The Filth (2003) is a 13 issue comic book series by Grant Morrison and Chris Weston in which a lonely middle-aged man discovers that he is actually just a "holiday persona" for a secret agent.

Issue 1, Us vs. Them

Miami Nil: What a disgusting disguise, Slade. No wonder it took me months to find you. Behold: I got bored and gave myself a combover. Does it turn you on seeing me look like an old bald man? Well, that's as how much you turn me on right now.

Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Slow down! There's a fucking wall in my face!
Miami Nil: This is ninth gear. Faster than the speed of wall.

Sharon Jones: Simon had my right eye taken out and replaced with this Panasonic DV lens. I'm proud to be Simon's bizarre human camera. He's the world's richest and most perverted man, you know. [Pointing to implant on throat] He can speak through here. "Ooh, Baby! I used to make $750,00 a year as a lawyer until Simon paid for my gradual transformation into a mindless living machine." Simon Says he likes to make me talk crap all the time. [Whispering] Please help me...My name's Sharon Jones...I was taking the train home from work...
Spartacus Hughes: Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before, love.

Miami Nil: Can't you just act?
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Act? Act? What's my fucking motivation?

Sharon Jones: The money's yours. He has to have it. And... and would you like to clinch the deal with some uninhibited oral sex? I'll tape it for the Internet with my artificial eye...
Spartacus Hughes: You couldn't handle the competition, love. My old man... now there was a cock-sucker.

Issue 2, Perfect Victim

Mother Dirt: Our people are often exposed to sick places, bad people, unnatural things. As a result of his dedication to duty, one of our finest officers has become... contaminated. The knowledge he possesses makes him a grave threat to global sanitation.
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Two words. One question: "so" "fucking" "what"?

Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Are we on another planet? Just tell me; I can take it. Am I in the future? Or in virtual reality? Am I in a state ward, wanking in front of relatives?

Mother Dirt: Doctor Li Soon died three days ago. Her creations have been denied sunlight for a month. They've had to cannibalise her corpse for energy. The entire process of decay was shown live on the internet where necro-pornography is big this year, it seems.
Miami Nil: This truly is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.

Hand Officer: Frequency negotiators went in there to talk Spartacus Hughes down, sir. They all came out acting like retarded children: shitting themselves, spouting gibberish and generally letting the side down. We're leading them into the quarantine tent by playing early '90s techno.

Dmitri 9: Shit chimp! Hrr Hurrn -- Shit chimp, kill! Kill! Kill for Khrushchev!

Issue 3, Structures and Ultrastructures

[Secret Original looks down on the living comic book from whence he came.]
Secret Original: Oh, Eve. If only I could see you. If only I could talk to you again, but I flew too high and broke against the walls of Heaven, Eve. You were right. I see the cruel reality behind all our hopes and dreams now. I know us for what we truly are. Not supermen but super-slaves in a synthetic prison. Playing out crummy meaningless adventures written by amoral monsters. They farm us, Eve; they farm us for the wonders we simply accept in our ignorance. There are even pornographic versions of our lives, my love. Alternative continuities where you let the entire Status Quorum gangbang you for money to pay your rent. Sick sex situations I'd never even thought of until I found Mercury's files... the sideways lives he'd written us to live... I pull out and run those rotten stories every night, Eve. I can't help it. I... I love to watch you lose your cool and your decency every night because it's the closest I can get... to how it once felt to love you. Man-Ro help me. I keep thinking I'll find a way to save us all. Then I just waste another five hours checking out sleazy sex comix.

Dmitri 9: Do you ever watch the Discovery Channel shows where one disgusting lion is fucking another filthy beast just like himself and for no money at all? That's about as interesting it is for me to watch smelly human trash mounting one another for bad drugs.

Dmitri 9: You cannot run from what you are, Comrade. Especially if what you are Includes the legs you run with!

Dmitri 9: You are Slade, officer 999; special negotiator of The Hand. I am the chimpanzee who shot alpha primate Kennedy. So don't fuck with me, man-turd.

Issue 4, S**t Happens

[On what is literally a mountain of pornography]
Hand agent: Biological waste, sticky used porn and dead junkies who got flushed by mistake. This'd be a wonderful life if I hadn't grown up dreaming of a job as a glamor photographer.

Doctor Arno von Vermun: The bacteria in our bellies are responsible for the farts that shame us. Tiny monsters shitting in their billions all over our pure skin create the acid reek of "our" sweat. And Slade: when the "inner voices" tell us we're unworthy or instruct us to "love" and "hate", despite our best interests... are these incessant, distracting thoughts our own? Or do we only hear the voice of the eternal germ, screaming in our heads?

