Dr. Xhislby 'Ex' Exley P.hD, recent graduate of the Badloe Institute of Advanced Chemical, Physical, Biological and Aetheric Studies of Advancement is pictured here. This fine young man has risen to prominence within his chosen scientific field through fastidious study, exemplary work ethics and an unmatched ability to climb up the backs of his colleagues and tutors like some sort of predatory bird-monkey with claws like a grizzley bear. He doesn't so much stand on their shoulders as feast on their carcasses. Surely he is the perfect prospective Grordbortian employee! :
'As a scientist of exobiological and xenoaetheric studies a good fire-arm is always appreciated to defend against unscrupluous characters and ill tempered beasties that I encounter on my voyages. By far the most trust-worthy of your weapons is the F.M.O.M Industries Wave Disrupter Gun, a fire-arm truly capable of dispatching any living being. This is by far one of your most ingenious devices. And for that I thank you greatly.'

Sean Cuspel, self proclaimed 'Boss of Gravity' who states in his promotional pamphlet that he can induce singularities and gravity wells using only his mind and a bottle of Absynth has wrote to us to state this turgid mind vomit: 'I have use your Mind focusing Alpha Wave manipulator 6600 to make help me more black holes for the embetterment of mankind. Previous of this time my intellect may manifest only one depression in the space time fabrics. Now, thanks be to you, my brain may implementalise 4 to 47 gaps into which light may not leave. Praise heap upon you like too many fish from fishing boat.'

Sturt Rambling is large. He once covered himself in vanilla oil and bare knuckle boxed a full grown female Hippopatamus. After losing by decision in the 12th round, he fulfilled his end of the bargain and became a Hippo slave for 4 gruelling years. The experience however, shaped the man-mountain that he is today. He wrote in with this clap-trap!
"Bulk! I NEED MORE BULK! I thought the Goliathon would quench my thirst for the heaviest, deadliest pistol in the 8 planets surriounding Sol...but I find the excercise regimine of the Colonial Space Scouts to be paying off. Dr. Grordbort, you need to make a device that can only be carried around by the manliest of men. Bulk! Make it wrap around my meaty forearm and tree trunk like biceps. Make it heavy enough to cause a hernia in 9 out of 10 men (and 10 out of 10 women). Attach a massive quenching device with a Venusian water supply. Add a notepad for keeping track of aliens killed in wanton repression of foreign invaders. Increase the BULK, and make it really mean something to heave around a destructive device with the name 'Goliathon'."

The Honorable Q. Marcel Lovejoy, is an affable soul, cheerful and graceful in disposition, he enjoys nothing more in life than to empathise with his fellow man. Unless of course that fellow man is a pauper, minority or common criminal. Then he likes to send them to the big house to be proctologised by Jailbots. Merry Xmas!:

"What a little wonder the Victorious Mongoose 1902a is! I sit on the bench in Her Royal Majesty's Sixth Paralunar District, Felony Criminal division as Supreme High Lord Admonisher. My lovely wife, Jessica gave me the Mongoose to commemorate our tenth anniversary...and good thing she did! Two weeks ago, I was issuing the minimum sentence for Wild Warbling Shrivick poaching (thirteen lashes...a fair and equitable punishment, in my opinion) to one William 'The Blade' Terrence. Much to my surprise, Mr. Terrence had smuggled a small knife into my courtroom and made to assault me as I pronounced his sentence. Despite my considerable bulk and poor eyesight, with but a quick flick of the trigger of the Mongoose and a momentary sizzle as the beam passed through my bench, the assailant was no more than a smoking pair of shoes. Many fine returns, Doctor! The Wild Warbling Shrivick population on Egos VI and my wife thanks you! - Q.M.L."

Arbel Symetric, a F.M.O.M. Industries manufactured automatic man is pictured here. We send our pleas to its owner, Mr. Lindenberg, to send Arbel in for repair as soon as possible. As you will see, by reading his transcript for yourself, his communication valves seem to be malfunctioning.
On second thoughts, maybe the scrapyard would be a better option.... read on!:

"I write this testimonial of the first F.M.O.M. Wave Disrupter in Germany and Europe in order for his Excellence Mr. Otto Lindenberg (this is the man who exploid one quarter of worlds people in his fabrics, mines and ships). First of all Mr. Lindenberg appreciate the safe and triple packing of the Wave Disrupter because he can use the packages to j unk the daily letters of request. The metal box is very useful to bury the Gun on escape or for safe-keeping of ransom money. The adjustment of the Wave Disrupter needs for a unpractised person a little bit to many time. So was the Zeppelin Airship that his Excellence Mr. Otto Lindenberg likes to downing out of range until the Wave Disrupter was ready. But the relatively heavy weight of the gun is very effectiv if the gun is fling to stuff personnel (until a approx. distance of 3 meters. I will continue this testimonial after repair of the phiole of glass who is unfortunately broken now. But i can confirm here with that the blue liquide inside is no toxic gas and does not guzzles holes in carpets."

Crudmobot 370, a fine piece of Grordbortian manufacturing if ever we saw one, was initially programmed for helping the elderly and gardening. But not anymore!
"Dear Doctor, I just wanted to inform you that I think my head is partially repurposed wave weapon components. While changing Eldritch Fuddle Senior's man-diaper, to stop himself from slipping, he grabbed my head to balance. Something clicked. In a blinding flash of electricity and excremental vapour his entire mid section was gone.
That was a surprise, for both of us. My surprise circuits almost melted in fact, and my regret valve just imploded, fused solid. Anyoldway, just thought you might be interested to know that, and that my new job as a truck mounted heavy gun for the French Foreign Legion is going spiffingly. I am now disintegrating minorities I had never even heard of!"

