Nobody has ever made a study of Goylish history, but we shouldn’t think too badly of work-shy historians as the oversight is entirely justifiable. Fair-minded readers should see the following as an explanation rather than an excuse.

The fact is that Goyle, the unimaginatively named homeworld of the Visigoyles – and of all other types of Goyle – has too many histories. It is one of those extremely rare ‘timeshare’ planets.

This is not to be confused with the occasional ‘brigadoon’ world explorers have been known to encounter on the outer rim, those planets which have an annoying habit of appearing and disappearing at semi-regular intervals. Annoying for explorers hoping to land, twice as annoying for those who live there and only have limited windows in which to evolve, advance and/or venture off-world.

No, as a timeshare planet, Goyle was cursed from a very early stage in its prehistory to straddle a chronic rift – a particularly chronic one – that resulted in the world playing host to several parallel versions of itself at any given time, which gave rise to countless variations of Goylish civilisation: the Visigoyles, Ostrogoyles, Endogoyles, Marigoyles and so on. These parallels are in a state of flux, as unpredictable as most natural weather systems, with one reality tending to be predominant for a given but frustratingly variable period. Frequently there occurs a simultaneous convergence of parallels and, Goyles being Goyles, war breaks out. This was a feature of Goylish history that very soon put paid to the Minigoyles, whose unfortunate size disadvantage meant that the only remains of their civilisation are to be found in what has become known as the Model Village of GrrrunkFar.

Out of this mess, against the odds, several diverse species of Goyle have continued to flourish and develop as spacefaring races of one sort or another. Mostly of one sort, that being the belligerent kind. One thing that they have in common is a deep-rooted contempt for all other species of Goyle. Goylish ‘nations’ tend not to officially recognise the other parallels, even if theirs happens to be the primary reality at the time.

Another thing that they have in common is that all other races tend to hate them.


Take your pick.

Unfortunately the landscape will vary according to which parallel is existent when you arrive. The range of terrain on offer is to all intents and purposes infinite, although it is not impossible to encounter the same mountain in a number of different places. The same is true for the cities, whose locations are as varied as their architecture, although the majority are merely different combinations of grim, dull, monolithic and depressing. Many, but by no means all, of the versions of the capital city have been described as ‘a bit like Venice, if it had the misfortune to be converted into a major naval base’, with many of the locals preferring life on board docked warships rather than bothering with the old derelict buildings.

There are theories that in fact the Goyles themselves, being partially silicon-based life forms, originated from these rather medieval facades, the stones having been permeated with some sort of organic catalyst and thus brought to life. Hence the name Goyles, as derived from ‘gargoyle’. Other theories maintain that the name merely arises from the fact that they are hideously ugly. The jury is out.

All of this is rendered largely irrelevant when you consider that for all the differences exhibited by each parallel version of the Goylish capital, every one of them is named – in the Goylish language – AarkFakRaggaFok, which translates very accurately as No Visitors Welcome.

To Be Continued…


Goyles: A Portrait

We take a look at the Goyles, a race who feature prominently in the Evil UnLtd(TM) universe.

Goyles of most varieties – Visi, Ostro, Bilio, but notably not the leaner and frankly strange Spirogoyles – have earned frequent and widespread comparison to walking planets. Not solely owing to their girth, which is considerable and obvious, but once that particular line was pursued, it was surprising how many other similarities held true. Of course, like all such things, a great deal depends on the light in which they are examined, but since the range of light in which a Goyle is best examined is severely restricted there isn’t much room for manoeuvre when it comes to proper analysis.

Goyles, then, are mostly large, although less than celestial bodies with hot liquid centres encased in a hard outer crust, often pitted and scarred by the ravages of time and frequent collisions and impacts from their fellows, which are a formative part of their culture. Their faces change with glacial speed, which lend an impression of their species as deep thinkers – an impression that fools nobody. At the northernmost extremities, the reception one gets is invariably a frosty one, while regions south of the equator suffer a great deal of abuse and neglect and if exploited to any degree, people tend to look the other way and prefer to carry on with their lives in blissful ignorance. They are also surrounded by a gaseous atmosphere and often found to be inhabited by countless pestilent lifeforms.

