Local residents in New Brighton have been warned to stay away from popular tourist attraction, Marine Lake, after mutant crabs were reported attacking Albanian workers enjoying a day out. Top government scientists have been drafted into the area to investigate sightings of huge crustaceans on the peninsula.

Dr. Greg Aftermath, professor of Toxiclakeology at Liverpool Polytechnic burst into the lab in a hurry. His team, professionals to a man and woman, herded back to give the great man room to speak.

“Men!” he yelled. “And women! The local yokels are driving me mad with their incessant cries of ‘Crab!’ Anything to report?”

A small nervous fellow with a clipboard pondered and went: “Four more sightings of giant crab in and around New Brighton, professor,” he mewed. “The local fishermen are concerned it may affect Seacombe’s delicate eco-system.”

Another scientist stepped forward, her provocative white lab coat parting to reveal the luscious thrust of her pouting young knitwear. “Sir,” she breathed naughtily. “A team was despatched to isolate a portion of the lake for analysis but we were unable to get near enough due to the high rate of airborne pollution coming from the site.” She swiftly uncrossed the silky expanse of her thighs and exhaled. “You’ll have to send in a probe.”

Dr. Aftermath grunted and then swung his chair around to stare out of the window. “Well, General?”

General Forshking crossed to the room to stand behind the professor. “It doesn’t look good, doctor,” he barked. “We’ve tried bazookas, napalm, the lot! Everything we throw at them just seems to make them stronger! It’s like a nightmare. Only we’re awake…wide awake.”

Someone rapped loudly on the laboratory door. The team parted to make way for Dr. Aftermath’s voluptuous redheaded secretary. “Sir,” she heaved, awesomely. “There’s seaman…. seaman…”

“Well, spit it out, girl!”

“…a seaman outside to sea you!”

“Well, what in Tar Nation does he want to see me for?”

With an audible rush of wind, the door flew open to reveal a tall dark man, with the knitted brow and crossed eyes of a warrior.

“Shitharg!” exclaimed the professor, first. “We didn’t realise it had become so serious!”

A visible shudder surfed the room. Captain Steve Shitharg pursed his lips and looked at the weapon in his hand.

“How many rounds do I have left in my gun, shithead?” He pointed at Dr. Aftermath.

“Wh-what on earth do you mean, captain?” yelled the prof.

Shitharg ground the gun into his forehead. “How many?”

“Er, ten?”

Steve Shitharg stepped back and his weapon sprayed a hundred slugs of lead into every other person in the room – twice.

Captain Steve Shitharg swivelled slowly, taking in the smell of cordite and the sight of a dozen twitching corpses ripped apart in their ghastly redness.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered softly. “Dead wrong.”


The door security stiffened as the long white limo cruised elegantly to a halt outside Mauve, Liverpool’s top nightspot. The line of clubbers on the pavement surged forward as the limo’s door opened to reveal a woman’s long, shapely orange legs gaping slightly as she disembarked, followed by her male companion.

Despite the woman’s obvious attractions, it was her companion that held the crowd’s attention. For it was none other than sea-faring martial arts legend, Captain Steven Shitharg, here at another after-awards ceremony bash thrown in his honour.

“Ah, Captain Shitharg,” called Bobby Davro from the bar. “Congratulations on saving the Wirral from all those giant crabs. It’s a shame that so many innocent people had to die and all those policemen, too.”

Shitharg turned and slowly squinted his eyes until the corners of his mouth reached his ears. A deep rumble built in his chest. Davro turned white, his legs turned to flared jelly.

“I told them at the enquiry and now I’ll tell you all!” Shitharg growled.

The music ceased and all heads turned his way.

“It was a case of contaminated Red Bat. A group of girls from Prenton got smashed on it in Reflections and pissed it all out in the lake afterwards. That’s how the crabs got so huge.”

“But why didn’t the government’s crack science team spot the contamination, Steve?” said Bobby.

“Because they were covering up an important fact. Red Bat is actually Marine Lake water plus a few colourings. The Albanians, top toxicologists in their own country, knew this and reported it to the authorities that, in turn, phoned Red Bat and let them know someone was onto them. Via the lodge, they managed to get the Government to send out a bunch of stooges to act as scientists to keep the scandal under wraps. Their big mistake was killing the Albanians and blaming it on the crabs. You see, Marine Lake crabs only eat swans.”

With a hard smirk, Shitharg grabbed his bird and swung away into the VIP area.

“You’re a marvel,” screamed the bird from Jemini. “A fucken marvel!”