Queen Spassoibk, from Yiposzyslythxkiasckianx 77, you know just up the way from Grulioffexorghieblijumkgdopelz 4, has just sent us this captivating waffle. Oh Joy!
“Deargh Dochtor Glorbaught, long has wee desireg foo fold yu insige mee loyn sax. Lyk parastical goomb. Suxling to maffers gripple. goob boyy. We getted into uss tentlacles one times of spase gunk, lyk wat yu solg in caterluge. Nice! We keeeped ut on uss alla days lung, so wen bezxt to shoouts a croox! Trad!
Alla besst wiszhiz, lurv and snergles...”

Captain Ernst Kurtzwattle, (King Leopold XVII's Belgian Jupiter Shrubber Tree and Tusk Company, New Ypres, Jupiter Free State) is by all accounts a fine upstanding gentleman of the military order with a gentle disposition, fresh minty breath and very clean fingernails. He enjoys walks in the mountains, petting baby animals and giving freely to the poor.
We received this note - Returned by Marlin Marlowe, space-trawler captain who was one the last white men to see Kurtzwattle alive.
“The Horror, the horror", he helpfully adds. "I was quite overjoyed to receive a shipment of your new weapons to equip my lads and I heartily recommend the weapons to future buyers. Even as I speak, powerful space trawlers move to Jupiter packed full of ray-guns and other deadly weapons, unload their cargo at the Belgian spaceports, and return with a hold full of valuable Shrubber Tree wood.
Of course, there is no evidence of the ray guns being used for acts of brutal violence against the Jupiter natives! None at all! I swear it! And even if we have blasted a few Jupiterian savages, the brutes only respect the most base and violent acts!
Why, after I supplied my Force Galactique officers with some of the ray guns, and they came upon a peaceful Jupiter farming village, we were able to completely vaporize the place in seconds. Not that I wanted to, or that I enjoyed it. And those rumors about the Force Galactique cutting off Jupiterian tentacles if they don't bring in the recquired amount of Shrubber is pure codswallop doubtless spread by socialists, as is the allegation that I decorate my garden fenceposts with the severed heads of slaughtered Jupiterians. Trust me, some violence is neccessary to civilize the locals, and the Force Galactique will see the job through to its bitter end, especially armed with Dr. Grordbort's fantastic weaponry!
Long live King Leopold, and may God protect the colony!”
(Last note scrawled in haste at the bottom: “Exterminate the brutes!”)

Stella Lexiphon, lady of high society and well-rounded personality has written us this ample testimonial. Its narrative is fully-fleshed and packed in tightly while its emotional core had us bursting out into tears. All in all, its jostling and bouncy word play makes it one of the best we've ever oggled at:

"My husband, the intergalactic bum, went off to fight the Moon Men and protect the helpless, scantily-clad minxes of the universe. He completely forgot that he had his own perfectly good scantily-clad minx right here. It wasn't long before new admirers started showing up on my doorstep. They seemed to exhibit very little confidence that Milton would return from his escapades, dear oaf that he was. Is. So what's an abandoned wife to do? Well, I saw your ad and less than a lunar week later, I had my very own Victorious Mongoose. It turns out said Victorious Mongoose is not as concealable as you think (though Sally next door says it's my bustier's fault for being too tight). That is, however, the only fault I can find with your marvelous machine. I only meant to scare unwanted suitors with it, but when it accidentally went off that first time, well... Let's just say the satisfaction of seeing someone you despise melt into his constituent elements is worth the rumors that started to spread. How was I to know that last one was the Prime Skitterbah of Neptune? He should've learned to keep his buggy eyes to himself. Thanks to your Victorious Mongoose, this scantily-clad minx won't ever fear rustling bushes again."

Sir Benedict Wrigley is pictured here on the left. Sir Wrigley is a noteworthy socialite whose interests and pursuits include Badger Combing, Inner Thigh Pancake Cradling Dashes (100 yards) and Hit and Run Pauper Slaps and has recently become con-joined with lance-corporal of Industry, Beauregard Worthington.
Sir Benedict wrote us this plea:
“Everything bad started with that flirtatious, and highly flatulent, pompous buffoon Beauregard Worthington. Sure he may be one of the richest men in the States, but to go around showing off his newest sidearm like some holy trinket from the archivial churches of Italy...it was downright deplorable! Yes, it was a new weapon of unfettered might, something called a Manmelter or somesuch. I must say he had a captive audience of societies social elite. Even my beloved Virginia showed some peaked interest in his mindless prattle about 'vaporized elephants, his ability to light his Cuban cigars with the lowest setting (even in the torrential down pours of a tropical storm), and the tingly feeling he experienced down to his shin bones when he fired it on full blast.' I had to do something. Something which I think would set him straight as to who the affections of Virgina truly belonged to.
Like an idiot, I challenged him to a duel.
Rayguns at 10 yards. His Manmelter versus my trusty and tested Wave Disruptor. I think it may have been one of the only kind to occur in the Americas; however, not that many aristocrats know of your pure, but secretive, genius Dr. Grordbort. Beau looked at me as if I was joking, but his hand was on the handle of his raygun, as was mine. Virginia looked on, and I only hoped that she would see the folly of throwing her affections to so obvious a blowhard. She dropped her handkerchief. We drew our rayguns. Energies were unleashed, and resonant waves of subsonic concussions filled the air as the beams arced and entertwinned the short space between Beau and I. When the vaporized moisture cloud from the resulting implosion subsided, I looked upon my foe with even more hatred through eyes still recovering from the multicolored flash. Our bodies had become fused by the implosion! Every waking moment must now be spent with that hateful face just 7 inches from my own. We must share the same chairs...the same baths...Meals together. Even more troubling are the awkward stares during tea with Virginia. The agony must end.
While he currently sleeps, I write this message imploring your technomantic genius...please Doctor, separate us!”