Issue 5, Pornomancer

Anders Klimakks: Who would give a floating fuck to see these crazy movies where people with strict religious principles get turned into shit-worshipping perverts by the Devil? Only the staunch Fundamentalists of the world. And that is lucky for me. Today is "Anal Quakers" sequels two and three. Five Hours for me in makeup to become the prince of darkness and fuck some girl. I feel like I am the elephant man of sex.

Woman: Please... you cannot kill this man. Do you realise he has a ten-inch penis?
Jenesis Jones: Oh, yes I do. Stand away! Anders Klimakks: you have been identified as a potentially lethal anti-person!
Anders Klimakks: Ah. Maybe this is why my spunk has been grown to enormous size and used as a weapon.

Issue 6, The World of Anders Klimakks

[On the giant, dog-sized flying sperm attacking Beverly Hills]
Hand Officer: They're attacking everything with a fertile womb! All women officers out of the hotzone! Everybody out! There's nothing to see! You're imagining this and you need immediate psychiatric help!

Police cordon tape reads: DANGER! FUCK OFF! DANGER! FUCK OFF! DANGER...

Greg Feely/Ned Slade: What about the Tex Porneau connection? Is that all shit?
Anders Klimakks: Yeah, this Porneau! This crazy guy who is making the movies where the sperm is grown to monster size!
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Mercury?
Moog Mercury: Give me a second... ur... Tex Porneau, director of Butt Invaders, Butt Conqueror, Assquest, Buttkrieg, Asskrieg, Ass Destroyer, Butt Breaker...
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: A clear picture of the man and his moods is beginning to form, Moog. You can stop there. Miami?
Miami Nil: Got that. Tex Porneau? Did he make that movie where the guy loses a bet with God and has to fuck himself up the ass for all time? Get me that weapon response as soon as you can, Ned. I have dumptrucks circling in spray formation and two hours of movie to describe in mind-numbing detail if you don't...

[The giant sperm are about to converge on Tex Porneau]
Miami Nil: Repeat after me: Nobody fucks with the Filth.

Anders Klimakks: [Points to his bag] This is the proof of me! The whole life of Anders Klimakks is all here. in these movies. I know for sure that I have lived.
Dmitri-9: Shut up. [Shoots Him] I have a headache.

Anders Klimakks' Voice: Hey! Forget the Puritanical disgust of this one guy!
Anders Klimakks Baby 1: Feast your eyes on the future.
Anders Klimakks Baby 2: In his crazy, headlong life of five years, Anders Klimakks has seduced, fucked, and made babies with 824 women.
Anders Klimakks Baby 3: Every single black sperm, and all the babies, are copies of Anders Klimakks and have read the same books and watched the same movies also as Anders.
Anders Klimakks Baby 4: Who would believe this? That a nobody is the guy who will one day become the ultimate Everybody?
Anders Klimakks Baby 5: All you need is Fuck, Yeah?
Anders Klimakks Child 1: One day soon, the engines of the cars, the airplanes and the high-heeled moon modules.
Anders Klimakks Child 2: All will run on the boiling black baby juice of Anders Klimakks.
Anders Klimakks Child 3: Instead of money, there will be blowjobs.
Anders Klimakks' Voice: The lonely and the suicidal will be gang-banged back to sanity online.
Anders Klimakks' Voice: The job of everybody will be to fuck everybody else for the camera to watch.
Anders Klimakks' Voice: And the cum will flow like no tomorrow, so everybody's happy.
Anders Klimakks' Voice: In the world of Anders Klimakks.

Issue 7, Zero Democracy

Neville Quain: I know. I know I was the wrong man to lead a boy scout troop into the sewage system under Minneapolis, I know that now. But I think it's safe to say I learned some very harsh and unforgettable lessons at the hands of my fellow inmates in the years that followed.

President: I'm the President...I'm a powerful man...[Whispering]Please don't...I hate needles...I have money in my jacket...
Neville Quain: [Shoves needle into President's eyeball] First Hit's always Free, sir.
President: NAAAUU
Surgeon: Money means nothing; art is our God.
Surgeon 2: We're giving the president breasts, Mister Quain, whether he likes it or not. Magnificent breasts! Bigger than the sun!
President: AUUU
Neville Quain: Ever since I was a powerless little boy I've had a dream. I've wanted to fuck the President in the Ass while he sings 'Happy Birthday', just like Marilyn Monroe.
Surgeon 3: [Lowering Scapel onto President] Make it so.

The President: Happy Birthday, Dear Neville...

Issue 8, æ*%$ Police

Greg Feely/Ned Slade: I'm just trying to explain it! I've been caught up in all this. They want Tony dead... they've got a man who's my doppleganger...
Policeman: Get him in there. I'll tell the guv'nor.
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Tony's my cat... when I'm Greg... I'm Greg at home, see? And Ned at work...
Policeman: It's like listening to the Yorkshire Ripper tapes. He'll want a crack at the nutter with those nunchucks he brung back from compassionate leave in Myanmar.

