Predator Press
[LOBO]
“You’re mine now,” says Babs. “Simple as that. I posted bail, and you’ve posted 'The Sh*rt' 85,211 times at $35,000 a pop."
“Yeah,” I says. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have showed me how to ‘cut and paste’ it.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter. You own the controlling interest in Hawly Enterprises, and since you’re mine, Hawly Enterprises is mine.”
“Look,” I says. “Take Ethan--“
“No,” says Babs. “Ethan is too smart to fall for me just trying to have sex with him until he dies of cardiac arrest.”
“Really?”
“—And that just leaves you.”
“Look Babs,” I says, rubbing the ink from my fingertips. “If this is just an elaborate plan to get into my pants--“
“No baby,” Babs smirks, rolling her eyes. “I’m into you for your mind.”
“You’re having wet, hot screamy sex with my mind!?”
Babs pauses, perplexed. “Well, I--,” she chokes.
“Whore!"
Tuesday
SHART ATTACK
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Evidently, running around in a sexy tight suit and a mask is frowned upon by society in general.
In fact, some states make you register; according to my lawyer, I would’ve gone to the “Big House” for sure were it not for Babs.
Now, I’m not stupid. I know that “Big Houses” are drafty, haunted, and have really big fucking lawns ... and it’s no secret how much I would despise landscaping for the Undead … hell, the pays lousy, and they bitch no matter where you dig.
On a less professional note, Ethan just informed me that every time I post the words "The Shart" from here on out, the FCC is making me donate $35,000 to charity.
He would’ve told me sooner, but he needed only 70-Large more to cure leukemia.
[LOBO]
Evidently, running around in a sexy tight suit and a mask is frowned upon by society in general.
In fact, some states make you register; according to my lawyer, I would’ve gone to the “Big House” for sure were it not for Babs.
Now, I’m not stupid. I know that “Big Houses” are drafty, haunted, and have really big fucking lawns ... and it’s no secret how much I would despise landscaping for the Undead … hell, the pays lousy, and they bitch no matter where you dig.
On a less professional note, Ethan just informed me that every time I post the words "The Shart" from here on out, the FCC is making me donate $35,000 to charity.
He would’ve told me sooner, but he needed only 70-Large more to cure leukemia.
Super Setbacks
Predator Press
[The Shart]
Typically as the city sleeps, The Shart's youthful grad-student sidekick Matt McCord dutifully scours The Shart's email in search of leads.
But tonight, Matt played World of Warcaft for nine hours, and "Enlarge Your Penis" SPAM beguiled him into downloading crippling viruses via porn while sleeping with a slice of Dominoes Pizza on his lap.
This effectively shut down The Shart's Central Network of Intelligence Agencies for almost six months.
... and I bet the Dominoes guy never shows again.
[The Shart]
Typically as the city sleeps, The Shart's youthful grad-student sidekick Matt McCord dutifully scours The Shart's email in search of leads.But tonight, Matt played World of Warcaft for nine hours, and "Enlarge Your Penis" SPAM beguiled him into downloading crippling viruses via porn while sleeping with a slice of Dominoes Pizza on his lap.
This effectively shut down The Shart's Central Network of Intelligence Agencies for almost six months.
... and I bet the Dominoes guy never shows again.
Monday
With Great Power Comes Hot Chicks
Predator Press
[The Shart]
Like any other Superhero, The Shart is ever-tormented by tragic internal struggle.
But The Shart is new at this "Superhero" gig. As soon as The Shart thinks of a cool one, The Shart will let you know.
For now, The Shart is busy seeking out the Pianosian Syndicate: a worldwide wretched and lethal bunch of organized cutthroat thugs that’ll poke your eye out sooner’n look at you.
The Shart didn't find them under The Shart's bed.
… In a few hours, The Shart will probably check the rest of the bedroom ...
[The Shart]
Like any other Superhero, The Shart is ever-tormented by tragic internal struggle.
But The Shart is new at this "Superhero" gig. As soon as The Shart thinks of a cool one, The Shart will let you know.
For now, The Shart is busy seeking out the Pianosian Syndicate: a worldwide wretched and lethal bunch of organized cutthroat thugs that’ll poke your eye out sooner’n look at you.
The Shart didn't find them under The Shart's bed.
… In a few hours, The Shart will probably check the rest of the bedroom ...
Sunday
"THE SHART" BITES
Predator Press Unaware that he is about to be apprehended and beaten severely, notorious "Shovelman" attempts to steal snow from the State Capitol of beloved Pianosa
--all to fuel Mister Cold Miser's sinister groundhog-killing "Doomsday Device"
Beware Miscreants!
Predator Press
[The Shart]
As metropolitan Pianosa slumbers peacefully, I prowl the shadows in a sexy, tight-fitting rubber suit, seeking out evil and injustice that must be smoten.
Wherever there’s a hot chick in danger of some creepy guy stalking her in the night, I’ll be there.
Swift, lethal and tenacious --like the shark-- I'm always one step ahead of the authorities because I’m smart.
I am The Shart.
[The Shart]
As metropolitan Pianosa slumbers peacefully, I prowl the shadows in a sexy, tight-fitting rubber suit, seeking out evil and injustice that must be smoten.
Wherever there’s a hot chick in danger of some creepy guy stalking her in the night, I’ll be there.
