Miffed Max: VBCW road warrior!

[jp1885]

...and his vehicle, Rattling Rosie.



My first attempt at scratchbuilding. More details on my blog at:- http://hereford1938.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/introducing-miffed-max-road-warrior-and.html

[Traveler Man]

Love it!   

[Blackwolf]

Jolly nice! Though he does need a dog

[Westfalia Chris]

Great work!

I have to say, old chap, it's charmingly working-class, isn't it? Still, it's going to give those aristocratic exploiters' machine-gun-toting MGs a run for their money. 

[6milPhil]

Last of the V3 and one quarters? 

[Blackwolf]

Last of the V3 and one quarters? 

  30 Brake horse power!

[marianas_gamer]

I agree with all but especially "needs a dog"!...and well may be some dog food
LB

[jp1885]

Hmm... what would be the 1930's British equivalent of an Australian Cattle Dog...? A Border Collie perhaps? Anyone do one in 28mm? 

[Remington]

  Great stuff!

[FramFramson]

Hmm... what would be the 1930's British equivalent of an Australian Cattle Dog...? A Border Collie perhaps? Anyone do one in 28mm?  

Never mind that, this is VBCW: He needs a bulldog or corgi!

Or maybe some breed more associated with the underclasses? Not being British, I'm not as sure of that... some sort of hound or mastiff perhaps? But then, neither of those would be as funny as a bulldog or corgi.

[Luddite]

Absolutely love it!!!


My life fades.
The vision dims.
All that remains are memories.
I remember a time of unpleasantness.
Ruined dreams.
This wasted land.
But most of all, I remember The Road Warrior.
The man we called "Miffed Max".
To understand who he was, you have to go back to another time.
When the world was powered by King Coal.
And this Sceptred Isle sprouted great cities of pipe and steel.
Gone now, swept away.
Because of That Woman, two mighty ideologies went to war and touched off a blaze which engulfed them all.
Without coal, they were nothing.
They built a house of straw.
The thundering machines sputtered and stopped.
Their leaders talked and talked and talked.
But nothing could stem the avalanche.
Their world crumbled.
The cities exploded.
A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear.
Men began to feed on SPAM.
On the roads it was a white line nightmare.
Only those mobile enough to requisition, caddish enough to pillage would survive.
The ruffians took over the highways, ready to wage war for a mug of tea.
And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men's stiff upper lips wobbled.
Men like Max.
The warrior Max.
In the clatter of a two-stroke, he lost everything.
And became a shell of a man, a burnt out, desolate man, a man haunted by the demons of his past, a man who wandered out onto the A1.
And it was here, on that blighted road, that he learned to live again...

[Blackwolf]

Never mind that, this is VBCW: He needs a bulldog or corgi!

Or maybe some breed more associated with the underclasses? Not being British, I'm not as sure of that... some sort of hound or mastiff perhaps? But then, neither of those would be as funny as a bulldog or corgi.

 That would be either a whippet, a terrier or a lurcher

[jp1885]

Well as he's based in Herefordshire, it's gotta be some kind of farm dog...

My life fades.
The vision dims.
All that remains are memories.
I remember a time of unpleasantness.
Ruined dreams.
This wasted land.
But most of all, I remember The Road Warrior.
The man we called "Miffed Max".
To understand who he was, you have to go back to another time.
When the world was powered by King Coal.
And this Sceptred Isle sprouted great cities of pipe and steel.
Gone now, swept away.
Because of That Woman, two mighty ideologies went to war and touched off a blaze which engulfed them all.
Without coal, they were nothing.
They built a house of straw.
The thundering machines sputtered and stopped.
Their leaders talked and talked and talked.
But nothing could stem the avalanche.
Their world crumbled.
The cities exploded.
A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear.
Men began to feed on SPAM.
On the roads it was a white line nightmare.
Only those mobile enough to requisition, caddish enough to pillage would survive.
The ruffians took over the highways, ready to wage war for a mug of tea.
And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men's stiff upper lips wobbled.
Men like Max.
The warrior Max.
In the clatter of a two-stroke, he lost everything.
And became a shell of a man, a burnt out, desolate man, a man haunted by the demons of his past, a man who wandered out onto the A1.
And it was here, on that blighted road, that he learned to live again...

     Brilliant!