Arch-Cardinal Venetrix Superion The Lesser, is an ornery old git. Never invite him to a party. That’s party over, that is. Nobody likes him and we think he called your Mother a name. All in all, fine material for an Arch-Cardinal. He wrote in with this wonderfully heart-warming tale of joy:
“Greetings. I, Venetrix, can cordially vouch for the inquisatory uses of your F.M.O.M Industries Wave Disrupter Gun. Why, it was only last blood-festival that I inserted it into the nether regions of a heretic and exerted the merest flick of my semi-divine digit only to watch as he combustulated into a fiery meat flap the likes of which we at the Abbey of Consecrated Truthdom here on Planet Sectarian had never before had the pleasure of seeing.
After spending up to a minute or more modifying the weapon's crystal based oscillator with a conflict diamond mined from the Volcanic Tremble Pits of Salutus VII I managed to virtually reform said heretics body into something resembling its former state (give or take a twitching limb or two and the odd eye-socket). Imagine my rapture! Here before me was the answer to our most fervent of prayers - an infinite penetance device. Praise be to the Supreme Sword of Domitron!
It is therefore with much aplomb that I now chant vigorously and on a daily basis 'Hip hooray and kudos indeed,' to the eminent Dr. Grordbort.”

Don Hernando Montoya Ramo, (Second Sub-Commander of the aethership 'El Nuncio de Dolor', De la Vega Armada), is also a certified Gas-Whale husbandrist. This dangerous and slightly icky job famously cost him his arm. You don’t want to know the details, but on an up note, the loss did lead to the discovery of the Nebula-dwelling Gas-Whale’s secondary beak. He made these following words manifest:

“Upon graduation from the Academia Nueva Luna I was made the proud owner of a Victorious Mongoose pistole. Having counted five separate voyages into the heavens I am grateful for the wondrous gift. This compact armour has allowed me and my fellow officers of the crew to put down many uncivil occurrences that might be seen as detrimental to the safety of those within the confines of the De La Vega Protectorate, to include: two attempted boardings by space pirates, a kidnapping of our ship's sous chef by pygmy Lukchas on Io, numerous native uprisings on the moons of Saturn and what seemed to be amorous advances made by a rogue bull air whale on and against our bow while patrolling Sector 24. My continued thanks to your company and luck in the future.”

Captain Clive Karlinio is an intergalactic mercenary who scours our galaxy commiting random acts of space-violence with his jaw. He is said to have crushed a man’s femur with his trademark flying round-house chin strike. Ouch.

Read his insights here:
“I’d like to pass me thanks on to this Dr. Grordbort fellah for making me new hand gun, the Moon-fist 65. Quite comfy to hold, straight as an arrow and it’ll burn a yard wide hole though a Khunthi-pod in no time flat. Infra-wave undulations and all that, top-notch.
Clive is well pleased. So give yourself a pat on the back.
An’ just asking right? Do you sell some kind of mens potency pills? Cos for the last week, since I got me new gun in fact, I gone an lost feeling in me down-stairs if ya nar-mean? Any ideas?...”

Buck Offendai, Self proclaimed Space ‘Hero’ (and by some accounts, something of a catch) is another in the long line of bum-chinned buffoons whose scintillating anecdotes we receive every week. Believe us when we tell you that the stack of these self-infatuated transcripts is as high as a dinner table, in fact we use the stack to eat dinner off of. It’s very convenient. You may read the latest tale of raw heroism below:
“My FMOM Industries Wave Disruptor saved me from certain death at the hands of the Martian moonworm. Without my trusty sidearm, I never would have been able to convince the professor's buxom daughter to precede me into the lair of the beast. Elivira's blood curdling shriek hinted at possible danger just as I was about to consider tiptoeing up to the entrance of the slime-encrusted cavern. A lesser man may have sacrificed himself in vain, but I knew I had no time to lose. As I sprinted back to the spacerocket, my keen intellect was already formulating a plan to get a full refund on the engagement ring.
I apprised the professor of the situation as I climbed over him on the way to the aerolock. Once in the pilot's seat, I immediately checked my hair in the rearview mirror and started warming up the spacemotor. The professor argued that we should stay on, and avail ourselves of the opportunity to observe the Martian moonworm's table manners first hand.
But even his mental prowess had to bow to the superior logic afforded by a Wave Disruptor set on "fricassee." Once we were safely in space, the professor became disconsolate over his interrupted research. I tried to distract him from his whimpering by engaging him in intellectual discourse. "So, is your younger daughter seeing anyone...?"
Celestially yours,”

Sgt. Phillpot McCraken (Waitangi Rangers Scout Company), runner-up in this years All-Male Bare-Backed Cleft-Wedging Championships (whereby contestants attempt to stuff handfulls of fruit mince into each others rear cleavage while wrestling in a vat of full fat cream and treacle - a true mans sport), forwarded us this heady tale of dealing death to those experiencing life after death*:

*Excerpts taken from Sgt.McCraken's diary. "After intercepting an emergency beacon from the nearby colony on Timarisu Minor XIX. Our scout skiff 'Ngahuia' proceeded at full ether. Three days later we landed at the colony town of 'Pike's Peake'.To our horror we were greeted by a shambling town of undead colonists! Fortunately for us we had been equipped with the Manmelter 3600 ZX11! Undead man, woman, child or donkey didn't stand a chance!
Within eight hours of our arrival the town was cleansed of the Ungodly scum! The smell of chicken filled the air. Thank the Maker for Dr.Grordbort's inventions! Now I have to check this rash I got while I was on the planet and I'm feeling really hungry..."

