Peterson and Aubrey had my full attention the moment I saw the title. I mean, come on Space Bastards? There isn’t a soul I know that would see that and think “No, that’s not for me, not today thank-you”.  It’s the sort of title that appeals directly to a special sort of person. The sort of person who this book was created specifically for, which is the sort of person that the writers and artists who brought Space Bastards kicking and screaming, while almost certainly waving impossibly big guns around, into the world know intimately. Because the writers and artists responsible for it are exactly the sort of people who, under whatever now qualifies as normal circumstances, would be reading, loving and coming back for second helpings of, and possibly even a third go around with, Space Bastards. Providing of course that it was the weekend and they weren’t too hung-over or completely fried after coming down from an epic forty eight hour cocaine and hooker fuelled Star Wars marathon. That’s right boys and girls, the freaks who brought this wonderfully deranged book into being are just as messed up and crazy as their readers are, and their particular brand of insanity drips off of, and oozes from, every single page of this magnificent tome.

Like a meth-amphetamine powered, amped up on the nastiest street corner steroids money can buy head on collision of The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, D.R and Quinch, Ace Trucking, Tharg’s Future Shocks and The Boys, Space Bastards is the story of the Intergalactic Postal Service and the psychotic, homicidal lunatics who run it, ensure its success and keep its coffers full to bursting.  A sweary, uber- violent homage to the sublime heyday of eighties comics when anything, and everything, went and the fastidious, up tight rulebook was ripped up and abandoned, Space Bastards is the comic book equivalent of shouting one hundred thousand different curse words at the heavens and questioning the parentage of the universe while furiously masturbating over a well-worn, battered copy of Knave from June 1977 that’s missing it’s centrefold and back cover. Crafted by the wonderfully wild, unhinged and reckless imaginations of its suitably eccentric founding fathers, Space Bastards is the sort of book that starts revolutions and is almost certainly destined to become the stuff of underground, four colour legend. So live dangerously, embrace your inner bastard and sign up the Intergalactic Postal Service today. It’ll be the most beautifully messed up mistake you’ll ever make. And as long as you live, you will never regret it… Tim Cundle  

You want to read it? Of course you do. Grab a copy from Space Bastards HQ