Tuesday

LOBOnian Marines, Air Force Flex Military Muscle

Predator Press

[Associated Press]

In order to prevent what was labeled as a 'false sense of security' due to LOBO’s departure, LOBOnian officials have released footage of secret military exercises designed to scare Pianosa I into "keeping their shit together or else."

“Under LOBOnian leadership, Pianosa I is now recognized as The Mecca of Wisdom and Progress," replied the LOBOnian Chancellor in a telephoned interview. "We decided that demonstrating our military capacity to strike from the skies or unseen from the forests would serve as a warning not to start farming soybeans and corn -or something equally lame."

"It’s for their own good,” he continued. "Now if you will excuse me, I have to chainsaw down this tree so's I can get our bomber back."

Monday

Sin, Sex, and Sunday Night Football

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Come in!” I says swinging the door open wide. “Good to see you guys!”

“Thanks LOBO,” Jessica says stepping inside. Eric hands me a bottle of wine with a ribbon tied around it. “This is for you and Terri. We heard you two were moving to California.”

“Oooh fancy,” I says, reading the label. “How’ve you been? And where have you been? We haven’t seen you guys in ages.”

“Jessica and I have been going to church a lot,” says Eric.

“Well that explains it then.”

“How come you haven’t been going?” asks Jessica.

“Terri is there now,” I reply. "That counts, right?"

Jessica scowls. “You don’t go?”

“I just went last year, remember? There was a full-on sermon about some guy.” I set the bottle on the table and gesture for them to sit. Easing back in the recliner, I check the Redskins score. “Besides, despite all my prayers God apparently hates my Fantasy Football team. We’re 1-and-2. I’m kinda thinking maybe I should lay low for a while.”

At that exact moment, Terrell Owens nimbly slipped through a thick defense and scored a touchdown.

Subtly wiping back a tear I says, “So what triggered all this new interest in religion?”

Eric’s eyes get a little evasive.

“We were,” Jessica hesitates, “having some marital issues.”

“Really?”

“But we’ve been getting counseling,” says Eric. He smiles at Jessica, and clasps her hand. “It’s been really great for us.”

“I’ll bet,” I concur. “Probably the best thing for you. And I hear it’s a sin if a wife doesn’t submit to her husband’s –eh, desires.”

Jessica goes fire truck red.

Eric squirms. ‘We’ve, uh, learned to come to terms and respect one another.”

“Well it must save you two a lot of foreplay,” I affirm. “Take your pants off bitch, or I’m tellin’ Jesus!”


Sunday

Just So You Know ...

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Once again -at great expense to you- Predator Press scienticans have stepped up to answer the burning question on everyone's mind: What are the origins of the month of October?

"October" is a smooshed-together Latin word, combining 'octo' which means eight-armed and 'ber' which is short for bear that eats Greyhound busses and pagans.

The Latinos were a notoriously lazy people that abbreviated virtually everything they possibly could.

Saturday

The Westward Ho Bag

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Yes, it is true that Terri and I are indeed are headed to California.

I mentioned it before on this blog.

But I have also mentioned conspiring with space aliens for the overthrow of Humankind, indestructible fusion-powered robotic ex-girlfriends, and a dragon that plays spectacular Scrabble.

-If you weren’t taking me seriously then, I don’t think you people will take anything seriously.

I must say a tearful goodbye to my beloved Pianosa.

I will miss this place.

My initial reaction was what some people might call a bit selfish: If I can’t continue to enjoy Pianosa, why should anyone else?

I figured by nuking Pianosa to smithereens and starting Pianosa II in California, I would be doing everyone a favor.

-It is, after all, the most practical course of action. Instead of moving, I could just collect the insurance money and start all over with brand new stuff!

Unfortunately, some of my favorite people live in Pianosa I.

Bastards.

I would like to assure the following “former Pianosians” that they will not be burned to cinders:

1) Dantheinventoryman: Oh man, if anyone deserves to be burned to cinders, it’s you.

But I also intuitively know you would somehow survive the radioactive fallout and find us.

You are a map slut, and billions and billions of phone books would have to be recalled and reprinted to correct your reckless and wanton geographical infidelity.