Donovan Goldwater Esq. AKA “Shufty Five Fingers”, has written to us in what we believe is Swahili with a smattering of English words thrown in for good measure. We commend his efforts and have published the transcription to encourage the poor chap as well as for our readers entertainment:
“Oi Guv’nor!
I had to take some toime to tell ye about a ruckuss I was involved in last fortnight, down past the 'Boil and Pinchers' an’ your goods saved the day, quick as loightning! Well, I was casing the pad of Lord Pinkerton - of the Fallowwaites clan, if ye ’eard of ’im - in the name of fiduciary lubricity, narmean? Bit of the five fingers all over his estates and a bit of his lady friends’ too, I reckon. Jarbles and the loike. Eh? Oh, valuables…
So there I was, deep in the halls and whatsits when the bleedin’ Lord ’imself came whistling through the door, catching me pretty much knickers-down sort of loike. “By Jove!” ’e cried, “it’s one of those common chaps having a tiddly with the ol’ wonkers, what?” I tell ya that bushy moustache don’t make fer an intimidatin’ sight to a’ Halfincher like me, an ’e musta realized it, so ’e grabbed one of them cavalry swords, you know, loike they used in the Wuluu uprising on Rourke’s IV - a vibro-blade or summit. So, what’s a tea leaf, ta do, eh?
I says 'Ello Guvnor, just giving tha jarbles a shine, loike… No need to panic, eh, guv?' While ’e was buyin’ me line, I had a butchers for a rabbit ‘ole, and in the process me mince pies caught one o’ your products – a Dr. Grordbort Goliathon 83 barely a few feet from my ’onourable person. Turns out the ol’ codger was somewhat of a collector of your fine armaments. ’E ’ad the lot of ’em! I reckon ’e might have ’ad a prototype too, natch! Cor!
That bastard 83 is a biggun, eh? An’ it gave me the willies to shoot it just as it gave Lord Pinkerton the wobbles in getting oscillated with it! I think the Goliathon is the very essence of fear – what with capacitance tubes and volumizer duckets an’ what ’ave ya. Beamed straight to infinity, I’d say! After the thunderclappin’, wurblin’ 'ooooOOOOOOooooo-ZOOOIIINKKK' sound it made, I din’t wanta say ’ello to the Runners, so I toodled quick as yer loike, leavin’ Pinkerton’s smoking boots standin’ in the study. Har! So I says to ye, your fine armaments made me the man I am today!”
From that good man’s collection, I kept something a bit more manageable - that darlin’ lil man-melter fits under me smock nice, ye know for on the job use, and flogged the rest in the name of charity – namely me. My many thanks to ya Dr. Grordbort, and may the sun shoine out ya khyber, if ya narmean?"

Vengeance Potentate, vigilante justice dispenser and wearer of figure hugging moon suits is famous for her stern looks. She is known to have scowled continuously for three months straight during her infamous crime fighting missions on Destroxulon 5, a city reknowned for it's corruption and violence. Some say that her reprimanding visage is a vestige of her deeply troubled upbringing, others that her Moon suit pinches her inner thigh something chronic. She said these following words to us:
"A crime fighter, such as myself is always in need of advanced technologies that I can use to turn hardened criminals into fine honest citizens in caskets. I have recently acquired an F.M.O.M. Wave Disrupter Gun and have found that the mere sound of it's activation is enough to turn most vagabonds from unscrupulous reprobates to highly scrupulous scruple favourers. If that isn't enough to convince them then pressing the trigger has the instantaneous effect of teleporting them to the afterlife.
I cannot commend you enough."

Princess Ceruleao, a member of the Royal family of Obscurio 5 and interplanetary travel enthusiast is always in need of a last line of defense. Her excursions have famously put her in life threatening peril time and time again. Grown men have worried themselves sick thinking about the possibility of a blemish or dare we postulate it, a scar on her person. We warn those men of questionable constitution against reading on lest you pass out and choke on your own tongues:
"I must thank you Dr. Grordbort for your line of rocket ship weapon systems which I have utilised to defend my Perforator Class rocket ship many times. The Solar system is at times an exceptionally dangerous place to traverse and space pirates are not as friendly as you would believe based on their recruitment literature. Above all I congratulate you on the ManMelter 3600zx pistol which I value as an unfailing travel companion. I thought you'd like to know that on maximum power it can burn a hole through a Kharguli Night Assassin's carapace in just two seconds!
Overall I have been exceptionally pleased with all my acquisitions from your Dingus Directory and wish you all the best in your efforts to design the Infra-Particle Oscillating Leg Waxer. Maybe then, the last of humanities many afflictions will be cured."

Violent George, the name says it all. George, towering at just under seven foot tall, is actually a softly spoken soul who has a passion for wildlife and uses his spare time for sewing. For instance, he once had to sew a mans face back on after he accidentally dislodged it in an argument. As security chief of the lower decks of the Imperial Moon-Class Dreadnaught: ‘The Subjugator’, he deals daily with ‘situations’. He describes one here:
“Dear Doc, just last week one of the technicians from deck 37 (Interior Communications) came down to complain about some cabling problem. I just wanted to thank you for making these communications consoles so robust cos’ it really stood up to a pounding. Grordbort’s Manufacturing: 1, Poindexter Skull: 0.
By the way, you don’t make a detergent that’ll get brains off leather do you?”

Fusillade Evans, Pilot for the Pan-European Orbital Attack force and competitive Scowler took some time off from his furious furrowing regime to regale us with one of his awe inspiring anecdotes of raw heroism and machismo:
“...my ship, on it’s last legs, spewing smoke into the void careened headlong, nose-spike first into the enemy Battle-Naught. Like a javelin into the side of a giant metal Moon whale I connected. Those poor stunned Moon fools didn’t know what hit em’ and I took my chance to board their vessel.
My Manmelter 3600zx now had it’s moment to shine, literally. Moon soldier body parts filled the air, pieces of unidentifiable sludge went flying past my head, I was doing back flips and those cartwheel things and at one point I was blown clear of an explosion. I think I may have even muttered a one-liner under my breath.
All in all, and in no small part thanks to your excellent weaponry it’s safe to say, it was a bad day to be a conscript on the Moon Men Armed Forces.”