Swift, lethal and tenacious --like the shark-- I'm always one step ahead of the authorities because I’m smart.
I am The Shart.
Saturday
Secret War
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In the subseqent Lobonian trial, it was found that Frank was completely innocent, and that he killed Doctor Dentin Whatsit in self-defense.
The victim was British, after all.
But as they hauled him away to Guantanamo Bay, Frank somehow let it slip that I possess weapons of mass destruction.
I swear to God after I built them, my mom said "You'll poke your eye out!", and I haven't thought about them since.
It's really my mom's fault if you think about it ...
[LOBO]
In the subseqent Lobonian trial, it was found that Frank was completely innocent, and that he killed Doctor Dentin Whatsit in self-defense.
The victim was British, after all.
But as they hauled him away to Guantanamo Bay, Frank somehow let it slip that I possess weapons of mass destruction.I swear to God after I built them, my mom said "You'll poke your eye out!", and I haven't thought about them since.
It's really my mom's fault if you think about it ...
DOT Matrix
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Ethan,” I says into the phone. “We’ve got a Code Four in progress!”
“What?” Ethan says, alarmed. “Frank killed a DOT Officer in the break room with your Dukes of Hazzard lunch box because you were about to get busted for Felony Tax Fraud, and you’re trying to find someplace to hide the body again?”
“But this time it’s different!" I protest. "He was British.”
[LOBO]
“Ethan,” I says into the phone. “We’ve got a Code Four in progress!”
“What?” Ethan says, alarmed. “Frank killed a DOT Officer in the break room with your Dukes of Hazzard lunch box because you were about to get busted for Felony Tax Fraud, and you’re trying to find someplace to hide the body again?”
“But this time it’s different!" I protest. "He was British.”
Ink
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Writing off 50,000 gallons of blog ink on my taxes as a business expense seemed like a good idea at the time, but the decision has haunted me ever since.
Like today, for instance. It’s hard enough to write this crap … but there’s a whole logistical side to it as well; this week I spent about sixty hours –and part of my Saturday no less—at the warehouse, making sure things “tick”.
In the break room, I was peeling through a day-old newspaper and absently making small talk with one of our maintenance employees, Frank Kowalski. Frank -complete with his tattoos, shaven head, and Insane Clown Posse attire- was 'rendered' a good listener, due mostly to having broken most of his teeth over a gigantic metal stud tongue piecing.
Deceptively intelligent, he is widely regarded by me as the eyes and ears of the whole complex.
Suddenly, this handlebar-mustached old guy I’ve never seen before struts confidently in and flashes his badge.
“Are you David Curr?” he asks in a thick, foreign accent.
“I’m LOBO,” I says, trying to be cagey.
“My name is Destry Dentin,” he asks, squeezing the shit out of my hand. “I’m here from the Department of Transportation.”
“I’m sorry,” I say rather politely. “The Department of Transportation you say? I can barely understand you. Your butchery of our fine American language is terrible. What kind of accent is that?”
“It’s British.”
“Jesus, no wonder. I understand that the educational systems in those third world countries can be pretty sketchy. I’ll try to be patient, but speak slowly, and try to enunciate a little better; you're feeble grasp on the English languish is totally crap-o-rama, and my first impression of you might've been that you were a complete idiot were I not a worldly and educated dude." I slap him at the top of his arm to 'drive home' these helpful nuggets of wisdom. "This isn't China or France, pal ... in this country, we don't do gibberish.”
“Mr. Curr,” he says. “I’m here to inspect your hazardous material storage facilities.”
“Why would I keep my laundry at work?”
“I’m talking about the 50,000 gallons of flammable UN1210.”
“My what?”
“Your ink.”
“Oh!” I says. “Um, we’re out. Used it all.”
“You used 50,000 gallons?”
“Yep. We’re very industrious bloggers.”
“How did you dispose of the empty drums?”
“We, ah, gave them to our Waste Management Department, where the were disposed of in the most expensive, environmentally sound and legal recycling program we could find.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s amazing if you think about it. They take all that steel and grind it up and turn it into baby food for poor people or something.”
“Is that so?”
I hold up two fingers. “Scouts Honor.”
“You’re a Boy Scout?”
“Technically. If you’re still a Cub Scout when you turn seventeen, they kinda grandfather you in.”
“Well, I would certainly like to speak to this ‘Waste Management Team'.”
Frank, until then pretending not to listen, set down his issue of High Times. “What would you like to know?”
Fuck.
[LOBO]
Writing off 50,000 gallons of blog ink on my taxes as a business expense seemed like a good idea at the time, but the decision has haunted me ever since.
Like today, for instance. It’s hard enough to write this crap … but there’s a whole logistical side to it as well; this week I spent about sixty hours –and part of my Saturday no less—at the warehouse, making sure things “tick”.
In the break room, I was peeling through a day-old newspaper and absently making small talk with one of our maintenance employees, Frank Kowalski. Frank -complete with his tattoos, shaven head, and Insane Clown Posse attire- was 'rendered' a good listener, due mostly to having broken most of his teeth over a gigantic metal stud tongue piecing.
Deceptively intelligent, he is widely regarded by me as the eyes and ears of the whole complex.
Suddenly, this handlebar-mustached old guy I’ve never seen before struts confidently in and flashes his badge.