Well I like trees, and I will have no part of this.

2) HST: I’ve been a member of the band Hot Sauce Tamales for over two years now. We do Red Hot Chili Peppers cover tunes backwards-masked with Satanic messages on six rubber bands stretched to varying lengths, an oscillating weed-whacker and a slide whistle.

Way ahead of our time.

We were far and away the most innovative music space-age polymers, a two-stroke engine, latex and Spandex could possibly provide.

The people just weren’t ready for us yet.

3) Ethan: Far and away the person I’ve least fantasized about killing with an ice pick. What am I going to do without my oldest, dearest friend and mentor?

[*sniff*] And what will I do with this ice pick?

Anywho, soon I’ll be engaged simultaneously in the three most hideous and horrible experiences ever known: moving, applying for jobs, and taking acting classes.

I'm taking acting classes are just in case I can't get any other type of work.

-But I sure hope Pianosa II has a Space Program.


Wednesday

Predator Press: Exposed!

Predator Press

[Bill Curtis]

We’ve all watched the meteoric rise of Predator Press in the lucrative field of blogging, and the vast, glorious empire founded on this historic document by Ethan and LOBO.

But what do we really know about the origins of Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to go deep inside the seedy underbelly of what might be the most popular blog in the universe: Predator Press.

And what we found may shock and horrify you.


***


By appearance, Flandsa Ha’asasanba might have seemed like any other immigrant worker. When he arrived on Ellis Island with only eight dollars in his pocket, he was in pursuit of the American Dream: to work honest and hard until he encountered a situation where he could sue someone, thusly retiring in style and with a steady flow of Disability checks.

But Flandsa Hasasanba had an unrecognized talent for both turnip farming and writing; in his battered suitcase was a 600 page manuscript entitled The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

What do these seemingly disparate events have to do with Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to explore the strange twist that would entwine the dark fate of Flandsa Ha’asasanba to it forever.


***


June 6, 2003

LOBO, reputedly trying to peek up the dress of “that great big chick holding the torch,” found himself stranded on Ellis Island without the eight dollars required to ride the ferry back.

Time wore on. With a flowing unkempt beard and clothes reduced to frayed tatters, he spent the entire two hours demanding to speak to ‘Ellis’ to no avail.

Flandsa Hasasanba –who spoke no English- only smiled politely as LOBO barked madly. In turn -concluding quickly that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was one of those “Special People”- LOBO decided that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was safer as his own 'personal assistant' than he was wandering the dangerous and uncharted regions of greater New York City.

“Look at that, Friday,” said LOBO, pointing to the nearby coast with a large piece of driftwood.

“Flandsa,” Flandsa Ha’asasanba corrected smiling.

“Friday, you know I hate it when you interrupt me,” says LOBO. “Listen. Someday we are going to get off this rock. I promise you. As God as my witness, we will see civilization again!”

Flandsa Hasasanba grinned. Whatever this American hobo was saying, he certainly seemed very animated about it. Hungry, he pulled out his eight dollars and got in line behind other tourists at the hot dog stand.

-Flandsa Ha’asasanba woke several hours later with nothing but a headache, a piece of broken driftwood, and shattered hopes and dreams.

So just what happened on that fateful day of June 6, 2003?

I'm Bill Curtis.

Stay tuned.




***


This mystery might have died out completely had LOBO not emerged that very next year and started publishing on Predator Press.

-Publishing things that were raising some eyebrows.

It seems that numerous Predator Press posts bear a remarkable resemblance to Flandsa Ha’asasanba's opus The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

Obesrve the following excerpt from Flandsa Ha’asasanba's work:

"The turnip (Brassica rapa var. rapa) is a root vegetable commonly grown in temperate climates worldwide for its white, bulbous taproot. Small, tender varieties are grown for human consumption, while larger varieties are grown as feed for livestock."

-And compare it to the following uncannily similar Predator Press quote:

"Fat tourists should not tan in temperate climates worldwide. Their pasty, white bulbous flesh should not be exposed to human eyes under any circumstances. The really fat fucks should be used strictly as livestock."