Benjamin Snooker, a daring man of adventure whose travels have taken him from the deepest jungles of South America to the frozen war plains of Pluto is pictured here to the left. He is more widely known by his nick-name ‘Tea pot’ but he steadfastly refuses to comment on it. Perhaps it stems from his self-made all-weather survival suit which features a small faucet on his netherlies (for emergencies) and gives him an interesting side-on silhouette?
Read his hogwash here:
“I Benjamin (Teapot) Snooker, Traveller and seeker of lost artifacts, (Don't ask about my nickname) remember the day the Goliathon 83 stood beside me as I found my way through the Forbidden jungle of Tankera Mo Mo. The air was hot and damp. It felt like breathing steam as i cut my way further Through the jungle. With great luck I spied a clearing ahead and pushed on faster. As I edged closer to the clearing I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. Something was moving through the jungle towards me.
Whump! Whump! Whump! I herd it draw closer and i pulled my Goliathon 83 from it's holster feeling the weight of it in my hand. Then I realized that it was not moving through the jungle but above it! The Giant Terror bat screamed showing it's maw of jagged teeth and a bolt of fear travelled down my spine. It swooped down through the canopy, claws held wide to snatch me up. I pulled the trigger sending a powerful ray cutting through the terror bat. It tumbled to the jungle floor like torn box kite landing squarely at my feet. Without my Ray gun I would have been bat guano.
Without a doubt the Goliathon 83 is a robust sidearm for the adventurer who may encounter the worst the dark jungles have to offer.”

Sgt. Jarvis Bruntlington, soldier in the Offworld Epeditionary Pre-Meditative-Defense Force ‘Fist 44’ has seen action across our solar system and beyond. He is known for his friendly, approachable manner and nick-named by his unit ‘The Dunce’ which we’re sure is some affectionate local alien colloquialism. He put forward this stirring tale as proof of the Dr's wares efficacy:
“Many thanks to the Doctor for his tremendous weapons and armaments, a good deal of which have made it into the service of my unit. Why just last week I used a Goliathon 83 to clean out a septic tank and I must say it did a sterling job! Hardly any holes in the damn thing! During that day I used it to discipline a private, hammer in a nail, do a little panel beating on the staff car, burn off some bunions and then lightly poach some eggs! All this from a device that I had previously only used to vapourise Alien scum.
Good on you man!"

Jahukara Lowrg, a fuzzy, mishapen asortment of limbs and lumpy bits that look as if they were assembled by a drunk, transmitted to us a lunatic collection of claw scratchings and blood smears which our translators interpreted here - (we could not however find the meaning of the word 'laser' and assume it to be some ancient arcane psuedo-technology of a forgotten era):
'I am Jahukara Lowrg from the sixth moon of Enipula. I have been blessed with two strong male offspring. Both are very agile with their four arms and have fur that resembles their father. When my eldest was about to enter his twelfth year under the moons, which means he would be off for training with the pack. It was time that he received his first weapon. He begged us to purchase him an SR-7700 dual laser blaster from Seinpuis since all the other cubs his age had one. I told him that it was way too much to handle prior to proper training and he would shoot one of his three eyes out, but I did admire his eagerness to feel the power of such a weapon. After discussing it later with his father, I purchased our son your Manmelter 3600 ZX, which I had heard a few good words growled about in the dens. Many think of my kind as just animals, but we take great pride in being skilled in weaponary and in their craftmenship. Of course, upon receiving the Manmelter 3600 ZX, our young cub complained that he would be teased for such a small fragile looking piece. I assured him that it would be sufficient. I sent him out to do some practice in the fields with a group of his friends. He returned carrying twenty sizzling gray medium sized ruztlums. He and his friends said that he blasted them easily in less than 5 seconds. The ruztlums carcasses looked to be fairly intact and fired, so dinner was served. His father says that the Manmelter 3600 ZX is a fine work of craftmenship, but the true test will be how it lasts during our offspring's training. I have purchased three others for him to take with him and a few of his friends are also purchasing them as they prepare to go off with the pack. Your weapon will receive greater praise once my cub returns and perhaps the name Dr. Grordbort may gain a reputation with the pack. I will keep your works in mind when my youngest cub, whom I still carry in my arms and has just begun to bare his teeth, enters his twelfth year. Much thanks and may the fangs of Gggrrrrnnold protect you!'

Sir Douglas Punchmellon-Smythe, an adventurer and explorer of note who is famed for his discovery and subsequent ascents of the Doom Spine Mountains of Mars. It was during those treks that he picked up various notable injuries and ailments, such as a terrible case of 'Swelt's Armpit', the rare form of 'Jimmy Leg', a severe head trauma and an uncommon urge to manhandle pack animals. He submitted this scintillating tale for perusal:
"On the acquisition of your fine raygun, The Fathom 55 N1900, I was immediately struck by its fine craftsmanship and exquisite design. I decided to take it on a exciting jaunt some fellow members of the FG&A Club and I were set to embark on come the first of the month. It was a casual trip to the Driftmountains of Eldar Minor. We'd been having a splendid time when our group of adventurers stumbled upon a rather obnoxious gathering of Krikpees. I feared no one back at the beloved halls of FG&A would hear of our tales, but thanks to my quick thinking and the even quicker response of the Fathom 55 N1900 I was able to vanquish the pesty critters and be back at the club in time for hightea.
Thanks Dr.Grordbort for crafting such a fine - and thankfully powerful - raygun for the discerning adventurer."

