Cheap Thrills
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
I'm forced to admit that without Dash haranguing us on expenses, we've been taking certain "liberties" with the Predator Press budget.
Legless Jim, a whiz with numbers, rapidly typed into the calculator. Finally, he rips off the tape and inspects the digits at the bottom.
He whistles.
"Says here Predator Press operates at a deficit of roughly three hundred and fifty-two trillion dollars annually."
"Wow," says LOBO, despondent. "A few more years of that and we'll really be screwed."
"We could have a bake sale," I says.
"Can any of us cook?"
The three of us looked at each other.
"Not me," says LOBO. "When I poured milk on my Cap'n Crunch this morning, it burst into flames." He started pacing the floor. "It worked out okay for the Captain, though. He got a Purple Heart, a Distinguished Service medal, and was ultimately promoted to Admiral."
He stops and whirls on us. "C'mon guys. This is serious. If Predator Press goes belly up, the entire internet will collapse under the vacuum in a fiery hellstorm of molten plastic, cheap Ebay crap and junk email ... Kids'll start going back to books an learnin stuff, reckessly doin shit-tons of homework instead of downloading illegal music and pornography from chatrooms loaded with creepy perverts. We need a good, solid plan. Humanity is depending on us!"
Legless Jim scratched his chin. "Why is it I have the feeling that we'll sit here brainstorming for hours, and this feeble plotline will never even come up again?"
"Oooooo look!," exclaims LOBO. "A shiny object!"
[Mr. Insanity]
I'm forced to admit that without Dash haranguing us on expenses, we've been taking certain "liberties" with the Predator Press budget.
Legless Jim, a whiz with numbers, rapidly typed into the calculator. Finally, he rips off the tape and inspects the digits at the bottom.
He whistles.
"Says here Predator Press operates at a deficit of roughly three hundred and fifty-two trillion dollars annually."
"Wow," says LOBO, despondent. "A few more years of that and we'll really be screwed."
"We could have a bake sale," I says.
"Can any of us cook?"
The three of us looked at each other.
"Not me," says LOBO. "When I poured milk on my Cap'n Crunch this morning, it burst into flames." He started pacing the floor. "It worked out okay for the Captain, though. He got a Purple Heart, a Distinguished Service medal, and was ultimately promoted to Admiral."
He stops and whirls on us. "C'mon guys. This is serious. If Predator Press goes belly up, the entire internet will collapse under the vacuum in a fiery hellstorm of molten plastic, cheap Ebay crap and junk email ... Kids'll start going back to books an learnin stuff, reckessly doin shit-tons of homework instead of downloading illegal music and pornography from chatrooms loaded with creepy perverts. We need a good, solid plan. Humanity is depending on us!"
Legless Jim scratched his chin. "Why is it I have the feeling that we'll sit here brainstorming for hours, and this feeble plotline will never even come up again?"
"Oooooo look!," exclaims LOBO. "A shiny object!"
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