-It's almost as if all the nouns and verbs have been simply erased, and replaced at random.

The similarities are unmistakable.

So did Flandsa Ha’asasanba, a clearly insane and homicidal turnip-farming immagrant prodigy, murder LOBO and steal his blog and identity?

I'm Bill Curtis.

And we may never know.


Tuesday

Monday

A Gender Crossed

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Friday I overheard a co-worker describe a nearby nightclub as a “fantastic place to meet members of the opposite sex."

-clearly referring to women.

Now it seems to me if sex is something healthy done for pleasure and procreation, the opposite would be something like a gigantic carnivorous banana that roams city streets at night in search of hapless and easy mortal prey, picking it’s teeth with car doors and radiator grills between victims.

Numerous women were within earshot of it, and I was shocked that none of them rose to stab him in the neck with any of many readily-available letter openers.

Indeed, they seemed to miss the offensive comparison entirely.

And despite this single sentence setting back the Feminist movement fifty years, all the women just continued on about their business. Is their oppression so complete they don’t even notice when explicitly slurred? I don’t know about you, but as a guy if someone called me a gigantic carnivorous banana that roams city streets at night in search of hapless and easy mortal prey picking it’s teeth with car doors and radiator grills between victims, I would totally kick his ass!

As a sophisticated and enlightened Twenty First Century gentleman, I feel we -as men- need to lead the charge. And we should start by no longer tolerating chicks bein’ called gigantic carnivorous bananas, et cetera, in the workplace.


Sunday

Where There's Smoke, There's ART

Predator Press

[LOBO]

One of the most intriguing sites I've found tooling around on the web is PaperKraft.net.

It claims that you can take this:



And make it into this:



Unfortunately, I can't confirm the veracity of the site because I always end up with this:


and occasionally this:


-It always seems to come apart during the flight stick assembly.


***


Woe to thee PaperKraft.net -if in fact that is your real name: you have cost me 17 hours of life, eighty pounds of construction paper, four gallons of Elmer's glue, and caused countless paper cuts resulting in $1,457 worth of hospital bills my insurance will not cover.

For this I'm directing the full and mighty vengeful force of Predator Press to inflict swift, lethal payback by beating you at your own game.

Jerks.

Tune in next week, 'O Loyal Reader. For then Predator Press will launch our own series of fantastical origami art tutorials.

We will teach you to take this:



And make stuff like this:





Thursday

Throb

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Are you ready to give your presentation?” asks my boss.

I have no idea how to work the PowerPoint thingy.

“My presentation,” I reply coolly.

He leans on my file cabinet. “The one I assigned you last Tuesday. On how the company is moving toward full ISO compliance.”

I also haven't the slightest clue what the ‘International Organization for Standardization' or whatever is or does.

“Sure I am,” I says.

“Care to give me some highlights?”

“Well," I says, "I figure we have to retool the whole company for it.”

“Really? Can you give me an example?”

Standing and looking around I says, “How many do you need?”

"How about just one?"

"For starters," I reply, "take for instance ... these … cubicles.”

“What about the cubicles?”

“Why hire average and large-sized people? We could fit four times as many people in here if we started hiring midgets.”

I see the temple on the left side of his head swell.

“And,” I continue, “we could stack the cubicles three-high, thusly tripling that number.”

-The right side temple pops forth, and I can clearly see the heartbeat surging through it.

“The Fire Marshall,” he replies, (thup-thup, thup-thup) “would never allow us to stack midgets in cubicles due to the lack of access to the fire escapes.”

“That’s what the tornado slides are for.”



Tuesday

The Legend of Testicles

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Sure we’ve all heard the fantastic adventures of Hercules. But Predator Press scienticians have unearthed archeological evidence that Hercules had an evil twin brother, Testicles.

Testicles wasn’t as quite as large as his legendary sibling Hercules –and frankly he wasn’t all that bright either. But in their youth, Testicles often ran the show.

Hercules and Testicles eventually became bitter rivals, and Hercules often beat Testicles severely.

One day finally Hercules beat Testicles so badly, Testicles shrank off into obscurity forever.

