“Wastelands of the Dead, Boys-Own annual, feature by Chaos Lord Catatonia

…More moving moribund macabre bodies assailed us on the very next eventide. Mummies! Bandage wrapped they pivoted stiff leg to stiff leg. And arrrrround them rattled skeleton upon skeleton, their bones bleached white by the beach-like sun of the desert noon-day, for the desert is where they hobble from. Out of Araby they came, smelling of wet athletic socks. Though my goatly beasts do not normally wear socks (where sox? {ware sucks!}), nor yet boots, preferring for themselves a nimble cloven hoof, my fellow knightly warriors certainly wear a good thick sock to prevent the metal carapace boot from chaffing. And perhaps better it is to stay fleet-of-foot for Samalan, our stalwart swift-booter, did manage before the first divison bell, to score, and a minor rejoicement was heard about the halls of Chaos. And, lively for dead people, we ourselves held on (like grim death {who is known to have a firm grip [I shook his hand once in a charity ball]}) to the narrow lead until time was called by the old father himself. “No more dead!” My sorry charges called out in despair. I think they refer to our opponents and the way they start the match. Normally they are pleased by opponents ending the match that way….
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