It is a truth universally acknowledged, that there are golfcarts in the afterlife.

The opening line of a piece of work is very important.  It sets the tone, draws the reader in.  They're often the most memorable bit of the book.  Take these:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again.
What's it going to be then, eh?

All of the above do something for the text:  The first sets the tone for the whole story and gives us some themes (money, marriage etc.), the second gives the location of the story away, the third gives us the register of the story, preparing us for the onslaught of futuristic slang that will accompany us for the next 200 pages.

The jewel in the crown of this month's Judge Dredd Megazine is the first part of a strip by writer Simon Spurrier and artist P.J. Holden called Numbercruncher.  The opening line of it is this:

There are golfcarts in the afterlife.

These words were a joy to read, not just because they kicked off a fantastic strip, but also because they just so happen to comprise the best opening line I have pointed my eyes at recently.  It is an incredibly well formed opening sentence, and fulfills perfectly the maxim that opening lines should be succinct but crammed with content.  There are plenty of great books that don't have short opening sentences (American Psycho for example), but these suffer from the disadvantage of being unmemorable.  "There are golfcarts in the afterlife," slips into the memory with ease and finds itself some comfortable nook to rest in.  It's not a sentence easily forgotten.

Beyond its shortness is also its informativeness.  Like Pride and Prejudice it sets the tone - surreal - like Rebecca it gives us a sense of location - the afterlife - and like A Clockwork Orange it gives us some sense of the register.  A short line like this one is written to be spat out in discontent, mirroring the ill feeling of Numbercruncher's wonderfully monikered protagonist Bastard Zane.

Of course, focussing on the opening line is a tad facetious when dealing with a piece of work this good.  The rest of the strip is funny and inventive.  Comics has an ongoing love affair with the theological, which has led to a plethora of trite representations of Heaven and Hell and I'm glad to day that Numbercruncher doesn't fall into this trap however, instead going for a style that owes more to M.C. Escher than it does Hieronymus Bosch.

In short, it's the most exciting thing in British right at this moment, and if you've not put it in front of your face already then you should have.