Carrying the analogy one stage further than strictly necessary, the Visigoyles also possess their own magnetosphere and had discovered fairly early on in their development an ability to slap chunks of metal onto their already thick, partially silicon based hides and watch them stick. Later Visigoyle dynasties saw further refinements, such as the actual shaping of these pieces of metal into segments of armour. It’s believed that if a Visigoyle relaxes his concentration too much, then the magnetism will fail and the armour would slip and slide about like a lot of tectonic plates gone berserk – or fall off altogether. This, it’s believed, is why Goyles stomp about with an expression like they’d already spent most of their day on the toilet with no tangible results. It has been described as a foul concoction of miserable, frustrated, uncomfortable and constipated.

Although, given the general inflexibility of the facial features, it is equally possible that the expression sets in from an early age and all Goyles would look much the same even outside their armour. No one has ever seen a Visigoyle in such a state of undress, however, and the galaxy’s foremost xenobiologists are not exactly queuing up to be the first in that respect.

Next: The Lonely Planet Guide To Goyle


Evil TV: Galaxy Six Broadcasting


Scraping the entertainment barrel since all the other broadcasters broke through the bottom.


5:15 PM: I Think You Dropped One!

All the thrills and spills of TV’s favourite madcap game show as people from all walks of life take part in this extravaganza of human KERPLUNK!

5:45 PM I’m An Asshole! Make Me Famous

The I’m An Asshole! House welcomes a brand new batch of prize gorms and slappers who go all out to suffer the worst indignities, bitch about each other and act like twats over the next four months, all for that grand prize of their own 15-minute TV pilot and a celebrity biography book deal worth gazillions!

6:30 PM Celebrity Minefield Clearance

More reality TV, but this time in aid of a great humanitarian cause. Tonight, the team attempt to clear the vast war-ravaged fields of Agrimomon with the five surviving D-list celebs from last week’s show. Tense stuff, and we hope they remembered to pack their armoured underwear!

7:15 PM Evil UnLTD

1.2: Run-Time Errors. The team are on the run with an unfortunate choice of hostage and an indestructible action hero on their tail! In its new pre-watershed time slot so as to corrupt younger viewers and offend older ones. Don’t miss it!

8:15 PM The Saturday Night Movie: Dynamite Jones and the Eight Sided Polygon

High-octagon Action/Adventure with everyone’s favourite female daredevil. Starring Tanith Troy. The one with the really over the top rooftop car chase.

10:00 PM Galaxy 6 News

The latest headlines. Sorry we can’t make it sound any more exciting than that until we know what they are!

10:30 PM Baywolf

Another classic episode of this early but inexplicably enduring Rolph Stengun series, in which werewolf and lifeguard, Rick Fenn, battled drug smugglers, defended the beaches from evil marine life looking to evolve and take over the land, and saved an incredible succession of beautiful but surprisingly unskilled swimmers. Tonight’s episode chosen by the producer due to insufficient votes in our viewers’ poll.

11:15 PM Entities Aloud In Concert

The formless pop combo entertain in their farewell tour prior to departing for dimensions unknown.

And if none of that is to your taste…

Find more and, crucially, BETTER entertainment in Evil UnLtd(TM)

Evil. The One To Watch.



An Evil Magazine exclusive interview with Dexter Snide.

So first of all, the topic of the moment, what’s so great about Evil UnLtd?

You’re being dense, of course? No? Well, for one thing it’s not merely a book we’re selling. This little number goes well beyond that. It’s a property, a franchise, a brand. And brands are inherently evil, pervasive, the way they creep into your lives and stamp their identities on your very existence – and therefore what we in the trade like to whimsically refer to as ‘a good thing’.

And how would Evil UnLtd – the brand – go about stamping its identity all over us, so to speak?

So to speak? You are amusing. First of all, the entire thing is structured like a trio of TV episodes, so expanding into other media will be a doddle. The logo will need sprucing up I dare say, but once that’s done, well, you can easily see it – and the cast of characters – on posters, mugs, cups, wallpaper, every imaginable object with which people clutter up their otherwise meaningless lives. I draw the line at underpants, mind you. Nobody is having my face adorning their crotch. Then there’ll be the action figures, the audio books, the big screen movie – which they’ll get completely wrong, naturally, cast all the wrong people and make some appalling script alterations – but that will manage to upset and irritate a great many fans which of course, being Evil, I am all for. It will also serve to remind people just how good the books, the TV and perhaps the radio series were and so they’ll come flooding back to seek solace in those. Spending even more money and buying even more merchandise in a frenzy of nostalgia. Whoever gets on board at this stage will make absolute heaps of money, greed will spiral healthily out of control. And Mr Ferret may even be induced to do a record ostensibly for charity, but we will see to it that the funds are diverted elsewhere. And of course they’ll all be chasing me for autographs – which I should point out, will get them shot. But the danger will merely add to the thrill of the chase, won’t it.