“Are you David Curr?” he asks in a thick, foreign accent.
“I’m LOBO,” I says, trying to be cagey.
“My name is Destry Dentin,” he asks, squeezing the shit out of my hand. “I’m here from the Department of Transportation.”
“I’m sorry,” I say rather politely. “The Department of Transportation you say? I can barely understand you. Your butchery of our fine American language is terrible. What kind of accent is that?”
“It’s British.”
“Jesus, no wonder. I understand that the educational systems in those third world countries can be pretty sketchy. I’ll try to be patient, but speak slowly, and try to enunciate a little better; you're feeble grasp on the English languish is totally crap-o-rama, and my first impression of you might've been that you were a complete idiot were I not a worldly and educated dude." I slap him at the top of his arm to 'drive home' these helpful nuggets of wisdom. "This isn't China or France, pal ... in this country, we don't do gibberish.”
“Mr. Curr,” he says. “I’m here to inspect your hazardous material storage facilities.”
“Why would I keep my laundry at work?”
“I’m talking about the 50,000 gallons of flammable UN1210.”
“My what?”
“Your ink.”
“Oh!” I says. “Um, we’re out. Used it all.”
“You used 50,000 gallons?”
“Yep. We’re very industrious bloggers.”
“How did you dispose of the empty drums?”
“We, ah, gave them to our Waste Management Department, where the were disposed of in the most expensive, environmentally sound and legal recycling program we could find.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s amazing if you think about it. They take all that steel and grind it up and turn it into baby food for poor people or something.”
“Is that so?”
I hold up two fingers. “Scouts Honor.”
“You’re a Boy Scout?”
“Technically. If you’re still a Cub Scout when you turn seventeen, they kinda grandfather you in.”
“Well, I would certainly like to speak to this ‘Waste Management Team'.”
Frank, until then pretending not to listen, set down his issue of High Times. “What would you like to know?”
Fuck.
Friday
The Best Policy
To: Ethan Hawly
From: The Docter
Date: 02/22/07
Re: LOBO
We regret to inform you that your employee, LOBO –aka “Lance Steelpipe” as written on his verile insurance forms—will not be able to come to work today, as he has been stricken by a fatal, incurable disease and will probably die from it within hours.
We will probably release him back to duty in March.
Maybe.
From: The Docter
Date: 02/22/07
Re: LOBO
We regret to inform you that your employee, LOBO –aka “Lance Steelpipe” as written on his verile insurance forms—will not be able to come to work today, as he has been stricken by a fatal, incurable disease and will probably die from it within hours.
We will probably release him back to duty in March.
Maybe.
Well, Duh!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Why is there spaghetti sauce in this ice tray?” says Ethan.
“That’s not spaghetti sauce," says me. "That’s marinara.”
“Why is there marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because it came with the Cheese Sticks.”
“Okay,” says Ethan, exasperated. “Why is there Cheese Stick marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because I fucked up the toaster with the Cheese Sticks, okay?”
[LOBO]
“Why is there spaghetti sauce in this ice tray?” says Ethan.
“That’s not spaghetti sauce," says me. "That’s marinara.”
“Why is there marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because it came with the Cheese Sticks.”
“Okay,” says Ethan, exasperated. “Why is there Cheese Stick marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because I fucked up the toaster with the Cheese Sticks, okay?”
Black Day
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Alright, while I was away negotiating this amazing deal on bulk peanut butter, some asshole broke into my house and stoled my Pet Rock Incubator.
Do you know how long I've been waiting for those things to hatch?
Look, I wasn't neglecting them; I just thought maybe diamonds took an extra-long time! Keep the Incubator, but please, whoever you are, return the diamonds; I'm sure they are worthless to you. But they could 'bust loose' any second!
[*sigh*]
Who am I kidding?
… the fucking thing is probably on eBay already.
[LOBO]
Alright, while I was away negotiating this amazing deal on bulk peanut butter, some asshole broke into my house and stoled my Pet Rock Incubator.
Do you know how long I've been waiting for those things to hatch?
Look, I wasn't neglecting them; I just thought maybe diamonds took an extra-long time! Keep the Incubator, but please, whoever you are, return the diamonds; I'm sure they are worthless to you. But they could 'bust loose' any second!
[*sigh*]
Who am I kidding?
… the fucking thing is probably on eBay already.
Thursday
Unpopular Occupation Rattles US Morale
Predator Press
Soldiers from all branches of US military shave heads in symbolic
gesture of solidarity to raise awareness of Lobonian cable plight
gesture of solidarity to raise awareness of Lobonian cable plight
Wednesday
Sneakery
Predator PressDistressed by civil unrest and cable atrocities in Lobonia Illinois, Tony Blair withdraws troops from someplace
All-night 'rave' renders Parliament blissfully unaware
Tuesday
Thaw
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Despite the unjust, immoral, lopsided, asymmetrical offensives the US wreaked permanently upon our local economy, tourism and industrial might by shutting off our cable, we bravely carry on under our new oppressors.
But Phil is sick.
I knew something was wrong; he cranks out kittens like four times a year! But the vet just called with his test results, and he has “elevated kidney levels” and requires more tests.
I think it’s a little ironic that of everyone in this house --and their respective diets and lifestyles-- the cat is cracking up.