Monday

The Don

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When not teaching crippled orphans how to shoplift, posing for Muscle and Fitness magazine or developing cures for exotic and complex strains of hepatitis that don’t exist yet, I occasionally fight evil.

-I don’t really know why I fight evil. Evil has really never done anything to me personally. I guess it’s just a trendy thing to do to pass the time. Everybody at work is all, “What did you do over the weekend?” and the replies are totally boring like, “I watched football” or “I had a barbeque.”

That’s when I drop the bomb: “What did I do? I fought evil.”

End of conversation.

But since Doctor Tobaggans has gone into semi-retirement there has been considerably less evil in the world to fight.

-Or so I thought.

It turns out that Don Lewis’ brand of evil is far more eviler than any evil I’ve ever seen. When you mention Don Lewis in front of evil, evil goes, “Don Lewis? Man that guy is really freaking evil!

You can even spell evil if you scramble his last name:


Levvis = Evil (+ 1 "V" and an "S")


Isn't that positively frightening?

So soon I’ll be traveling out to Idaho to check up on Don.

I don’t really like leaving the country.

-But I cannot in good conscience stand by and do nothing.


Sunday

Deterrence

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“We don’t need Full Coverage,” I insist.

“Yes we do,” replies Terri, speaking more to the agent than to me.

“It costs twice as much!”

“Full Coverage,” Terri assures the agent.

“Don’t listen to her,” I says. “She orders avocado and spinach dip at restaurants. The nachos throw themselves off of the table attempting suicide.”

Terri turns to me. “Do you remember when you wrecked your last car? If you had Full Coverage, they would have cut us a check for the full value. We could have bought a new one.”

I turn to the agent. “Really?”

“Yes,” nods the agent.

“So you’re saying if I crash the car again, I’m covered.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m parked on a ferry in the middle of Loch Ness, and a 747 falls out of the sky and smashes into it sending my car spiraling into the murky depths.”

“Covered.”

“Let’s say I’m driving down by Lake Michigan, and a 450 pound shark jumps out and-“

“You’re covered,” she says.

“-I’m not done,” I says. “A 450 fifty pound shark jumps out. Smashes my car. And smashes a nearby bulletproof Secret Service limousine full of foreign dignitaries.”

The woman goes to speak, and I hold up a finger warningly.

“-But the dignitaries,” I continue, “aren’t alone in the limo: it turns out to be full of cocaine and underage hookers. And dynamite. Yeah. But when Dan Rather shows up to cover the story, Walter Cronkite calls him a 'punk-ass-bitch' and punches Dan right in the face for trying to steal his story. Tempers flare, pandemonium ensues, and after a raging gun battle Chicago is ultimately burned to rubble, occupied only by a handful of radioactive mutant survivors.”

She examines the forms closely. “Does the dynamite go off?”

“Yes,” I confess. “During the gun battle.”

“You’re covered.”

“Baby,” I says to Terri. “I think we should go with the full coverage.”

“Good idea honey,” says Terri.

The agent puts on her glasses. “Do you want roadside coverage?”

“Have you seen these roads?”

Terri interjects. “She means the insurance for tow truck service, flat tires, …”

“They fix flat tires too?” Standing, I reach for my pocketknife.

“Easy baby,” says Terri. “We haven’t signed yet.”

Disappointed, I sit. “Well those tires aren’t getting any less bald.”

Endless signatures later, the agent was sliding a card to each of us.

“What’s this?” I says.

“It’s your Bond Card. If you get a ticket, this prevents the police from confiscating your license.”

“Yeah,” I says smiling at Terri. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to drive by some cops and flash this baby. 'Fuck you, pigs! Hahahahah! Lookie here ... !'"

Saturday

Jaw Droppings

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“You’re not going to believe this,” says Terri. “You know how I’ve been getting those ads on my cellphone?”

“Yep,” I says, finishing the last knot in my new sneakers. Standing, I pose athletically. “What do you think?”

“Those are nice,” says Terri. “But darling, they just charged $100 to my credit card!”

“Did you call the bank?”

