Wednesday

Draw the Line

-The Six Dollar Man

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Watching TV Land from this bear trap has gone on long enough.

-Time to escape by chewing my own paw off.

(Unless they rerun Dallas.)


Friday

Internet Swag

Predator Press




Every inch of this is comedy gold
-but I don't think it was supposed to be funny.



Wednesday

Barbarossa

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I have no idea where Barbarossa got the idea that I am his parole officer, but I cannot in good conscience inhibit his reformation and social reintegration.

Not knowing what exactly a parole officer does, I had a big prize wheel installed behind my chair: among other mundane things like 'Get Another Job' and 'Help Hide the Bodies,' every fourth notch says in bold, gigantical letters, “GO BACK TO JAIL!” To keep his attention I might sort of idly move the wheel back an forth, plucking the little arrow a few knocks. Sometimes I'll even absently drift toward my soap-on-a-rope poster during the PowerPoint presentations -or after a good lengthy and comprehensive lecture on where pastrami sandwich theft'll get you, I'll show Midnight Express in 3-D followed by a pop quiz on why his picture is on the Turkish website I've been working on.

Moreover, there’s a big red button in the middle of my desk positioned directly between us. It’s not hooked up to anything, and we never talk about it ...but on the rare occasion I feel I'm 'losing him' -and the prize wheel doesn't work- I’ll sort of let my hands linger around this button. You know, like folding my hands near it? Or sometimes just lunging toward it while stretching during an improbably-abrupt, deep yawn? For another good "wake up call," I'll put a 5-pack of Bic lighters in the nearby dryer ... and every time one detonates I'll run in circles, screaming.

To say he is one ugly motherfucker is to be kind -I mean this guy fell off the Ugly Tree and hit every branch on the way down. Then he fell down into the Ugly Well, and continued on to bash against the Ugly Rocks and drown in the Ugly Water ... meh, you get the picture. But this isn't Barbarossa's main problem. What's really screwed up about this poor bastard is that he's not just tarded, but he is legally "retarded." This means Barbarossa will require more than one -and possibly numerous- untardings. So as his "parole officer," I've officially "Partitioned the Court" or something, and he will guard a pastrami sandwich in my refigerator for free until further notice. As treatment. Remember: "Idle hands are the Devil's pork chop," and we have to distract the Devil from my pastrami sandwich at all costs.

While numerous scientists agree that nothing untards an ex con like being a copy editor for Predator Press, many scientists also do not agree ... and as a scientist myself, I am disinclined to set those nerds straight good 'n proper this time: who wants Barbarossa -in the current frail state he is in- exposed to the trauma of seeing numerous scientists I have proven wrong immolating themselves on bunsen burners and impaling themselves on broken test tubes? Hm? In a rare moment of human compassion I have agreed to help Barbarossa along on his precarious road to Redemption and thusly steer him away from evil when possible: having solemnly taken charge of this clearly promising, impressionable lad's future, I cannot let that happen for his or her own sake.

But speaking of "charge," I have decided to make Barbarossa work a little in effort to knock out some of the Tard Therapy bill I'm going to send him eventually. Along with guarding the pastrami sandwich, Barbarossa will create a meticulous alpha-numeric Excel-freindly catalogue of all Predator Press' refrigerator contents -with particular emphasis on the expiration dates. And Predator Press perks won't stop at Barbarossa's expense either: because some of the Predator Press staff has a taste for the more expensive and "exotic" (such as bathing several times a week, et cetera), Barbarossa will spearhead the formulation of a committee exclusively responsible for melding all my little soap bar leftovers together to make one a size of practical re-use.


Friday

Leperball

Yes, it’s almost Fantasy Football time again. Want to sign up for my amateur league? Send an email to “carpenoctum at hotmail dot com." But act quickly -it is first come, first served, and almost half the spots are already taken.

Predator Press

[LOBO]

People are always asking me, "LOBO, with basketball season over and football not yet in full swing, how does a legendary athlete such as yourself spend your leisure time?”

Well I’m glad you asked me that.

See I’ve always believed that people as gifted and successful as myself should spend a lot of time giving back to the community: encouraging the "less fortunate" to try and become a chiseled physical phenomena such as myself is exactly the false hope today’s kids need to keep them from dealing drugs, stealing my car, or other things 'the community' generally frowns upon.

With Shark Boxing still tied up in pre-production due to a quagmire of insurance hassles, I generally spend my weekends coaching a Pop Warner pee-wee football team called the Starfishes -a spirited and rugged little squad of ‘can do’ types, all afflicted with advanced stages of leprosy.