[LOBO]
Despite the unjust, immoral, lopsided, asymmetrical offensives the US wreaked permanently upon our local economy, tourism and industrial might by shutting off our cable, we bravely carry on under our new oppressors.
But Phil is sick.
I knew something was wrong; he cranks out kittens like four times a year! But the vet just called with his test results, and he has “elevated kidney levels” and requires more tests.
I think it’s a little ironic that of everyone in this house --and their respective diets and lifestyles-- the cat is cracking up.
Monday
LOBONIA SURRENDERS; SUES FOR PEACE
Predator Press
Shortest Insurrection in US History
”The sooner we get our Reparations, the sooner we can rebuild,” says Lobonain Chancellor. "Now will you please turn my cable back on?"
Shortest Insurrection in US History
”The sooner we get our Reparations, the sooner we can rebuild,” says Lobonain Chancellor. "Now will you please turn my cable back on?"
Predator Press Reviews: Canadian Bacon
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Well, the author of such books as Bowling For Columbine and Fahrenheit 911 has gone and scared the shit out of me again with his latest documentary Canadian Bacon, starring critically acclaimed Rip Torn and a lot of other really talented actors.
In this movie, Roger Moore unveils footage of Americans concocting a phony threat from another country in order to secure political stability and fulfill the agenda of a greedy profiteer that personally benefits from America’s participation in a war.
--God, if I would’ve written it as a science fiction story you wouldn’t have believed it.
Well, needless to say, I panicked and seceded from the United States.
No, I’m serious. I have proudly hoisted the new flag of glorious Sovereign LOBONIA.
It's a little too 'friendly' as far as I'm concerned, but I want to encourage the local "surf and sand" lifestyle, as well as robust trade, supermodel tourism, and hearty taxation.
Rather 'geographically inconvenient' for the Capitalist pig-dogs, LOBONIA is smack in the middle of Illinois, and surrounded on all borders by entire suburbs of lousy hostiles and bewildered, asshole neighbors that have absolutely zero tolerance for the seemingly-alien culture and strange mores of my proud people.
Because of this, I've “liberated” some traffic barricades, and have placed them right where you would turn onto my street: none of you crazy foreigners and illegal aliens and immigrants are allowed beyond my new International Passport Checkpoint of Doom without being pelted by a massive arsenal of state-of-the-art, “fire and forget” UN approved non-allergenic water balloons.
... Except the mailman. I didn’t get the water bill last month, and I’m worried that it's going to get shut off.
The mailman is crucial to my Defense Program.
[LOBO]
Well, the author of such books as Bowling For Columbine and Fahrenheit 911 has gone and scared the shit out of me again with his latest documentary Canadian Bacon, starring critically acclaimed Rip Torn and a lot of other really talented actors.In this movie, Roger Moore unveils footage of Americans concocting a phony threat from another country in order to secure political stability and fulfill the agenda of a greedy profiteer that personally benefits from America’s participation in a war.
--God, if I would’ve written it as a science fiction story you wouldn’t have believed it.
Well, needless to say, I panicked and seceded from the United States.
No, I’m serious. I have proudly hoisted the new flag of glorious Sovereign LOBONIA.It's a little too 'friendly' as far as I'm concerned, but I want to encourage the local "surf and sand" lifestyle, as well as robust trade, supermodel tourism, and hearty taxation.
Rather 'geographically inconvenient' for the Capitalist pig-dogs, LOBONIA is smack in the middle of Illinois, and surrounded on all borders by entire suburbs of lousy hostiles and bewildered, asshole neighbors that have absolutely zero tolerance for the seemingly-alien culture and strange mores of my proud people.
Because of this, I've “liberated” some traffic barricades, and have placed them right where you would turn onto my street: none of you crazy foreigners and illegal aliens and immigrants are allowed beyond my new International Passport Checkpoint of Doom without being pelted by a massive arsenal of state-of-the-art, “fire and forget” UN approved non-allergenic water balloons.
... Except the mailman. I didn’t get the water bill last month, and I’m worried that it's going to get shut off.
The mailman is crucial to my Defense Program.
Sunday
Oh Yes I Did
Predator Press
[LOBO]
You know how I was wearing fake weights so I could hit on sensitive and vulnerable chicks with low self-esteem at Weight Watchers meetings?
Well, then I did something kinda reprehensible: I claimed to have invented the Fat-Burning Twinkie, and started to sell them at $4 a pop there.
Now, a $2 box of Twinkies has, well, a lot of goddamn Twinkies in it. I figure I can make maybe 5-6% on this deal, right?
At first, Weight Watchers Corporate didn’t notice anything. I --having dropped the weights-- had lost about 55 pounds while everyone else gained two or three. The net result was pretty much zero.
Ultimately, it was an IRS guy that busted me out. He had a shoebox full of checks from Weight Watchers “known associates” --currently embroiled in a lawsuit against Weight Watchers-- totaling $26,420, all made out to “cash”, and all signed by me.
Weight Watchers Corporate is just plain jealous.
[LOBO]
You know how I was wearing fake weights so I could hit on sensitive and vulnerable chicks with low self-esteem at Weight Watchers meetings?
Well, then I did something kinda reprehensible: I claimed to have invented the Fat-Burning Twinkie, and started to sell them at $4 a pop there.