“Yes,” she says flipping open her laptop. “It turns out it’s some new kind of scam. The bank is going to email me the company’s name so I can report them for fraud.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?” I says.

”What?”

“I mean the banks are Federally insured. You’ll get your money back, and so will the bank. And this enterprising go-getter gets to redistribute the wealth. This sounds like a modern-day Robin Hood if you ask me.”

"Well the fairy tale is all over for this company," she growls into the computer screen. "They've messed with the wrong person today."

I was fully a block and a half away when I heard the shriek:

“LOBO Enterprises!?!


Friday

Points

Predator Press

[LOBO]

There comes a time in every man's life when he must kiss the children goodnight, abandon his most deeply-held holistic and peaceful beliefs, and just kick the crap out of the opposing Fantasy Football team.

Rickey -author of one of LOBO's favorite blogs Riding With Rickey- is unfortunately on the receiving end of LOBO's team's Payback Run for the humiliating defeat LOBO suffered at the hands of the Washington Crooks -coached by the writer of The Army of Epiphenomenon.

-A blog LOBO now detests entirely.

It saddens LOBO to need to destroy Rickey's team The Menschwarmers, but LOBO needs to make a bloodthirsty, crippling example of Rickey lest other Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football League members think LOBO is soft.

I hope Rickey will not take it personally when LOBO's fake cops pull his players over on the way to the game and one by one use Howitzers via helicopter to dismember them. Or when LOBO puts their remains in a wood chipper, grinds it all into goo, bakes the remains until dry, and then torches them in napalm. Or when LOBO shoots the ashes into a gigantic black hole located near the center of our galaxy

-Despite the years of friendship.

Leigh of Leigh Online -coach of the "Fantasy Virgins"- has further proposed a tempting player trade: LaDanian Tomlinson for two guys that LOBO thinks were co-workers at a Wendy's franchise just south of Des Moines.

Mmmm boy LOBO does love a good Frosty. Especially in the Summer. But unfortunately it is now officially Fall, and Predator Press Scienticians have already dissected LaDanian for his DNA (which will be used to create LaDainian clones bred to look like all the other players on LOBO's team who have thus far proven to be losers).

Besides. LOBO lives two blocks from a Wendy's; sure they screw up LOBO's drive-thru orders every once in a while, but Des Moines is a long way to go for decent fries.

But fear not Leigh! Whatever remains of LaDanian will soon be available in eBay.

(LOBO needs a new car)


Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!


Thursday

The Dogged Pound

Predator Press

[The Author]

Told I was getting MEMED for blogging tips, I wrote this a few months ago. But the MEME fell through once it was discovered that I was actually a terrible writer, blogger, et cetera.

Still, upon occasion I’ll get an email asking for traffic-building tips, writer’s block cures, or just a plain old 'where the **** do you come up with this stuff?'

I thought it was best covered (albeit slightly sarcastically) in the post How to Blog -with particular deference to the links at the bottom. These are some of my favorite authors telling you their stuff, and totally worth reading. I couldn’t do a better job of that than they did.

But ...

There are tips and there are techniques. None of them, for instance, said ‘Well I get the idea, and then I make a flow chart while waving a dead chicken over my computer.’ The “physical” behaviors were seemingly left out for the more metaphorical and conceptual rules and values.

Also perhaps worthy of note is that at the time Predator Press wasn't even in the top 30 at what is far and away the best site on the internet for laughs: Humor-Blogs. Diesel's creation has "turned me on" to 99% of my favorite authors, and it's a flat-out honor to be among them.

Anyways, this is not a particularly funny piece, but if you’re curious about how a Predator Press post is born, tortured, and finally left writhing on this blog until it dies, read on. :)


***


About six months ago, Terri and I arrived at a compromise.

She works a little later than I, so the deal was for me to try and be “finished” blogging by the time she got home. This worked out to be a little over an hour a day.

Now an hour a day will create one of two responses:

The first would be practical.

“My god that’s 7-10 hours a week. That’s a part-time job!"

The second response would be far closer to mine:

“Now how the heck am I supposed to do this in one-tenth the time!?”