This is my third year -the first of which I am Federally mandated to because of the “Anti-Discrimination Act”: little Timmy's dad used it to sue me when I puked at the post-game pizza party and tried to resign.

Little Timmy is now quarterback.

His little dad must be so proud ...

-Check out my 2010 Fantasy Football Pre-Drafting Tips!

Monday

$12b Murdoch Purchase Jeopardized by Scandal

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Rupert Murdoch’s efforts to purchase British Sky Broadcasting [BSB] for $11.9 billion US dollars is facing serious opposition, particularly after the 158 year old tabloid News of the World was shut down amid recent -clearly baseless- hacking allegations.

Longtime Predator Press readers may remember Predator Press has a history of offering to sell itself to this devilishly good-looking keen-eyed mogul, and often for considerably less than the current BSB asking price. Murdoch, however, has never returned Predator Press calls, and many economists describe revenues the sprightly and lovable magnate missed out on as "incalculable."

"We've certainly had a hard time getting [Murdoch] to the negotiating table," says a high-ranking Predator Press source on condition of anonymity. "But this time we promised to take him bowling."

Saturday

Predator Press Untouched by Murdoch Hacking Scandal

-July, 2011 World Update

Predator Press

[LOBO]

  • Happy birthday to the Republic of South Sudan - A brand new country for America to have wars with.
  • al Qaeda, al Qaida, and al Qa’ida - Terrorist organization formalizes spelling to ‘al XQVVXQZ’ to maximize Scrabble scoring.
  • Betty Ford Dies - Toyota botches time-travel attempt to assassinate Henry Ford due to data entry typo.
  • Transvaginal Mesh - Not an exotic interwoven latex product for trapping packs of foreign women in singles bar parking lots as previously reported. I repeat ...
  • Cancer Cure Discovered - The chief ingredient is boiled Scorpios.
  • 1,600 Arrested at Malaysia Protest - UN amazed 1,600 people knew where Malaysia is located.

Tuesday

Banner Day

Predator Press

[LOBO]


Mattel Introduces PMS Barbie





Dibs on the Bacta Tanks







 This site doesn’t have porn, but it’s still good.






Save Canada with Predator Press





DON'T CLICK THIS



This is for PEACE.  Or something.  I think.




Monday

It’s the Thoughtlessness that Counts

Predator Press

[LOBO]

AS millions and millions of Predator Press fans already know, July is commemorated worldwide as the birthday of Predator Press.

And any moment now –as is tradition- people in possession of copious amounts of high explosives and potent alcohol will light up the skies in spontaneous and adoring splendor.

I am always deeply moved and exhilarated by the spur-of-the-moment festivities, and simultaneously disconcerted by the massive firepower our dangerous readers can apparently attain.

But Predator Press Birthday Month isn’t about blowing each others fingers and heads off ... in fact, I don’t really know how that ritual even got started.

Predator Press' Birthday Month is about getting presents.

There are numerous things you could give to Predator Press with far less risk of injury. Pyramids for instance. Or an eighty-foot tall solid gold effigy, surrounded by bleachers that future generations can worship from in self-deprecating comfort.


Please consider your own personal safety!

Independence Day

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The only problem I have with an “official” holiday is that everyone else is on one too.

When I take a sick day for instance, the world carries on as normal: television is on regular scheduling, stores are open, et cetera. But on an “official” holiday such as Independence Day, well, virtually anything I might have done is on holiday as well.

-And if you lazy bastards don't get back to work pronto, my head is going to explode.

“Honey,” says Terri, knocking softly at the door.

Sitting in a bath of deep bubbles, my copy of The Best of Philip K. Dick tented on my forehead, I’m pondering the story I just finished darkly. Dick, a favorite author, took an unexpected detour in his story Faith of our Fathers; for this he seemed to channel another favorite author of mine, H. P. Lovecraft. And I was wholly unprepared for the exceptionally-

Another knock. Louder.

-bleak moral. But a lot of PKD’s stuff is edgy, provocative and foreboding: he wrote Minority Report, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, and We Can Remember it for You Wholesale after all (although Hollywood would take liberties with them; most people know the last two as Blade Runner and Total Recall respectively.)

Terri tries the locked door. “Honey are you okay?”

PKD’s impact on Hollywood doesn’t rest there, either. I could make a case that the whole Terminator series is a spinoff of his short Second Variety-

Another knock.