Colonel Augustus Patrick Harrison. OBE, VC & Bar. Her Imperial Majesty's 3rd Venusian Rifles, pictured here to the left, basking in the Venus’s ethereal light which we’re sure you will agree really brings out his ears, I mean eyes... We ear that he is doing exceptionally well on his latest expedition and this testimonial ears that out. Ears:
"Dr Grordbort, Sir, many thanks for the recent shipment of spare parts for the Battalion's Chairlord 2200 Omega Z's. That Aetheric Inductor assembly is cursed difficult to repair out here in the wilds, what?
On the other hand, necessity is the mother of invention, yes indeed. With half the Officers reduced to the shameful exercise of walking alongside their men, we were going to miss the General's deadline. You know the General, of course. Frightfully short temper for such an otherwise gentlemanly chap. Anyway, time was running out when we happened across a small herd of Mumford's Toops. Out came the Goliathons, but it occurred to me that we could ride them. A light scorch on low was enough to make the beasts know what for. You can imagine the General's amazement when we rode in on these. He was most impressed. We were still late, though, and it didn't save us from a rightfully deserved bollocking.
Ah well. I just thought you should know that it is possible to use a Toop for something more than a doorstop. After all, man, that's what Privates are for.
As an aside, I got into a dreadful argument with my Adjutant. Are they Toops or are they Teep? Could you please get Sir Basil to clarify. Hip Hip, Tally Ho, What."

Jack X. Reaver, a General and EDL Commander is depicted here in his armoured battle suit which Dr. Grordbort’s labs designed for F.M.O.M. Industries. This suit is cabable of protecting a combatant from a direct hit with a 2 pounder cannon round, can sustain 3 seconds of high power aether wave bombardment and causes minimal down stairs chaffing if you take our meaning. Oh yes, he sent in this rambling tale of his derring-do:
“Dr. Grordbort, I am writing to ensure that history records the fact that when darkness swept our lands in the form of the Shishari Horde, and humanity’s frail spark almost went out completely in the endless void of space, one weapon stemmed that bloodthirsty tide of evil: the F.M.O.M. INDUSTRIES Wave Disrupter Gun (WDG).
Wielded by the now legendary Knights of Atomia, 1st Armored Division, Earth Defense League (EDL), the peculiar oscillations of the WDG were the only sure-fire method of dispatching a full-grown Hordelord in battle dress, though many of the lesser Hordelings fell swiftly to our standard issue plasma swords. But by the Gods, what glorious havoc the WDGs were capable of generating in the hands of the genetically enhanced warrior Knights, and what joy I took from commanding that lethal combination of technology, flesh and spirit that drove the Shishari from our planetary shores and sent them back out, licking their wounds, into space! Alas, as you already know, the Knights were all vaporized in the Great Misfire of ’42, leaving me with command of ten-thousand empty, smoking suits of Bioshade Armor (to this day, I still can’t eat barbecue).
But as I’m the last Knight of Atomia to wield the deadly WDG, I thought it fitting to pay tribute to their heroic deeds by writing to you, good Doctor, in the hopes of sharing some small measure of the pride I still feel today when I don my armor, point my WDG into the air and fire off a charge or two in memory of their glory. Remember their sacrifice and know that humanity owes its very existence to the F.M.O.M. INDUSTRIES Wave Disrupter Gun!
Best Regards...”

Throckmorton P. Ruddygore, Esq: Throckster, Throcky or the Throckmotron to his friends, a dashed fiend when it comes to the mixing, matching and inhalation of exotic leaf matter (and a fine upstanding citizen to boot despite his enthusiasm for the much derided street sport of ‘Elderly Cudgling”) had this positive report to submit:
“It is with unabashed elation that I report to you my successful third foray into the Viridial Uplands of Ganymede. I feel the first two were qualified failures, at best, due largely to the lack of enduring firepower. So then, why should you be interested in this third said outcome? Indeed, it is due to the unmatched performance of my newly acquired F.M.O.M Industries Wave Disrupter Gun that I am even alive at all, and not being slowly digested in the secondary sluice tracts of the Arboreal Polyphagous Whip Grove. Alas, the same could not be said of my manservant, Clodbanke, nor of sixteen of my indigenous porters. But I digress.
In the Groves found of the Uplands one may find a particular smoking leaf that is at once more Robust than Estonian Pipe-leht yet more Subtle than the Portuguese Folha Tiparillo. Acquisition of this most puissant of tobaccos requires a continuous and effective stream of destructive energies applied liberally to the base of the Grove, whilst press-ganged field hands carefully pluck the leaf from the carnivorous and poison laden vines that supply the Grove with quickening nutrients.
The F.M.O.M Industries Wave Disrupter Gun supplied these energies with near joyous abandon, whilst I suffered only a mild case of the bloody flux from the ambient radiation! Truly, a masterwork of Tremontium forging that upholds me now as the Fore-most member of the Liverpudlian Gentleman’s Smoking-League. With utmost Tolerance for you,
Throckmorton P. Ruddygore, Esq."