Now, a $2 box of Twinkies has, well, a lot of goddamn Twinkies in it. I figure I can make maybe 5-6% on this deal, right?
At first, Weight Watchers Corporate didn’t notice anything. I --having dropped the weights-- had lost about 55 pounds while everyone else gained two or three. The net result was pretty much zero.
Ultimately, it was an IRS guy that busted me out. He had a shoebox full of checks from Weight Watchers “known associates” --currently embroiled in a lawsuit against Weight Watchers-- totaling $26,420, all made out to “cash”, and all signed by me.
Weight Watchers Corporate is just plain jealous.
Saturday
Tom Sawyer
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I’ve been going to Weight Watchers meetings for six weeks now, wearing 20 pounds of leg and wrist weights and a 35 pound plate tucked under my jacket.
Tonight, for the “Weigh In”, I’m leaving it all at home.
I am soooooo getting laid ……
[LOBO]
I’ve been going to Weight Watchers meetings for six weeks now, wearing 20 pounds of leg and wrist weights and a 35 pound plate tucked under my jacket.
Tonight, for the “Weigh In”, I’m leaving it all at home.
I am soooooo getting laid ……
Predator Press Reviews: Ghost Rider
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I don’t know why he does it, but once or twice a year Ethan makes me go and do a movie review.
And like clockwork, I come back yawning from the new Hollywood catalog of eye-popping special effects and budget surpluses, loosely wrapped around a $2 script.
But this year I was pleasantly surprised; this movie was a lot of fun.
The first thing that stands out about Ghost Rider is the all-star cast: it features a flaming skull, a tall skinny guy and a chick with fantastic cleavage, and a stellar myriad of various other supporting actors. For a documentary about a tall skinny guy selling his soul to the devil for a chick with fantastic cleavage and then becoming “Flaming Skull Guy”, I think there’s going to be huge buzz about the performances when the Oscars come around this year.
Still, while exhilarating, it was a rather disturbing piece for me --a former “Ghost Rider” myself—to watch.
***
I’m phobic of cotton.
Hey, some people are snakes, some people are spiders.
I’m cotton.
Fuck off.
So one Saturday afternoon, I wake up in dire need of an aspirin. After getting an adult to help me with the cap, I’m mortified to see a massive glob of dry, white horror in between me and my hangover medicine trapped helplessly in the bottom of the bottle.
Now the cotton, all bunched up in the bottle, will not shake out –or release a singe pill—no matter how many hours you spend shaking the bottle upside down or banging it on the table; the cotton just sits there tenaciously, hoarding all my tiny little liberators, daring me to do the unthinkable: to stick my finger in there and actually touch it --an act I know will cause certain and instantaneous death.
So, armed with my fantastic braniosity, I devised a plan.
I would use tweezers.
Now, this is obviously not the most sanitary of solutions. Immediately, I jump online and google ”sterilizing”.
Way, way down, under the Rosie O’Donnell links, there’s a medical page that says that the two best ways to rid your utensils of unwanted bacteria is to either:
1) Rub the utensil down with isopropyl alcohol, or
b) boil the utensil in water.
—So I figure “Hey, if I boil the utensil in isopropyl alcohol, it’ll be really sterile," right?
Well, it turns out that isopropyl alcohol is slightly flammable, and five seconds later, I was trying to get in the Chick Magnet, screaming.
In the dead of winter, starting a 1990 Plymouth Horizon can be rather sketchy. But after fifteen minutes or so, I was well on my way to the hospital. “Hey buddy,” teased some kids passing me on scooters. “What happened to your eyebrows?” By now, the roof liner and much of the interior had caught fire as well. I shook my fist at them, “Just wait until I get into fifth gear you little bastards!”
But atlas, even in fifth gear I could not catch them, because I had forgotten to turn off the AM radio when I turned on the headlights; the Chick Magnet sputtered and stalled. And those little bastards came back and pushed me off the road and into a snow bank!
Engulfed in flames and badly in need of a “jump”, I got out of the car swinging jumper cables over my head in effort to flag down another motorist …
[LOBO]
I don’t know why he does it, but once or twice a year Ethan makes me go and do a movie review.And like clockwork, I come back yawning from the new Hollywood catalog of eye-popping special effects and budget surpluses, loosely wrapped around a $2 script.
But this year I was pleasantly surprised; this movie was a lot of fun.
The first thing that stands out about Ghost Rider is the all-star cast: it features a flaming skull, a tall skinny guy and a chick with fantastic cleavage, and a stellar myriad of various other supporting actors. For a documentary about a tall skinny guy selling his soul to the devil for a chick with fantastic cleavage and then becoming “Flaming Skull Guy”, I think there’s going to be huge buzz about the performances when the Oscars come around this year.
Still, while exhilarating, it was a rather disturbing piece for me --a former “Ghost Rider” myself—to watch.
I’m phobic of cotton.
Hey, some people are snakes, some people are spiders.
I’m cotton.
Fuck off.
So one Saturday afternoon, I wake up in dire need of an aspirin. After getting an adult to help me with the cap, I’m mortified to see a massive glob of dry, white horror in between me and my hangover medicine trapped helplessly in the bottom of the bottle.