Greg Feely/Ned Slade: You'll be laughing on the other side of your faces when he turns up and starts calling you all a bunch of ugly human Bastards! They'll be coming back to reel me in! I never have long to wait!

Dmitri-9: What are you looking at, you ugly Human Bastard?

Spartacus Hughes: [After Dmitri-9 has shot the president] Bastard! He always deliberately misses first time.
Dmitri-9: Hey Spartacus! There is a hole in the boat and your mother is a KGB Ass-Whore in the Dungeons of Kremlin!
Spartacus Hughes: The fucking Assasin! Bane of my Life!
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: Dmitri! For fuck's sake! You shot the president!
Dmitri 9: For me this is not the first time. Another asshole will take his place and no one will smell the difference.

Moog Mercury: I think we got everything we need to stop this from happening again. [whispering] But in the process my septum has fucking collapsed.

Issue 9, Inside the Hand

Taxi driver: Pets are funny, aren't they? Mate of mine from school used to have a tarantula spider that did an impression of Winston Churchill if you poked its face with a pencil...
Taxi driver: ...and then try burying a horse in a shoebox in the back garden. You won't get far before self-doubt starts creeping in.

[After Greg/Ned's described how he wants to buy some flowers for his dead cat.]
Cameron Spector: Aye but then... imagine this... just as they're wrapping poor wee Tony's flowers, one of the nice wummen spots the headline... PEDO-FEELY! "Greg Feely, weird cat-loving cunt, knobs and throttles another minor down the allotments..." Thay lovely wee wummin wid turn intay murderous fukken harpies and huv yoo chibbed tay chunks wey thurr beaks in 4/4 time, pal.
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: And what if they knew none of it was true, they'd hide him under the floorboards! What's your point?
Cameron Spector: Mind you fukken hing abit Androcles; whurr eez pulling the skelf oot the lion's feet, lik a fukken loony? Wull, winny bumped intay his big lion mate in the Roman arena yeerz latur? Know what the fukken kingy the beasts did next? did it buy umm a pint urr did it tear his fukken heed aff an eat his stupit brains oot, wan hemisphere at a time? Ya saft cunt, yih.

Issue 10, Man Made God

Journalist: What's going on in there, officer? Who's the guy with the bat-wings and what's all the smoke pouring out of his brains?
Policeman: Hold on. There's no official statement at the moment but... well... I'm going to have to ask you to consider the possibility of a maniac with an undying hard-on of hate and his own sackful of genetically modified super anthrax. The streets are staying closed until we can be absolutely sure that there's nothing like that going on. That's what the people in the day-glo suits told me to tell you.

Issue 11, A Very English Nervous Breakdown

Dmitri 9: Atomic death ensues!

Dmitri 9: Shit in Lenin's briefcase! [Touches the corpse of Feely's double, draws in from his cigarette, and sniffs] Poor shit man. [The real Feely whacks him in the head with an umbrella]

Issue 12, Schizotype

Spartacus Hughes: I am the world's first super-hero when you stop to think about it. Imagine me in my own comic: Hughes Plus. Detoxed, scrubbed clean, disinfected and then handed the genetic keys to Max Thunderstone's superbly buffed and waxed body, which I have earmarked for devastation at the hands of alcohol, tobacco, hard drugs and voraciously incurable STDs.

Moog Mercury: ...They recycled me...
Super Original: So? I was a mighty do-gooder. I lived in the Sky and evryone loved me. Now I piss in my trunks and no-one changes me for days. All this time trying hard to smile through the pain, to stay true to my characterization...and then just the other day, I looked in the contents of my Bowel Bag and I realised...I'm not a handsome hero, anymore, Moog. I'm and ugly villain. And I want to Fuck your World Up the way you Fucked mine.

Eve: [Slowly disintegrating from her transgression to the Third Dimension] AD-HUM! I FEEL FUNNY.
Super Original: Eve. Darling. I can explain everything.
[He shoots himself]]

Super Original: In 2-Space I'm invulnerable to all feeling; here, every single moment of existence is agony and blinding, obscene arousal. I don't want "first contact" with my past life. I want things to stay this way forever.

Captain Church: Heidi... I can't feel my legs... could... could you do it for me, darling?

Issue 13, THEM vs US

Mother Dirt: Selection process for my officers is ruthless but necessary. A new not-self entered the system; in developing a response it was necessary to expose you to the antigen.
Greg Feely/Ned Slade: I don't care; you took everything I had. And I wanted an explanation. Wanted it all to make sense but it's just shit. [Greg picks up some horrible filth] What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do with this?
Mother Dirt: Spread it on your flowers, Greg.
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