"If I despise anyone, it's the last human family. Taste of chicken, by the way."

Good day, toads. Again, I cometh. As ever, I see you squatting before that paltry abacus you laughably call a ‘computer’ – glazed, unwashed and desperate for some hateful little animation to divert those incessantly chattering whispers of mortality.

On my homeworld – whose name, as ever, escapes me – computers are vast, barely imaginable abstract holagraphoids which operate on custom-imagined multicellular frequencies based on a vast network of Neuro IDs. Even so, Kun-Tor has recently suffered some difficulty getting his Home Page up on our equivalent of the Internet.

Basically, a bunch of freeloading E-cowboys from the planet ‘GiSol’ offered to host my various interstellar musings on politics, the shocking state of shuttle food, and who might win the World’s Collide Tournament 2004 (sort of like football, but with unimaginably vast beings kicking around minor moons). Sadly, they were unable to maintain any kind of decent service, and I was forced to eat them alive, feet-first.

I prefer my prey to wallow in agony right until the final moment of coup de grace, when I bite into its pain receptors.

Since I was last forced to endure your presence, I regret to exclaim that my shapeshifting-titted mistress is no longer with us. Following a particularly febrile encounter, she was eviscerated from within – by the vast propulsive power of the Kun-Tor ejaculate. Happily – others will gladly take her place. She will not be missed.

On then, as I fear I must go, to your letters, which have been flopping in, one by one, at cavernously irregular intervals – like the final, clammy flutters of the tail-fin of a bludgeoned trout.

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
You know where the difficulty curve leaps up, around race 83, on Need For Speed: Underground (NGC), what tips have you got for getting myself up to that standard? It's really frustrating me so far.
Thanks,
DICKIE, St. Albans.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“I darkly chortle at your concept of ‘difficulty’. There’s nothing Kun-Tor liketh better than to curl up with a dense textbook on quantum mechanics, the balls of my feet burrowing into the back of a whimpering slave, negotiating a Defender mutant wave with my left pinkie, the final level of DoDonPachi with my right elbow and the Easter Island Statue bit off of Gradius (second time round) with my prehensile penis. In answer to your question, then – I recommend you forego all domestic and vocational commitments for a week, lock yourself, Gamecube, and NFS:U in a small, darkened room and despatch yourself to the beyond by whatever small and cowardly method you deem appropriate”.

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
I want to know how the hell I can prevent Zelda from getting her arse kidnapped by that damned Ganon. I’m sick of rescuing her.
Limb_Clock’s best friend, Finland probably.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“Kun-Tor fears the onset of ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ – where the abductee develops a benevolent relationship with the abductor. Personally, I would keep her docile and dependant by regularly ravising her in such a prolongued and impressively varied way, that she is left feeling like little more than a crumpled receptacle. Believe me – women enjoy this. ‘Chocolate’, also.”

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
After passing out from playing too much Stunt Car Racer, I had a trippy dream in which you featured. Is this normal?
Dadako, UK.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“Haha. Hahahahahahahaha. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Did you hear what I said? I said: ‘HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!’. This is because I, Kun-Tor, can freely indulge in laughter. You, Dadako, should not do the same. By willingly beckoning me, vampire-like, into your squirming and tawdry night-writhings, I now reside deep in your innermost synapses – insidious and viral. And now, every single night of your life, I intend to trigger some of my more ferocious nightmares at exactly the moment where your slumber is becoming too peaceful. Be assured, the images you encounter will haunt you throughout the next day and will slowly render you joyless and inert. So, yeah. It’s normal. Nothing to worry about.”

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
On Level 6, when Mario removes the plunger, my head starts hurting and my TV catches fire. Is this a bug? Also – is there a poke for infinite spaghetti?
Yours adoringly,
Metal_head, Earth.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“Kun-Tor is unfamiliar with this Super Mario World – David Lynch Edition of which you appear to speak. I am, however, always willing to provide a poke – to anyone or anything. As long as it can vocalise some kind of plea for mercy, I’m not fussy”.

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
I have a small willy. Will wanking help?
SHOB_MAWR, that place called Wails.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“In your case, whelp-ette, I fear that the only solution would be to pay someone else to service your woman. Sadly, the many remote Kun-Tor Kocks I normally use for this function are currently all booked out. But I’m sure there are plenty of decrepit voles who would be more than happy to step in and surpass both your genital dimensions and your current level of performance.”

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
Daisy or Peach?
Chris, London.

KUN-TOR SAYETH:
“Well, Bowser and Donkey Kong have better speed and Mario and Yoshi are more manoeuvrable... I would eliminate the dilemma by lining up Daisy and Peach and skewering them both together with a single thrust”.

____________________________________________________________________

Dear Kun-Tor,
I’m afraid I have to question your fallibility. In Issue 14, you claimed that Manic Miner author Matthew Smith was living under the Arizona desert, sustaining himself on pasties and Lilt. I happen to know that you can’t get Lilt here in America – and, despite Jet Set Willy’s impressive sales figures, surely he wouldn’t be able to afford to import the stuff…
PAUL, Americaland.

THE EDITOR SAYETH:
“I think you’ll find that Lilt is the European version of the original Jamaican pineapple crush drink, Ting – still widely available in the Caribbean and Americas. Kun-Tor’s reference to Matthew Smith drinking Lilt was a simple semantic adjustment for a British-based website with a readership majority more familiar with Lilt than Ting. Paul – Kun-Tor has asked me to emphasise the folly of questioning his fallibility and wanted you to be aware that he has dispatched a team of hard, pipe-hitting Venusian gang-bangers who will shortly be getting interstellar on your ass”.

____________________________________________________________________

Once again, this torment shudders to a briefly pleasurable, but all too emotionally barren conclusion. Feel free to punctuate the impending void by submitting more of the usual flatulent whinnies off to the thing known as the ‘Rodent forum’.

Kun-Tor withdraws, now. Just one more thought…

The last human family aren’t worth saving.

We've made him into a T-shirt - that's proper respect that is.

____________________________________________________________________

Quite astonishingly all of the above are genuine letters sent to Kon-Tor. Who is actually now real. You believed in him and thus he became. Get ready feed your Kun-Tor from 'neath the sweat of your Rez-addled brows and once again...

Or you can ask Kun-Tor in the forum instead