Colonel Elijah St. John Holdstock (retired), yet another retired Colonel with nothing to do with his spare time but drink brandy and chase badgers around with a broom whilst singing Moon shanties has regaled us with this fine tale. We’re sure it’s all true:
“My Dear Doctor Grordbort, As you know, many is the time I’ve felt the need for a truly reliable sidearm. I still recall one occasion, many years ago now when I was with His Majesty’s 32nd Aetheric Hussars. It was a hard and bloody campaign but I had my dear old compatriot Chuffers (otherwise known as that legendary figure Major Dick Chuffey) at my side. We were standing knee deep in offal, fighting off the last of the vile Spunk-Pigs of Arcadia 14. Every weapon had been spent and still the repulsive horde spewed forth from the stinking swill-hives toward us.
I finally managed – armed with nothing more than the sharpened thighbone of our late Lieutenant, Calvin “Pee-Wee” Praetorius – to finish the last of the blighters off. I barely got away from that disgusting rock with my life and Chuffers, of course, wasn’t so lucky. Things might have been very different had I felt the solidly reassuring weight of your incomparable F.M.O.M Industries Wave Disrupter Gun in my hand instead of a bit of that poor chap’s leg.
I left the Hussars soon afterwards to pursue the life of a Gentleman Adventurer and, over the years, I have still had occasion to wish for a superior stripe of weapon. Once, my arch nemesis Baron Otto Tiberius (curse his very name!) trailed me to the palatial boudoir complex of Lulu & Vulva: The nymphomaniac Baxendale twins of Callisto. My travelling companion, that drunkard, charlatan and quisling, Archbishop Harvey Hogwood, had tipped the swine off as to my whereabouts and he had gained entry in the hopes of bumping me off In Flagrante, so to speak. Luckily, I was sporting more than one sword that day and a flamboyant bout of duelling ensued before the loathsome Tiberius retreated uttering bitter curses. He bears the scars of that encounter to this day but I can’t help thinking that – had I only been concealing the splendid Goliathon 83 about my person as I canoodled with the delightful Baxendales – the encounter might have reached a far more satisfying (and in Otto’s case, permanent) climax.
I’m gratified to know that future generations of adventurer will benefit from the precision engineering, the reliability and the ferocious power of your new range of Aetheric Oscillators. Indeed I am even now planning what will, I trust, be my ultimate encounter with the malevolent Baron Tiberius.
There’s life in the old dog yet and on this last great escapade my untiring companion shall be my personal favourite from your new collection: The peerless Manmelter 3600 ZX.
Yours, as always”

Jaques of Duval, Count of Lozan has submitted this gibbering diatribe for acceptance as a testimonial. Clearly, due to cranial impairment he has misunderstood the complimentary nature of a testimonial. We present it nevertheless as a potent proof of the power of Dr. Grordbort’s Infallible Aether Oscillators:(please note: what follows is a translation from French utilising the Doctors finest Valve driven Translatmochronic automatons, we aplogise for its uncouth delivery)
“I'm not saluting you. I have finally succeeded in sending you a message, your company being particularly discreet on my continent, which is not surprising... For years I have been obsessed in getting hold of those monsters that are responsible for my state of being. Years imagining how to make you pay for what happened to me... This F.M.O.M. INDUSTRIES Wave Disrupter Gun destroyed my existence. The whole world has to know the dangerousness of the thing that you've put on the market.
If only I'd known that the inheritance of my uncle was going to be the cause of the disappearance of half of my face and half of my house... At the time of the accident, I felt in my hands something that while releasing itself seemed to me to be as hot as it was cold. My uncle had been dead for ten years when I had the bad idea to open this briefcase, and he himself had died a very old man. There is no mention of the dangerousity of the object in its instruction manual, which is of course all in english...
Informations taken, this last thing being a mistake on your account is how I'm going to sue you...My uncle has left me enough money to set an army of lawyers on your ass...(your stupid machines helped him to considerably augment the family wealth... I am really happy that your weapons will now be turned against you).
Signed: Jacques Of Duval, count of Lozan, who does not salute you”
Read the Count's testimonial in the original French.

Thom Ascoates, a reclusive figure who lost the top most area of his head in an horrendous Bison baiting accident (leaving him with a meagre one fifth of his original brain matter, but a curious power in the art of poetry) delivered us this succinct snippet of prose:
"At one time, all I had to fear was Fear itself. Now, thanks to my Man-melter, even that Fear is gone, vaporized into a small but steaming pool of green-blue efflorescence, smelling somewhat of stale curtains."

Admiral Sir Yakov Czedos, famous in his homeland as a war hero and for his prowess in the ring in the provincial sport of Bare-Legged Chin Wrestling (of which he was a legendary childrens and then teenage champion) has telegraphed us this appreciation. We shudder to think of the many jaws and spirits he left broken and unhinged:
From: ADMIRAL SIR YAKOV CZEDOS - COMMANDER MILADY LINIAN LEBORDI 4th ROUMANIAN SUBMARINE FLEET C/O GOVT HOUSE, BUCHAREST, ROMANIA
To: DR GRORDBORT'S INFALLIBLE AETHER OSCILLATORS
Message: "GENTLEMEN I CONGRATULATE YOU ON EFFICACY OF GOLIATHON 83 STOP WHILE CONDUCTING ROUTINE MANEUVERS IN NORTH ATLANTIC OUR SUBMARINE 'TIMISOARA' WAS ATTACKED BY POD OF GIANT KRAKEN STOP UPON SURFACING COMMANDER LEBORDI AND MYSELF DISLODGED SAID CREATURES WITH JUDICIOUS FIRE FROM OUR BEAM PROJECTORS. STOP.
WE CUT THROUGH THEIR FOUL TENTACLES LIKE KNIVES THROUGH CUSTARD STOP I DARESAY THESE WEAPONS WILL REVOLUTIONISE BOTH LAND BASED AND MARITIME DEFENCE.
STOP.
ROMANIA SENDS HER GRATITUDE.
STOP.
END MESSAGE."

Imperilax HiiFroont XXXIV, who hails itself as the Exalted ruler of the Balasitian Empire sends this missive as penned by Sombon his indentured servant (Our in-house artist assures us that this picture is the right way up and does indeed describe the head and face of the creature. We heartily commend him on his intestinal fortitude):
“Our Imperial Complements to you on your Goliathon Infinity Beam Projector; it was the hit of Our recent Baranta Beast Hunt. ZaTriich, beloved grandsire of Our Third mistress, discovered that, with the proper settings, a beast can be killed and cooked simultaneously! Our chef marveled at the crisp texture this leant to the meat as it was broiled from the inside out. Would that We had a fismar of these projectors, Our minions would lay waste to the accursed Hoards of Darmanaton and feast on their well-cooked entrails! But we digress.
Congratulations on your excellent product. If in the future you should ramp up production of these fine weapons, please contact TriinBlam, Our Imperial Procurer. Until then, may the ZanTiis of PariinKula hold you to Her Impeccable Bosom. ”

