Panda Members

The Only Official, Up To The Minute... Really True (i.e. not a lie) Line-Up. Really. Maybe. But Perhaps Not. Er... Still Here Are You. Oh My, What's That Over There - A Flying Wizard Man

Boy: "Where Are You Running To Grandad"

You Didn't See Anything. Got That. Those Eyes Never Saw A Damn Thing.

Post-it Mortum

On Wednesday 30th Februrary 1999 all the Panda members were killed in a series of sick accidents, each entirely unconnected. This page remains as a cardboard tombstone to their rotting, bloodless husks. These boys, had they lived would now be `young men` who represented the hopes and asperations of a generation. They were the young Faces ~ the Zoot Suits ~ the eternal dreamers. That world, like so many other things on that now dark-grey blackenedish wednesday (henceforth known as dark-grey blackendish wednesday DAY) came to an end. The next 20 years would be a dark time for the earth but in course nature furnished it's cruddy sod of mud and shit with new spring chutes, each bringing their own amazing joy. A joy that these martyrs would never see dawn. We salute them.

$ $ $ $

Panda Boys Together Forever - Forever Apart

Cachet

Special Skills: Coder, ideas man

Weapon: Umbrella

Cachet is Panda's coder guru. He is famed throughout the Chorley/Euxton/Leyland areas for his ability to shift bobs, sprites, copper, you name it. Watch them move. Watch Cachet fall to the floor in pain.

Cachet has been responsible for many famous Amiga Games such as Tut's Tomb, Strategic Interjection, Fugitive Race, Bum-Hole Joe and many more... all sadly aborted, but we completed the intro sequences. Since those fabeled days he's moved onto new fields (not in the literal Uncle Jack style squatting sense) and has invested his talents into PC coding, hoping that one day that demo may be in his grasp.

Cachet likes the novels of Arthur Conan Doyle, toy poodles and Cradle of Filth. To relax he drinks medication and pops his pills.

Let's all wish Cachet the best...

Cachet died peacfully in the bed of a small child. No un-toward circumstances were recorded.

Jude

Special Skills: Pixel GFXer, Website Caretaker

Weapon: Jeweled Bow

"Watch the way I hold the mouse.... see, it's all in the wrist. A simple glide to the left, a nudge to the right... you've got to tease it.... let it know your playing with it. Give it a rub... show you care." Jude dusts his tasty, chrome plated Style-master mouse to it's special, mouse house and gently gives it a rub down with carbolic soap and brasso.

When did you first start drawing then Jude.

"I remember that it was the night after the incident. The therapist lady came round and gave me a robust crayola crayon and told me to get it all out of my system. I drew and drew." Anything good?

"The same picture again, again, again, you know. My father, the ready-rub tobacco pouch. Mother, standing dorment. No father not that. Yes you will. I can't... no... no... no. Why me. I say down. Noooooo. Yes. No. Ha-ha-ha. It was fun", he smiles somewhat awkwardly, gawky, huge grining white teeth, looking at me."

Jude choked on his own fist whilst indulging, some might say "over indulging", but not I, in a game of Chinese Chequers. His still beating heart is kept in Euxton county magistrates court as a living testament to the art of a noble game.

Fishboy

Special Skills: Musician, GFXer

Weapon: Human Electromagnetism

Teeth: No

Musician, graphic artist, article writer - that's Fish. Makes you wanta go away, sit right down and cry. So sure, he's talented but it don't mean he's happy does it, for underneath this multi-versatile double-jointed personality lies a far more cynical, sceptical broken man - a virtual cripple unto himself.

Fishboy is particualy misunderstood for a particular series of animations, often concerning his phoebia of crabs, a nasty affliction by any standards. Watch Fish's subcontious as it spills out scenes of bloody carnage, pathos and phalic metaphors a-plenty. Think of his mother, think of his father (just imagine his mother with no breasts), think of that little remote family filling station they always dreamed of, but could never manage to wrestle out of the evil, money laundering hands of Fish's father's evil quad brothers.

Apart from computers Fishboy has other tastes also including honey, fresh soap and an avid intreast in popular music ranging from the poppy sounds of indi-band Rancid to the delicate melodies of J-Church. Fishboy's tastes can be diresctly corrilated against whats on offer in Malcom's Music and Pramland 10p section. Malcom and Fishboy are like brothers, just Malcom is much older and has a Peelesque Beard and funny daughter. That's all - there are no connotations of either party say... abusing the other

The death of Ritzo (Ratso) Fishboy Kapowski was announced in a small classified ad in the back of Soldier Of Fortune Magazine. Whether his limb to limb mutilation at the hands of Ruritarian break-away rebels can be believed as anything more than sick propaganda is debatable, but it is certain that the secrets of winning fruit machines, how to build muscles fast and how to attract women with cow's pherimones adverts that were placed next to his death announcement are quite plausable. In the end Fishboy never did return on the 5.55 from Basingstoke.

Targaff

Special Skill: Muscian

Weapon: Hat pin

Targaff is our gifted muscian. Like an autistic man card counting to make money for his estranged big brother, Targaff's ability to produce soundscapes of the highest order is a small miracle in this fucked up existance.

The trick of his skills is all based around hard effort. "I could write good music, but you can knock off a dance tune in the time it takes to floss or itch off a scab or ulcer", he confided in us.

Socially he is a creature of impulse. A man of ambiguity and surprise facets. Against the odds he holds down a steady, regular girlfriend - perhaps somewhat inevitabley he met her over the internet. This is a guy possessed with the yearn to learn, prefering to drink a Doctor Pepper or a slash of Isotonic Tizer rather than an alcholic beverage, for fear it may sulley his brain.

