Strictly Carnivore
Predator Press
[LOBO]
What a great way to celebrate the birth of www.predatorpress.com! Goddamn it, I can't say enough about how cool this blog looks now in full color.
Full Color people! Best $75,000 we ever spent. Just look at those deep, dark blues. And those ... other cool lookin' blues. And how about this white? Even through this nicotine-stained monitor, it's fucking screaming pale yellow!
(Hmmm ... come to think of it, maybe this is why everyone in my porn looks like they have hepatitis ... And shit, this is the fourth new monitor I've had to buy since June. Can't someone invent something that prevents this problem?)
Anyways, I haven't had a chance to tell you how we came about "acquiring" www.predatorpress.com.
See, back when Ethan and I started this multi-billion dollar publication, the “Predator Press” was a wildlife preservation magazine. They registered the site, but, as their priorities were the preservation of wildlife, they never developed it. Not even a lousy homepage for chrissake!
Ethan and his cadre of lawyers invited me to come along for the “negotiations”.
Intrigued, I accepted.
***
We pull up to this shack in the middle of the wilderness, and the occupant –an earthy-looking type oldster— stops a surgical procedure on a wounded badger to greet us. He has a bandaged baby falcon, not six inches long, clinging precariously on his shoulder.
“If this is a 'wildlife preserve'," I demand, "where are all the cages, you filthy, hypocritical communist fraud?"
As the good-natured geezer replies, the badger stirs sleepily. Anesthesia wearing off, it sniffs the old man briefly, and then licks his nose. Then, leaping off of the makeshift surgical table, it scampers out the door. “There are no cages here my friend,” the doddering coot says in a deep, peaceful, well-cultured voice. “This is a haven for all Nature. It’s not a prison. It is a sacred, important place, and the ecological destiny of the world depends on it.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you gentlemen drove all the way out here, but as I told you over the phone, www.predatorpress.com is not for sale.”
I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but every lawyer in Ethan’s 'cadre of lawyers' is a 8th level blackbelt, schooled for two years by Buddhist monks in a Predator Press training camp just west of the Himalayas: fresh out of law school, these Ivy League recruits ate dirt and learned to be really pissed off about having to learn all that Buddhist crap and, well, eating dirt.
We beat the fuck out of that old man.
And say what you will about “preserving wildlife”, but those falcons are pretty tasty with a little A-1 …
[LOBO]
What a great way to celebrate the birth of www.predatorpress.com! Goddamn it, I can't say enough about how cool this blog looks now in full color.
Full Color people! Best $75,000 we ever spent. Just look at those deep, dark blues. And those ... other cool lookin' blues. And how about this white? Even through this nicotine-stained monitor, it's fucking screaming pale yellow!
(Hmmm ... come to think of it, maybe this is why everyone in my porn looks like they have hepatitis ... And shit, this is the fourth new monitor I've had to buy since June. Can't someone invent something that prevents this problem?)
Anyways, I haven't had a chance to tell you how we came about "acquiring" www.predatorpress.com.
See, back when Ethan and I started this multi-billion dollar publication, the “Predator Press” was a wildlife preservation magazine. They registered the site, but, as their priorities were the preservation of wildlife, they never developed it. Not even a lousy homepage for chrissake!
Ethan and his cadre of lawyers invited me to come along for the “negotiations”.
Intrigued, I accepted.
We pull up to this shack in the middle of the wilderness, and the occupant –an earthy-looking type oldster— stops a surgical procedure on a wounded badger to greet us. He has a bandaged baby falcon, not six inches long, clinging precariously on his shoulder.
“If this is a 'wildlife preserve'," I demand, "where are all the cages, you filthy, hypocritical communist fraud?"
As the good-natured geezer replies, the badger stirs sleepily. Anesthesia wearing off, it sniffs the old man briefly, and then licks his nose. Then, leaping off of the makeshift surgical table, it scampers out the door. “There are no cages here my friend,” the doddering coot says in a deep, peaceful, well-cultured voice. “This is a haven for all Nature. It’s not a prison. It is a sacred, important place, and the ecological destiny of the world depends on it.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you gentlemen drove all the way out here, but as I told you over the phone, www.predatorpress.com is not for sale.”
I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but every lawyer in Ethan’s 'cadre of lawyers' is a 8th level blackbelt, schooled for two years by Buddhist monks in a Predator Press training camp just west of the Himalayas: fresh out of law school, these Ivy League recruits ate dirt and learned to be really pissed off about having to learn all that Buddhist crap and, well, eating dirt.
We beat the fuck out of that old man.
And say what you will about “preserving wildlife”, but those falcons are pretty tasty with a little A-1 …
Comments