Edward Calamity (aka Ed Destructo), a self proclaimed man of mystery, duellist and smuggler of ladies unmentionables (last known whereabouts: the Outer Colony's of Dexter 3), has discretely transmitted us this heartfelt endorsment. We cannot however, commend his lingerical theftliness and request that he send those netherly coverupables to us ASAP so we may return them to their rightful owners:
"My dear Dr Grordbort. You sir, have done it again. My hat's off to you. I've just received my Victorious Mongoose 1902a. Perfect for a chap in my line of work. It's ease of conceal-ability, rapid recharge rate and Beam Capacitor have been indispensable. While spending a short time on Dexter 3 I found it to be a life saver. There I was surrounded, loaded to the gills with what I shall only hint at as being slightly illegal under garments. Back pressed against the security scanner no escape in sight. Brutish Security thugs pointing some of your finer products in my direction...
With a wink and a smile I showed em my Mongoose 1902a and after the ionized dust cleared I was able to make my delivery none the worse for the wear. My sincere thanks Dingus my good man for another great product."

Matthias Howard O’Carneigh, a youth of some keen intellect with a solid grasp of the complex wave sciences behind today’s Raygun technology, has penned us this missive. There may be a job in the future at Dr. Grordbort’s labs for such an insightful and fresh mind but if not, we wish him the best in his further endeavours and hope that he is not accidentally hit by a fast moving automobile, crushed by a safe or disintegrated by an errant death ray.
“Dear Sir, I feel compelled to write the following, and to convey my high estimation of your practical efforts and on being at the cutting edge of scientific discovery. Being but a young lad, indentured to the local community newspaper, I rarely have the opportunity to bear witness to worldly events, yet was fortunate enough to be present at last years 'World Fair of Outlandish Developments'. Your display was a masterful feat of both suspense and edification! It was most unfortunate that a member of the audience was disintegrated, and I am pleased to read that the slanderous, and I'm sure quite expensive court proceedings have finally abated.
Having sustained my education to the award of a diploma in 'The Gentlemanly Art of Scientific Enquiry' from the Lansdown and Bartlett Secondary College, I must congratulate you on a most pertinent and effective use of the little known Krumholz-Blatz effect. Upon seeing the Manmelter 3600ZX in operation for the first time, I was at first perplexed as to how this hand-held device could mete out such a brutal devastation. Yet, with an eye trained in the accrual of detail and minutiae, I noted the subtle distortion and minuscule condensation that is apparent at the muzzle upon operation of this magnificent device. ’Bully!’ I thought to myself, whilst pondering the ‘Journal of Scientific Experimentation for Financial Gain’ volume 5 - not only did the Manmelter 3600ZX display the above phenomenon, it was also evident that a slight phase-shift in the surrounding air occurs, producing the tell-tale ‘fairy-warble’, which is to most imperceptible. But not I, fortunate enough to have studied Musicology under the great Mr. Barton Umpleby the third, and therefore able to detect the faint, yet unmistakeable microtonic whisper.
The above empirical evidence has lead me to the conclusion that it is indeed the Krumholz-Blatz effect that gives your device such devlish ability. How you have managed to contain it is beyond my comprehension, as so many have failed before you - so jolly good show, what! I sincerely look forward to seeing further developments, as I surmise you must surely be on the verge of ionic compression and inversion by now - a most exciting prospect indeed! I have made the provision of an early booking for this years’ Fair, in anticipation of yet another astounding event.”

Colonel W. Crook (retired), famed in his younger years for cleansing the solar systems many moons of Brigands, Villians and Indigenous Peoples and later in life for his best-selling line of women's romance novels under the non-de-plume ‘Lady Eliza Allbosom’, has shared with us these words of praise:
“Sirs, I have recently acquired an example of the Automaitre D from your esteemed selves via Dr Grordbort's Dingus Directory. I find that I must both congratulate and admonish you. On receipt of an example of your product, The Automaitre D, I instructed Bentley, my batman, to unpack, assemble and initiate the said item as his final duties before leaving my employ. Despite his totally inappropriate grumbles, he managed to accomplish these tasks in a timely manner. I was as delighted as he was surprised at the speed and efficiency with which the Automaitre D then bundled together his few belongings and removed him from the premises. It has since carried out all its duties speedily and efficiently, with one exception. I must now draw your attention to this small flaw in your design. Before ejecting Bentley, the Automaitre D failed to obtain from him his recipe for the Mem-sahib’s cocktail. Until New Bentley, as I have named the Automaitre D can synthesise a suitable replacement, I am forced to enjoy my evening Gin and Tonic without her company!"

Commander Jess Navaho, an Agent at Octopus V Off-World Corp (OV-OWC) and 3 time Interstellar Men’s Toilets Sword Fighting Champion, disclosed this presumably confidential report of his doings:
“Sworn to secrecy I can tell you little of my missions with Octopus V, however it’s safe to assume I help to keep the galaxy free from tyranny and the constant threat of underhand espionage attacks on the Off-World settlements. It’s gratitude indeed to the remarkable Victorious Mongoose 1902a that I am able to acquaint you with my last adventure. Silently foraging through the red weeds on Selos Prime I had reached my target, from the higher ground a bull’s-eye view of the Selodian encampment and the Stellacore beacon I was there to destroy. Just one blast from my Goliathon 83 would annihilate it in seconds. Suddenly from behind a Manmelter powered up, blast it! I’d been discovered. I Turned slowly dropping my 83 and placed my hands into my pockets, the Selodian droid spoke “what’s your designation”. Thank Dr Grordbort for concealable ray pistols. I replied with a blast from my trusty Mongoose and watched as the droid scum melted away into vapour before my eyes. Damn good show! Keep up the good work Dr Grordbort.”

Click here to see the growing list of testimonials forced from the main page by newer entries from more important people.