Now the cotton, all bunched up in the bottle, will not shake out –or release a singe pill—no matter how many hours you spend shaking the bottle upside down or banging it on the table; the cotton just sits there tenaciously, hoarding all my tiny little liberators, daring me to do the unthinkable: to stick my finger in there and actually touch it --an act I know will cause certain and instantaneous death.
So, armed with my fantastic braniosity, I devised a plan.
I would use tweezers.
Now, this is obviously not the most sanitary of solutions. Immediately, I jump online and google ”sterilizing”.
Way, way down, under the Rosie O’Donnell links, there’s a medical page that says that the two best ways to rid your utensils of unwanted bacteria is to either:
1) Rub the utensil down with isopropyl alcohol, or
b) boil the utensil in water.
—So I figure “Hey, if I boil the utensil in isopropyl alcohol, it’ll be really sterile," right?
Well, it turns out that isopropyl alcohol is slightly flammable, and five seconds later, I was trying to get in the Chick Magnet, screaming.In the dead of winter, starting a 1990 Plymouth Horizon can be rather sketchy. But after fifteen minutes or so, I was well on my way to the hospital. “Hey buddy,” teased some kids passing me on scooters. “What happened to your eyebrows?” By now, the roof liner and much of the interior had caught fire as well. I shook my fist at them, “Just wait until I get into fifth gear you little bastards!”
But atlas, even in fifth gear I could not catch them, because I had forgotten to turn off the AM radio when I turned on the headlights; the Chick Magnet sputtered and stalled. And those little bastards came back and pushed me off the road and into a snow bank!
Engulfed in flames and badly in need of a “jump”, I got out of the car swinging jumper cables over my head in effort to flag down another motorist …
Malaise
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Look,” says RDO. “If you wanted to be an astronaut so bad, why did you give NASA this obviously phony letter of recommendation from Stephen Hawking?”
“Stephen Hawking and I grew up together,” says me. “We met in 4-H. It was good times. We used to road-load on the tractor and throw empty Boonesfarm bottles at the Chess Club while they were playing Dungeons and Dragons.”
“This letter is handwritten. In crayon.”
“That whole wheelchair thing is an act. It’s like his gimmick. In reality, we play racquetball every Tuesday and Thursday. And you should see the tail that guy pulls down … it’s fucking amazing. Whenever the guy mentions the ‘Planck’s Law’ or ‘quantum flux’, you can almost hear soggy panties hit the floor.”
[LOBO]
“Look,” says RDO. “If you wanted to be an astronaut so bad, why did you give NASA this obviously phony letter of recommendation from Stephen Hawking?”
“Stephen Hawking and I grew up together,” says me. “We met in 4-H. It was good times. We used to road-load on the tractor and throw empty Boonesfarm bottles at the Chess Club while they were playing Dungeons and Dragons.”
“This letter is handwritten. In crayon.”
“That whole wheelchair thing is an act. It’s like his gimmick. In reality, we play racquetball every Tuesday and Thursday. And you should see the tail that guy pulls down … it’s fucking amazing. Whenever the guy mentions the ‘Planck’s Law’ or ‘quantum flux’, you can almost hear soggy panties hit the floor.”
Friday
The Final Frontier
Predator Press
[LOBO]
”I just don’t believe practice makes perfect. I think practice makes you just like everyone else. And that’s why I’m underlining this as one of my unique qualifications for the job.”
--Something in that sentence costed me my astranot gig with NASA.
[LOBO]
”I just don’t believe practice makes perfect. I think practice makes you just like everyone else. And that’s why I’m underlining this as one of my unique qualifications for the job.”
--Something in that sentence costed me my astranot gig with NASA.
Thursday
Tinker
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Admittedly, I’ve been “cheesing out” on the writing lately, and causing somewhat of a dial-up pile-up with all the pictures.
But while millions and millions of Luddite readers merely bitched and moaned, I was spending countless hours trying to build the Predator Press site map.
A “site map”, Lady Pyrate explained to me, is a series of HTML code that makes your site search-friendly to Google and Yahoo robots and spiders.
Now, call me crazy, but robots and spiders will buy less of this crappy Predator Press merchandise than even you ... and my house is already piled to the sky with crates of baseball caps and T-shirts.
It's very simple if you think about it:
a) Robots look lousy in the sweaters, and are not even approved to have Paypal accounts yet, and
2) spiders are just plain icky.
[LOBO]
Admittedly, I’ve been “cheesing out” on the writing lately, and causing somewhat of a dial-up pile-up with all the pictures.
But while millions and millions of Luddite readers merely bitched and moaned, I was spending countless hours trying to build the Predator Press site map.
A “site map”, Lady Pyrate explained to me, is a series of HTML code that makes your site search-friendly to Google and Yahoo robots and spiders.
Now, call me crazy, but robots and spiders will buy less of this crappy Predator Press merchandise than even you ... and my house is already piled to the sky with crates of baseball caps and T-shirts.
It's very simple if you think about it:
a) Robots look lousy in the sweaters, and are not even approved to have Paypal accounts yet, and
2) spiders are just plain icky.
Tuesday
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
If I had this outfit, I would walk around in blizzards just to freak people out.
... I'll bet I could take out major intersections with a single verse of "The Macarena".
Monday
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Hypothetical Situation:The long-haired guy wants airline tickets.
Does he whip out:
a) his Platinum Card, or,
b) his penis?