An altogether rosy future, wouldn’t you say?

You, er, do paint quite the picture. So why on earth should other authors and readers support Evil UnLtd?

Well, it rather depends on their worldview. Some people, whether they’re authors or plebs without a creative bone in their body, are insufferably idealistic and generous, celebrating the successes of others. Of course, those types ought to recognise a good thing when they see one and cheer it on. Hurrah etc. Whereas, the self-interested, scheming and conniving types who long to see others fall flat on their faces so that they can feel superior, well, all they need do is make sure Evil UnLtd makes it really really BIG.

Sorry, I don’t quite follow?

Of course you don’t. Luckily I had an explanation prepared for just such an eventuality. First of all, imagine how ecstatically wonderfully nauseatingly happy and full of hope the author will be when he lands that first juicy contract from a major publisher and they’re bubbling over with enthusiasm and they’re all “well, this is fantastic, it’ll sell absolute squillions of copies, we see a TV series in this, movies, merchandise, the lot.” Now against that undoubted high point, consider how he will feel as its success spirals out of control. Imagine just how devastated and disappointed he’ll be when, like all series, his precious creation goes past its best and falls from grace. Then, a few years down the road, when his franchise gets turfed over to the Hollywood bigwigs for that inevitable remake and reinvention that completely violates the characters, the continuity, the ethos and everything it stood for in a riot of miscasting and committee-driven rewrites. Picture how crushed and utterly destroyed he’ll be! He’s a sensitive creative type. It’ll finish him, I’m sure. Worth every book purchase just to see that, if you ask me.

So, um, you want Evil UnLtd to fail, but not just now?

Are you even bothering to keep up? Of course I don’t want Evil UnLtd to fail. But naturally I want the author to suffer. At heart he’s one of those basically decent and stupidly good people. But you see, what you’re not really grasping is that for me this is a win-win situation. Evil fails, author’s dreams are crushed. Hahahahaha and all that for me, between sipping cocktails and embarking on my next Evil plan. Evil succeeds, we make much moolah, the Evil UnLtd brand filters out across the media, establishing itself for future generations. Hahahahaha etc for me, between sipping more expensive cocktails and planning my Next Big Thing.

There’s a – um – twisted logic to your reasoning.

Oh you noticed. How very astute. And by the way I’m not altogether happy with the way you put you in bold and me in plain text.

Sorry Is that better?

Much. Well, thank you, I’m done with you for now. This has been great fun. I think I may pop by to comment some more later. As I said, things to do.

Read more of DEXTER SNIDE’S ‘things to do’ in Evil UnLtd(TM)



The following is an excerpt from Evil UnLtd Vol1: The Root Of All Evil

The Hatchling sat tucked up in darkness, curled into a cosy foetal position and sucking at his stub of a thumb. There wasn’t much else to do in here but brood. To brood and to dream of his next delicious taste of freedom.

What went on inside the Hatchling’s egg was shrouded in mystery, speculation and a lot of icky fluids, including a substance very like albumin and a semi-sentient membraneous goo that did much to safeguard the embryonic occupant from intrusive scans. The shell itself was dense and obstructive enough, but this membrane could cleverly rearrange its cells so as to selectively filter any active signals, sometimes choosing to absorb all directed energies and so return a frustrating blank, or sometimes reflecting wavelengths according to its own whims, bouncing back images designed to toy with the minds of those foolish enough to pry. Standard soundwaves were generally granted permission to slip freely back and forth, allowing the Hatchling some useful contact with the outside world and occasionally affording him some worthwhile listening material to help alleviate the boredom. It was rarely much, but then again it was invariably more stimulating than most commercial radio stations and came without all the aggravating  jingles.

To the Hatchling, his complex and singular life-cycle was something of an exercise bike: an endless series of revolutions that never seemed to get him very far. The question of which came first, the Hatchling or his egg, was one of life’s imponderables and so he refrained from pondering it. Mostly, he contemplated his navel and all the havoc and destruction he might wreak when he was next outside.

That, and the delights of discovering whatever little details had changed about himself with each emergence.

Luckily, despite the often prolonged periods of confinement, the Hatchling rather enjoyed brooding and found that although a great many of his thoughts were the same, he was fond of each and every one of them and there was a degree of amusement to be had in seeing them dance around in circles, as thoughts tended to do in such cramped quarters.