Time is the old man's burden.

The chimp is usually a passive animal. It usually never strikes out to attack, especialy not with a heavily filled mini-tower case grasped in it's mitt-like paw. Doctors said if it wasn't for the addition of the purely unecessary 2nd cd drive Targaff might still be with us. He leaves behind a million broken hearted chorus girls, 6 IRC porn channels and an empty family title to be filled, no doubt by a young pretender or upstart, but that's rock and roll mam.

Love in an elevator. Yeh!

The Flea

NOW GRAND HIGH CHIEF (CHAIF) PANDA HONCH-O

Special Skill: Rendering

Weapon: Bare knuckles

The best thing in lifes our Flea, but you can leave him to the birds and bees so sang countless rock and rollers.

He doesn't sing ("I can't sing") and he doesn't comb his hair into a bouffon ("You can't do anything with my hair") and he never played with Transformers, ("I was never allowed them") but what he can do involves his inate ability to render the most sublimen of mental visions into reality, from the Enterprise used in the orignal Star Trek series to the Enterprise used in the Next Generation - and the cow of course. Don't you ever go forget that spinning cow, man.

The Flea is a hardened Amiga user, seemingly unswayed by the harsh passing of time on his loveable trophey computer. With quite the most ridiculously huge A1200 you've ever seen you think he'd be capable of anything, although he seems to spend most of his time arched patiently over his towercase trying to lift it in vain and in pain.

Favourites of The Flea include the shows Friends ("I just can't get enough of their group japes.") and Due South ("The dog... the fuckin' wolf dog-dog."). The Flea has shares in British Petroleum and Bisto and he plans to retire to Kansas come the whirlwind season.

How curious that a living being (in Flea's loose sense) can be so in love with one thing, worship it their whole life, like a small pedistal or plinth and then later be brutaly murdered, struck down by the thing that meant the most to them. The Flea, like many homosexual men collected engraved candlesticks. These candlesticks were placed all about the house, in the conservatory, ball-room and library for example. A muffled groan was all the noise he made as he was struck to death on the back of his head with his prize and joy. He died instantly.

It is a sad fact that a man with in some ways so much as The Flea felt he had to have all his ribs removed so he could self felate himself in the middle of a dinner party - his body was like jelly and in the heat of climax as he sucked himself off he lost control and wacked himself dead with his own penis. In the end, if only the candlesticks had meant more to him than his own sorry member. At least, from the evidence on the floor at the scene of his very public death we know he died a happy man.

Will

Special Skill: Rendering

Weapon: Love bomb

Possessing perhaps the best name in the whole of the coding world, render, Will is an afable chap who'd lend you anything. Cachet currently has his socks, Jude his Interactive Book of Runes and Fishboy is slim-line canister of Impulse for Men.

Tellingly Will is an ideas man and that's what we like in an ideas man, ideas. Ideas can generally be seen as a positive thing, especially when coming up with the wheelchair through mindfield concept animation he plans to render for our latest demo... where did such an idea come from? "A man with legs is a bastard to animate, but you simply put him on wheels, click render and he's away."

Welcome home Will boy.

What we know is that Will certainly met up with Mr Laffeyette at quarter past the hour on the corner of The Muse. He was reported seen hiking up his socks whilst hiking up the A24 and there are unconfirmed sighting of a fella of portly build flirting with truck drivers in a lay-by. Were you amongst those truck drivers? Was the portly fella you saw Will? Were you there when he was supplied with the gear? Did you punt him the good stuff? Did you see the huge flame ball come up and engulf him? If you know anything that could help us catch the man who badly advised Will on the art of free-basing to tragic consequences (three days in a coma, 6 in a morgue, an eternity in a shallow paupers grave wrapped only in swadling linen) then please call our international incident room on:

0800 28 28 20

Thankyou and remember, Stay vigilant out there dispite all the murders that happen ever second... people being fucked up tha ass like a jackhammer often by 7 or 8 men and a jackhammer. As you have insomnia induced nighmarish visions and fits in your cum soaked bed sheets just try to put the pain of Will's cheeky-arsed gimp gums out of your mind.

The Outsider

Special Skill: Coder

Weapon: Paints victims gold on base of spine

The Outsider appears a mysterious, darkly cloaked figure in relation to the joyous gayity of his Panda compatriates. Perhaps his inital soft spoken veneer is a harsh one, but gradualy you can peel back his layer, like a banana and discover his fruit - barely, if ever putrid.

Put simply, his role is to code. Good solid coding of a kind neglected in today's world of quickly jerked-off releases. He may be honoured or disgusted by his presence in this Panda gallery, either way he probably adopts a slighty aloof perspective, which truely displays why he wishes to remain an outsider amongst equals.

The Outsider, turned out to be anything but. In his finally days he was so bed-bound with spasm induced lacerations circling the whole of his body that one witty commentator cruelly dubbed him: The Insider! Motor-neural functions were recorded on his duel purpose medical chart/Lord Of The Rings 1999 rune planner as quite normal. Something inside just seemed to have clicked into off mode and no ammount of slapping The Outsider's pale complexion by myself and Cachet seemed to relieve our inherent pent up aggression and frustration brought on by constant rejection during our explority in-active sexual school days. St. Gandalf's day and the end is nigh, The Outsider bites into his top lip deeply for one final last time, his toes turn inwards and his heart gently comes to a standstill. The world seems so cold and empty. And then there were none.

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