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
"Ever had that nightmare where you're dancin 'The Locomotion', and suddenly wake up gettin a Grammy on television?"
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
"Listen, I want you guys to have a good time tonight, so stay the fuck away from Imogen Heap, okay?"
Sunday
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
When attending the Grammys, please remember to turn your headlights --and your 'FREAK'-- off in the Parking Facility.
Saturday
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
Shortly after trying to "google" Google, this poor girl was suddenly devoured by a ravenous swatch of carnivorous shag carpeting.
49th Annual Grammy Coverage
Predator Press
No one was more shocked than I to see my former fashion consultant and fitness trainer had finally made the 'Big Time'.
--particularly after he stole all my feather boas and ate my Chicken McNuggets.
Replacing the Chick Magnet
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I told the people at Carmax.com that I wanted the hottest, coolest, fastest, girl-kissinest car that was ever made
After they ran my credit, they recommended the ANDYCAR XLS
The sales guy boasts this sporty compact has "immaculate interior, immeasurable mileage, and good, sturdy suspension".
[LOBO]
I told the people at Carmax.com that I wanted the hottest, coolest, fastest, girl-kissinest car that was ever made
After they ran my credit, they recommended the ANDYCAR XLS
The sales guy boasts this sporty compact has "immaculate interior, immeasurable mileage, and good, sturdy suspension".
Next Year In Review
Predator Press
[LOBO]
click image to ... uh ... 
Ethan, drunk and on vacation in Cancun,
passes out cold with hats on backwards
[As a gag, we airbrushed out his muscles.]
[LOBO]
passes out cold with hats on backwards
[As a gag, we airbrushed out his muscles.]
Friday
Crushed
Predator Press
[LOBO]
It has always been my lifelong ambition to one day become a guard at a women's prison.
And then I saw this.
I'm far too young and impressionable to have my dreams stomped on like that.
The freckled Red Menace must be stopped.
[LOBO]
It has always been my lifelong ambition to one day become a guard at a women's prison.
And then I saw this.
I'm far too young and impressionable to have my dreams stomped on like that.
The freckled Red Menace must be stopped.
Thursday
Oh No
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Anna Nicole Smith holds distinctions other than those Playboy "articles" that I read and reread from 1992-1995, some of 1997, and 3 times in public in 2001.
(Cops in Memphis are pretty uptight.)
Well, I miss her, and it all seems a lot less funny now.
Thank God there’s always the Space Program.
[*sigh*]
[LOBO]
Anna Nicole Smith holds distinctions other than those Playboy "articles" that I read and reread from 1992-1995, some of 1997, and 3 times in public in 2001.(Cops in Memphis are pretty uptight.)
Well, I miss her, and it all seems a lot less funny now.
Thank God there’s always the Space Program.
[*sigh*]
Wow what a trip!
Predator Press
[Lady Pyrate]
Boarding the plane headed towards Pianosa I sat down in my seat, which happened to be right next to the exit door. The stewardess comes by to check to see if I had my seatbelt on then politely with a dead serious expression on her face asks me.
“In case of an emergency crash landing could you open the hatch and help get people off of the plane?”
Hesitating for only a brief 5 or 10 minutes I can’t quite remember it was all a blur I manage to say.
“Yes I can do that if I remember how to open the door and not frantically bang and claw on it while screaming Oh my fu#$% God trying to get out of this burning inferno, and if I am not horribly dismembered. Could you get me two bottles of Jack, 1 bottle of Rum, a cup of ice and hold the coke please, I am deathly afraid to fly on airplanes.”
Damn I hated giving up that window seat and you know she didn’t have to yank so hard. Needless to say the flight went well, no mishaps at all and I was good and sauced by the time we landed. This was the condition I was in the first time I laid eyes on LOBO and the infamous Chick Magnet.
It’s all true Ladies and whoever else is reading this, LOBO is an extremely good-looking, charming little devil, who kept me very busy :) and the Chick Magnet does exist in all its glory and splendor. I am so glad LOBO chose to pick me up in that instead of the original plan to get a luxury convertible rental car. He told me that if I was real good I could even take it for a spin around the block. I didn’t quite like the fact of being chased by hordes of horny women but hey it wasn’t that bad, a bit uncomfortable mind you but not bad. Except for that one chick who came running out of that adult bookstore towards the Magnet…well never mind no need to go into details you get the picture.
Finally meeting Ethan was incredible, I was mesmerized by his long flowing Fabio hair I just wanted to run my fingers through it, until he took his extensions out and handed them to me as a souvenir, which was a bit freaky but what a great color.
All in all you won’t meet a greater bunch of people in your life and I am so glad I did. Thank you LOBO and Ethan for making me feel so welcome…
Until Next Time
[Lady Pyrate]
Boarding the plane headed towards Pianosa I sat down in my seat, which happened to be right next to the exit door. The stewardess comes by to check to see if I had my seatbelt on then politely with a dead serious expression on her face asks me.
“In case of an emergency crash landing could you open the hatch and help get people off of the plane?”
Hesitating for only a brief 5 or 10 minutes I can’t quite remember it was all a blur I manage to say.
