Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me ....
Predator Press
[Mr. I]
Jimmy Orlando, at the podium, continued. "Have any of you noticed that you have been to three funerals for LOBO in six months, and yet he's still here?"
Everyone except LOBO raised their hands.
The conference room lit up with a 3-D hologram of what was apparently our own beloved Milky Way galaxy.
“Cool!” breathed LOBO.
“Yes,” agreed Jimmy Orlando. “What you see now, highlighted in green, is our solar system.” A holographic arrow circled the area. “And here we see,” as another arrow drew our attention, “the recently renamed 'Steve Loves Amanda XOX' galaxy.”
“Slax,” volunteers LOBO helpfully.
“Yes,” Jimmy Orlando agrees again. “In 1997, this galaxy was commonly known as 12Xc25b. But in 1998, the International Star Registry renamed this galaxy, ‘Steve Loves Amanda XOX’.”
“So?”
“Well, unfortunately, in the native language of the current occupants, ‘Steve Loves Amanda XOX’ translates to 'Your mother is a douchebag-chuggin’ bitch so ugly she has to fake orgasms while masturbating'. In response, they have launched a devious plan: to manufacture millions of LOBOs, so there are millions of mindless subscribers overpaying for absolutely nothing whatsoever … the funds for which are to be filtered exclusively to boisterous and baseless propaganda and commercials designed to increase public interest and sympathy here on Earth. They call it: Plan Comcast.”
“Those bastards,” says Phoebe.
"We considered just renaming the thing, but that would've just made us change a lot of maps and astrological readings. So as of now, there is a worldwide call for LOBOcide. Insanely brutal, ruthless and excessive force has been authorized at the highest level of every government of the face of the Earth."
“Is that moral?” asked Phoebe.
“Is that legal?” asked Sapphire.
“Is there a bounty?” I asked.
“Is there going to be food at this thing?” asked LOBO. “At least bagels or something? I’m starving. Are we out of bagels? Are there any of those plastic jellys left? It's too cold in here and this coffee sucks, I might add. Can you turn on those cool graphics again?”
“The fact is,” sighs Jimmy Orlando, “it’s a Class-X Felony not to kill them.”
“This means you won’t turn on those cool graphics again, doesn’t it?” LOBO complains. “What time is break scheduled for? I have to use ‘The Head’, if you catch my drift—“
“Ooooh,” says Sapphire, reaching for her shotgun. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time—“
BLAM
My ears are ringing.
LOBO, missing the back of his head, slumped to the ground. I followed it closely looking down Sapphire’s barrel.
“You asshole!,” says Sapphire to me. “You didn’t even bring a gun. That kill was mine--"
“Take it outside, dammit!” yells Jimmy, on the ground, fingers in his ears. “Just look at this mess!”
“Hey, how do we know which one’s the original?” I ask.
"Ethan suspects he already has the original in custody," replies Jimmy Orlando. "The suspect has already pounced Anna Nicole Smith, but the Pork Chop Test is still pending." Jimmy Orlando stands, seeing a chunk of bloody brain tissue on his lapel. "You're paying for my dry cleaning, asshole!"
I barely hear. With Sapphire’s shotgun, I’m headed out into the LOBO-infested world.
… and I’m in a murderous mood.
[Mr. I]
Jimmy Orlando, at the podium, continued. "Have any of you noticed that you have been to three funerals for LOBO in six months, and yet he's still here?"
Everyone except LOBO raised their hands.
The conference room lit up with a 3-D hologram of what was apparently our own beloved Milky Way galaxy.
“Cool!” breathed LOBO.
“Yes,” agreed Jimmy Orlando. “What you see now, highlighted in green, is our solar system.” A holographic arrow circled the area. “And here we see,” as another arrow drew our attention, “the recently renamed 'Steve Loves Amanda XOX' galaxy.”
“Slax,” volunteers LOBO helpfully.
“Yes,” Jimmy Orlando agrees again. “In 1997, this galaxy was commonly known as 12Xc25b. But in 1998, the International Star Registry renamed this galaxy, ‘Steve Loves Amanda XOX’.”
“So?”
“Well, unfortunately, in the native language of the current occupants, ‘Steve Loves Amanda XOX’ translates to 'Your mother is a douchebag-chuggin’ bitch so ugly she has to fake orgasms while masturbating'. In response, they have launched a devious plan: to manufacture millions of LOBOs, so there are millions of mindless subscribers overpaying for absolutely nothing whatsoever … the funds for which are to be filtered exclusively to boisterous and baseless propaganda and commercials designed to increase public interest and sympathy here on Earth. They call it: Plan Comcast.”
“Those bastards,” says Phoebe.
"We considered just renaming the thing, but that would've just made us change a lot of maps and astrological readings. So as of now, there is a worldwide call for LOBOcide. Insanely brutal, ruthless and excessive force has been authorized at the highest level of every government of the face of the Earth."
“Is that moral?” asked Phoebe.
“Is that legal?” asked Sapphire.
“Is there a bounty?” I asked.
“Is there going to be food at this thing?” asked LOBO. “At least bagels or something? I’m starving. Are we out of bagels? Are there any of those plastic jellys left? It's too cold in here and this coffee sucks, I might add. Can you turn on those cool graphics again?”
“The fact is,” sighs Jimmy Orlando, “it’s a Class-X Felony not to kill them.”
“This means you won’t turn on those cool graphics again, doesn’t it?” LOBO complains. “What time is break scheduled for? I have to use ‘The Head’, if you catch my drift—“
“Ooooh,” says Sapphire, reaching for her shotgun. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time—“
BLAM
My ears are ringing.
LOBO, missing the back of his head, slumped to the ground. I followed it closely looking down Sapphire’s barrel.
“You asshole!,” says Sapphire to me. “You didn’t even bring a gun. That kill was mine--"
“Take it outside, dammit!” yells Jimmy, on the ground, fingers in his ears. “Just look at this mess!”
“Hey, how do we know which one’s the original?” I ask.
"Ethan suspects he already has the original in custody," replies Jimmy Orlando. "The suspect has already pounced Anna Nicole Smith, but the Pork Chop Test is still pending." Jimmy Orlando stands, seeing a chunk of bloody brain tissue on his lapel. "You're paying for my dry cleaning, asshole!"
I barely hear. With Sapphire’s shotgun, I’m headed out into the LOBO-infested world.
… and I’m in a murderous mood.
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