As to which stimuli might prompt him to break out, the possible causes were many and varied. On this occasion, Dexter – for whom the Hatchling harboured feelings that were close to filial, but without his species’ usual desire to eat the paternal parent – they weren’t that close and anyway, his biological ‘dad’ having had the misfortune of being one of those extremely rare males to have survived the mating process, the Hatchling’s patrivorous appetite had already been sated – had lodged a quiet request that he, the Hatchling, bust out at a prearranged time. The Hatchling’s body clock was more accurate than most oven timers and he knew that the moment was fast approaching when he would be ‘done’.

The Hatchling’s nascent stomach growled in anticipation, eager to grow and be filled at the same time.

If people wondered at the Hatchling’s persistently aggressive behaviour upon hatching, then they ought to try being shut up inside an egg on a diet of fat-and-protein-enriched yolk. Despite the permissiveness of the membrane when it came to sound, it wasn’t as if he could send out for pizza, even though he found  himself within earshot of too many TV ads boasting about deep pans, free delivery within a specified radius and a mouth-watering variety of extra toppings. A growling stomach was just one of the items he would attend to once he was free of his shell.

As luck would have it, it was on that thought that the Hatchling’s bulbous chick-like eyes opened, still seeing nothing in the liquid gloom, but sensing the onset of change.

There was no more time for brooding. It was time to get out of here and start making some serious omelettes.



“Here in the desolate, volcanic wastes of [CENSORED] we may have found the homeworld of a creature of which almost nothing is really known. We can’t even establish with any certainty that it is indeed a creature.

“It’s not shy or elusive – quite the opposite – but its habit of categorising all lifeforms as either Grade Zero – beneath its contempt and therefore expendable – or Grade One – demonstrating basic sentience and therefore to be eliminated – in addition to a resolutely uncommunicative attitude – renders any attempts to study this fascinating specimen challenging, not to say deadly.

“Is it a mere robot? Does it house an alien so sinister and hideous we are never meant to prise open its armoured shell, for fear of exposing our inadequate human minds to the madness of some Lovecraftian nightmare?

“Hard to say.

“Attempts to analyse and observe its behaviour are invariably met with aggression – even at what would ordinarily be considered a safe distance – say, tracking via orbital satellite. We can at least deduce therefore that it enjoys privacy or hostility or some hitherto indeterminate measure of both.

“Here, you see our technical team attempting to establish a remote Wi-Fi connection with the creature, with a view to probing the workings of its supposedly positronic mind.

“But the scenes in our computer lab quickly descend into chaos and panic, as our software agents are met with the most sophisticated and some would say sadistic anti-viral programs ever encountered.

“Some were returned to us a piece at a time, splintered subroutines of their former selves, while still others, we have reason to believe, are being held in dark and shadowy recesses of the robotic brain and subjected to untold horrors. Experts are of the opinion that if we ever do get them back, our programs will be of little use even for routine filing.

“We know that even its associates have to act with care around the creature. In human society, we might say we have to mind our Ps and Qs. In the company of this alien machine creature, the trick to survival would appear to be a case of minding an entire obscure alphabet that, to all intents and purposes, might as well be locked up and encrypted to 2048 bit security on a hard drive that’s been dropped into a black hole.

“So, we have ventured here, to this remote and desolate planet where the raging lava flows from an angry red to positively livid orange, where the ash blots out the stars and where, it is believed, the race of machine creatures may have originated many many aeons ago.

“Where, it is rumoured, perhaps other specimens of this unique and fearful race may still exist. We have come here in search of answers. In search of – “

(The late Buzz Starstrider-Attenborough III, OBE, BsC, BBC, QED, TSB, RIP)

Catch up with Evil Robot in action in Evil UnLtd(TM)




You will need:

1 Large Tachyon Collider

3 Space Midge Larvae, trained

1 Pot Noodle

1 Bottle Of Shampoo (anything with Peach Nut and Jojoba is ideal)

4000km Copper Wire

Double-sided sellotape

1 Microwave (850W or better)

1 mint-condition 2000AD Issue#1 with the Tharg’s Space Spinner Free Gift still attached

1 Lead Pipe (always good to have a backup)

First, fire up the Large Tachyon Collider.

Warming get nicely that up. Noodle the mix pot with poosham and – wait wrong gone something’s!


Witness more of Prof Doomladen’s genius in action in Evil UnLtd(TM)


  • Vol 1 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 2 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 3 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 4 – Kindle (UK)

  • Signed Paperbacks

    Signed Copies Direct From The Author