“Yeah,” I says reluctantly.

“Honey I need a favor,” says Terri through the door. “Will you watch Jessica while I give Maude a ride to get some formula?”

Scowling, I remove the paperback from my head and set it on the edge of the tub. “I‘m very busy,” I reply.

“You won‘t have to do anything,” says another voice. Male.

The Butterbean kid.

-To get you up to speed, Maude is Butterbean’s mom, and Jessica is Maude’s newborn baby girl.

I grab a towel. "I don’t do diapers ‘an crap. It’s a strict policy I learned from Hillary Clinton. 'No Child’s Behind Left'"

“That’s 'No Child Left Behind,'“ Terri corrects.

“Even better,” I agree.

The rather debilitating sulk that Faith of our Fathers inspired didn’t drag me down alone. Neverlution, a heady and potent stand up routine by one of my favorite stand-up comics Christopher Titus debuted yesterday, and it seemed to round up all my demons into a nice little package: he covered everything from major depression -one of my many diagnoses- to the state of our mighty-yet-currently staggering beloved nation. Did we lose our Mandate of Heaven? Or was it always myth, like Bigfoot and the female orgasm?

I think I tried to be depressed for the country instead somehow, and it just made things worse.

-Nothing to buoy to, I suppose.

“We’ll only be ten minutes or so,” Terri adds. “I just want an adult here. I couldn’t find one, but you’re the next best thing.”

Ha ha.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Butterbean repeats.

Still toweling off, I contemplate this soberly. “You’ll take care of everything, eh?”

“Yeah,” he replies with the surfeit of confidence only found in adolescents.

“You'll have to prove your competence then," I says through the still-closed door bathroom door. "You can have any four guests for dinner. Who do you invite?”

Butterbean pauses behind the door. "Uh-"

"Quickly!" I demand.

Then suddenly he blurts, “Ben Franklin, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Edison, and ... Socrates.”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong and wrong,” I says, pulling on my boxers. “Jesus who could eat with all those dead people? The place would stink to high heaven. The correct answer is Adam Carolla, Drew Pinsky, David Allen Grier, and Justin Bieber.”

Duh, I thought, drying my hair some more in the mirror.

For the first time in my life I’m forced to admit I look like shit; I don’t think I’ve never been in this much cumulative physical and psychological disrepair. Perhaps worse, even the frail forty-minute sleep increments I manage -among the most painful experiences of all- are further complicated by a nasty bout of hay fever.

Still, the back surgery went really well and physical therapy starts tomorrow. The broken wrist is marginally usable already. The ankle, however, complicated by two breaks, not so much -the jury is still out on a possible additional surgery.

I do intend to blog all this here soon. Probably at the end of this month, as it will coincide with an important announcement.

But I need a nice tall pale beer first. And maybe a plate of pork chops.

-Or a good steak.

“So will you do it?” asks Terri.

In the mirror, checking for acne, I spot a small red spot on my cheekbone. I zero in. I think it’s acne.

“Do what?”

Holy crap … I hope it’s not melanoma.


Note: That mirror pic is from a great site I tripped on called Funny World, and the gallery is here.

-But shh! Don‘t tell them I stole it!


Sunday

Lifetime Channel Rejects Script

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I know! I didn’t know they did that either.

Endangered Passions -the epic sixteen-part romance I dedicated the better part of an afternoon to- just came back in the mail stamped "REJECTED," scrawled with profanity and smelling suspiciously like urine.

But as you may recall I also got my other script, Unbridled Desire, back in the same condition a few months ago.

But I am not entirely discouraged: the urine smell on Endangered Passions is much more distinct.

-This is unmistakable evidence more people read it.

Saturday

Wandering Baboon Captured in New Jersey

Predator Press

[LOBO]

After three days “on the lam,” CBS News reports that a wayward baboon -a veritable local celebrity- has been tranquilized without incident.

Many experts believe the baboon to be one of roughly one hundred and fifty in captivity from nearby Six Flags Great Adventure’s Monkey Jungle in Jackson Township.

Some, however, are not convinced, pointing out TMZ’s story that Jersey Shore’s Vinny Guadagnino recently left the show -“for good”- citing differences with the cast and homesickness.

“We are virtually certain that it is ours," Kristen Siebeneicher, the park's communications director, insisted to CBS New York on Friday night. She added that all Great Adventure baboons are vaccinated, fenced in and implanted with microchips.

“We’re not going to know for sure until we get to examine the subject much more closely.”