“Yes I can do that if I remember how to open the door and not frantically bang and claw on it while screaming Oh my fu#$% God trying to get out of this burning inferno, and if I am not horribly dismembered. Could you get me two bottles of Jack, 1 bottle of Rum, a cup of ice and hold the coke please, I am deathly afraid to fly on airplanes.”
Damn I hated giving up that window seat and you know she didn’t have to yank so hard. Needless to say the flight went well, no mishaps at all and I was good and sauced by the time we landed. This was the condition I was in the first time I laid eyes on LOBO and the infamous Chick Magnet.
It’s all true Ladies and whoever else is reading this, LOBO is an extremely good-looking, charming little devil, who kept me very busy :) and the Chick Magnet does exist in all its glory and splendor. I am so glad LOBO chose to pick me up in that instead of the original plan to get a luxury convertible rental car. He told me that if I was real good I could even take it for a spin around the block. I didn’t quite like the fact of being chased by hordes of horny women but hey it wasn’t that bad, a bit uncomfortable mind you but not bad. Except for that one chick who came running out of that adult bookstore towards the Magnet…well never mind no need to go into details you get the picture.
Finally meeting Ethan was incredible, I was mesmerized by his long flowing Fabio hair I just wanted to run my fingers through it, until he took his extensions out and handed them to me as a souvenir, which was a bit freaky but what a great color.
All in all you won’t meet a greater bunch of people in your life and I am so glad I did. Thank you LOBO and Ethan for making me feel so welcome…
Until Next Time
Wednesday
Next Year In Review
Predator Press
DESPITE GPA DIVE, PARIS HILTON'S
QUANTUM MECHANICS FOR DUMMIES
#1 BESTSELLER ON COLLEGE CAMPUSES
"Paris’ tawdry and sexualized behavior objectifies and therefore degrades all women," says pasty, pudgy, acne-riddled, Twinkie-scarfing, Starbucks-toting, hemp-wearing, hairy snaggltoothed gnarly-toed behemoth pooch protester.
DESPITE GPA DIVE, PARIS HILTON'S
QUANTUM MECHANICS FOR DUMMIES
#1 BESTSELLER ON COLLEGE CAMPUSES
"Paris’ tawdry and sexualized behavior objectifies and therefore degrades all women," says pasty, pudgy, acne-riddled, Twinkie-scarfing, Starbucks-toting, hemp-wearing, hairy snaggltoothed gnarly-toed behemoth pooch protester.
Avast
Predator Press
[LOBO]
This past week has been pretty eventful.
We’ve upgraded to the “new” Blogger with rather mixed commentary … while indeed a little less “sketchy” connection-wise than the original (since they seem to have more-or-less abandoned it), having multiple authors operating out of the same email address appears impossible.
Unfortunately, getting separate email addresses for Cobe, Sapphire, Mr. Insanity, and DASH would’ve costed us like eight bucks a year ... and eight bucks a year is approximately 84% of the entire budget for 2007-2012.
Having fallen upon hard times, we are making the painful decisions necessary to carry on.
Please take the time to wish them all your luck and prayers as they are all subsequently going through some very tough times. And quit being such heartless jerks; it's -21 degrees outside. Have you no conscience?
Conversely I would like to thank LadyPyrate and officially welcome her to Predator Press. Not only does she have her own email address already, but she is one of our oldest and dearest collaborators, and one of my favorite people on Earth.
And were your feeble mortal eyes ever to actually see the cockpit of digitally-deviant, lethal technological terror she has devised for me, your unprepared retinas would reflexively drive deeply into your brain, spitting corrosive organic acids that would doubtlessly make you instantly insane.
Unfortunately we are no longer hiring.
[LOBO]
This past week has been pretty eventful.
We’ve upgraded to the “new” Blogger with rather mixed commentary … while indeed a little less “sketchy” connection-wise than the original (since they seem to have more-or-less abandoned it), having multiple authors operating out of the same email address appears impossible.
Unfortunately, getting separate email addresses for Cobe, Sapphire, Mr. Insanity, and DASH would’ve costed us like eight bucks a year ... and eight bucks a year is approximately 84% of the entire budget for 2007-2012.
Having fallen upon hard times, we are making the painful decisions necessary to carry on.
Please take the time to wish them all your luck and prayers as they are all subsequently going through some very tough times. And quit being such heartless jerks; it's -21 degrees outside. Have you no conscience?
Conversely I would like to thank LadyPyrate and officially welcome her to Predator Press. Not only does she have her own email address already, but she is one of our oldest and dearest collaborators, and one of my favorite people on Earth.
And were your feeble mortal eyes ever to actually see the cockpit of digitally-deviant, lethal technological terror she has devised for me, your unprepared retinas would reflexively drive deeply into your brain, spitting corrosive organic acids that would doubtlessly make you instantly insane.
Unfortunately we are no longer hiring.
Tuesday
Thursday
Weaponized Magenta
Predator Press
[LOBO]
The flame out I got from “anonymous” on 401k-9 last week struck me as really funny.
After years of mercilessly spoofing just about everything from sports, science, politicians, the handicapped, religion, ad nauseam, who “comes out swinging”?
Redheads.
[LOBO]
The flame out I got from “anonymous” on 401k-9 last week struck me as really funny.
After years of mercilessly spoofing just about everything from sports, science, politicians, the handicapped, religion, ad nauseam, who “comes out swinging”?
Redheads.
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