may always have been).

I'm off, now. To work, and then . . . to whatever else awaits to fill the void in my daily routines. Maybe I'll finally get back to drawing something, or writing something, or both. Who's to say? Not me. I'll keep it to myself, I think.

Fare thee well, my Outlaws, or whoever you were.


- Your Captain (ret.),
Hyla Tracy II


~ fin ~

Tuesday, October 25, 2016


Stop it!

Stop staring at me like that, god(s of darkness)dammit!

All squatting there in the shadows, tails twitching slowly back and forth like so many pendulums over a pit, silently judging me for the dearth of forthcoming final TGND Halloween post content treats. . .  just like the staring green eyes of the otherwise unseen black cat lurking within the inky darkness on the front of this year's Halloween card Mizmstie and I sent out to the nieces and nephew!

Well if you and the kids are gonna stare into this here abyss, the abyss he is going to stare right back into you! Like so!:

How do you like them candied apples?   

'Tis a treat hunting rendition of the cats, demanding sweet sugary tribute . . . or else!

Perhaps a closer peek, as we extend our shaking, candy-laden hands within biting distance for the bag drop:

BEWARE! Ply them not with toothbrushes nor boxes of raisins, lest ye incur the bloodthirsty wrath of Count Peanut-cula and endure the haunting yowls of the Bansh-Harv-ee!

Now piss off and leave me alone! If there's to be any fond fear-well posts for TGND's last ever October and All Hallow's Eve, I'm gonna need rest-in-peace and as-the-grave quiet around here!

You heard me, you infuriating fuzzballs -- SCAT ! 



Monday, October 10, 2016


Greetings, my Outlaws.

We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. And remember you -- and you Lurkie-Loos, too -- future events such as these will affect you in . . . the future. My friends, can your hearts stand the shocking facts about-

9th WEDDING ANNIVERSARIES (from outer space) ?? *

* lines gleefully cribbed and mangled from the woeful works of Ed D. Wood, Jr.

Yes, my friends, it is time to bring you all the evidence, based only on the secret testimony of the miserable souls who survived this terrifying ordeal, as Mizmstie and I celebrate a date of intergalactically incomprehensible proportions: our 9th year of wedded bliss!

And so, as a testament to our shambling, undying love, and in consideration of our mutual (and Mizmstie's especially) love of bad old sci-fi/horror movies, there could be only one possible plan of attack when it came to devising this year's commemorative drawing:

"Year 9 From Outer Space", artwork and characters copyright (c) Hyla Tracy II, 2016.

A black-(and white)-as-pitch-perfect rendition of an iconic poster for the infamous "Plan 9 From Outer Space"! 

That adapted image being this one:

And if I even have to explain what the hell "Plan 9 From Outer Space" is, I don't even know what the hell you're doing on this blog in the first place. You have wandered far from your home planet, and it is not safe for you here. Because of death. Because all you of Earth are idiots.

And, as usual, with my version featuring the crewmates of my own incomprehensible on hiatus outer space comic SHOTGUNSOUL as our understudy poster impostors, with Cappy as Tor Johnson, Canny as his victim damsel, Rumba as Vampira, and if you squint or click on the drawing to expand to full size, you can see Jib & Pepe piloting the graveyard reanimating flying saucers.

What you can't see is the back, where I wrote some fitting Criswell-esque words to my wife.

. . .

Eh, to hell with transcribing; here, yes, you can see the back:

Yes. For nine years, this is what she has lived with.

But think not she suffers alone; I have my own cardboard cross to bear, as you can see from what she herself inscribed within her anniversary card to me, which had on its front a drawing of a pasty young prince like person with a rabbit sitting within his crown, and the legend "I love every hare on your head" :

See? She drewed me a bunny. It won't look at me. Do you not see how I suffer?

My friend, you have seen this incident based on sworn testimony. Can you prove that it didn't happen? Perhaps on your way home someone will pass you in the dark, and you will never know it, for they will be . . . having their anniversary.

God help us in the future . . .