So fine. At first I was posting every two or three days, putting the unfinished work down punctually due to this artificial and self-imposed “deadline”.

This caused me a lot of anxiety. I like getting things out while there’s some passion for it; all too often I would return to the same piece and have lost my enthusiasm for it entirely. (Guys like Chris Cameron of Angry Seafood will tell you he plans things out months in advance; while secretly envious of that quality, I think that’s God’s way of protecting me: if I had months worth of good ideas all at one time I would totally explode.)

Over time, an undetected transition into getting the entire post down in under an hour started to happen.

Now keep in mind that this hour is “face time” –actually sitting in front of the computer. Longer posts often took three days, required complex outlines, multiple drafts, blah blah blah. A post you start off intending to finish in one hour will have to be simple, small, potent and tight, and come in at rarely over a few paragraphs.

And a routine developed too: after work, I was "against the clock" so to speak: out of the car, boot up, and get busy.

After time, the difference was amazing.

Now don't get me wrong. I look for blog-fodder 24/7. I’ve always felt that people suffering from writer’s block are introverting too much and not paying close enough attention to their surroundings. Little “seeds” come from just about anything: workplace scenarios, kids arguing, cranky cashiers … Screechy –my five year old- is not only great for titles like “Buyer Seaware,” and “Clash of the Titanics” but he fits ‘LOBO’s’ overall adolescent outlook nicely for occasional inspiration like Spooky. Terri will attest to me waking up from dreams with posting material (Roller Coaster, for instance, was actually a fairly detailed dream that was completed in about 30 minutes after waking). Practice looking for them, and pretty soon you’ll have a notebook full of scribbled story ideas.

(It also helps if you can read your own penmanship ... )

Anyways, most Predator Press stories and blurbs have at least two major plotlines woven in (I’ll spend half the post making you forget where we started, and then twist you back violently once this is accomplished) so there’s a bit more to work out on my end. But once the overall concepts are found, then I’ll start to wrestle with the framework such as “Who/What is the vehicle for my intended destination?” and “What kind of images should I use?” et cetera.

All this is more-or-less worked out before I even touch the computer; when that hour starts, I’ve got a very full agenda already and it’s pretty carefully planned.

If there are images to find and/or doctor, that will eat my writing time. Pics -occasionally necessary BTW- are totally unpredictable: for No Mammograms Were Conducted During the Making of this Post, I spent three times the time Googling the perfect "Seedy-Looking Van with an Airbrushed Naked Chick Riding a Panther on it” than I did writing -and ended up settling on doctoring one I wasn’t 100% happy with. The Astronaut Whisperer took fifteen minutes to write, and two full “sessions” to complete the pic editing (and the final result were terrible pics, but I so badly wanted to move on!).

And I’m certainly not making any claims that these post are of the “highest quality” … in fact to the contrary, I almost have to make it a point not to go through my older stuff ‘cuz I’m always thinking “I wish I had done that differently.”

-But I’m not here to create “fine art” either. If I can get it close enough to convey the idea, that’s close enough.

I guess, in conclusion, blogging and writing are always based on life.

So don't skimp on the 'living' part.

You need it.

:)

Wednesday

A CERN Talking Through

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don’t get the fuss over the CERN Large Hadron Collider experiment.

Some mad scientists build a measly 17 mile long black hole generator, and here go all the whiny Liberals, “Boo Hoo! It could destroy the universe? Wah!

These selfish pricks should just shut up. I might like having my own personal black hole. In fact, I’ve already compiled a list of things I would like to try it out on:

  • Leftover Brussels Sprouts

  • Mail Labeled ‘Occupant’

  • Nuclear Waste

  • Tom Brady

  • Cable Bill

  • Cats

  • Prince

  • Don Lewis

  • SEO Optimizers

  • People Named 'Travis'

  • Puppy that Followed the Kids Home

  • The CERN Large Hadron Collider (now that be cool, eh? Eh?)

    And frankly, why bother fighting for this crap Universe? I'm not sure the complete destruction of this dump would be so bad anyway.

    Now Alpha Proxima?

    -That’s a Universe.


    Thank you Miss Moneypenny CPU!