I Thin I Boke my Node

Predator Press

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So I was thinking about the Facebook [FB] rollercoaster stock ride.

See, FB doesn’t yet have a platform designed for profit. But what interests me in stock in companies such as FB, Twitter, Apple and Google is much more long range: all these companies are vanguard explorers of the violent and barbaric technological fringe –something that I have been arguing since 1984 that would literally be the next step in Human Evolution.

Humankind, now able to communicate globally and instantaneously, has achieved virtual telepathy.

And whether you agree with me or not, at least admit these technologies aren’t going away anytime soon.

Further, these companies –assuming proper management- have patents. Thus, if my “theory” holds true, the advanced R&D in these companies can license these properties for commensurate fees. In short, you’re not just buying a website. You are buying technologies.

With a memo pad in one hand and a pencil in the other, I went to where any sane person does to mull important decisions, the bathroom, and decided to weigh the prospect. Hands full, however, I kicked the half-closed bathroom door open wide … completely forgetting my sneakers, virtually hugging bottom at the other side.

The door snapped back, and I saw stars.

-POW!!!

It didn’t bleed much at the time. Stopped in an hour or so. But in retrospect, I think everything swelled up and blocked it. Skip ahead to my morning shower nine hours later: no black eyes, but In the humidity the swelling presumably contracted. The urge to involuntarily blow my nose produced lightning-like blinding pain as I violently ripped the clotting and splashed twin black octopi -scabs and dried blood from both nostrils- audibly on the tub floor.

And then the real bleeding began.

Meet FrankensteinBot/pwn.exe.vi.2

FrankensteinBot/pwn.exe.vi.2 is actually
"Classified."  But you get the idea.

Predator Press

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With all due respect to the mighty and noble Mayan, this is the lousiest Apocalypse I’ve ever seen.

-What if there is going to be a 2013?

You mean I'll still be on this shithole dump planet spinning into an endless, shithole dump infinite void? With this credit rating? And YOU assholes?

I knew it. I should never have given that cult all my money and worldly possessions. They were all like "Yeah, were gettin on the Mother Ship today!" And I was like "Cool!"

But they ditched me at Shoe Carnival.

They went to the Mother Ship without me.

Bastards.

Borne Leader

Predator Press


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"I regret to inform you," sighs Barbarossa, "That you have been nominated as Union Steward."

My attention snaps from the computer screen. "What?"

"The People like your plan to bring back sexual harassment. Restoring the two martini lunch would be cool too." He scratches his chin. "Even piss testing us is a violation of the HIPPA law."

My eyebrows furrow. "I can't be a corporate lickspittle and a Union Steward. And have you looked around? SFIC is a soiree of Asperger's Disease and, well, ugly. You want drugs too? This place would be a seething cesspool of literally toxic DNA."

"We want the American workplace to be restored back to the glory days of 1960."

"Barbarossa, what year were you born?"

"1961," he replies.

"I rest my case."

Sexual Harassment at the Workplace

Predator Press

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“Thank you all for coming,” booms the suited guy at the podium in surround sound. “To the Annual Seminar on Sexual Harassment at the Workplace.”

I stand. “It’s about damn time!”

-And it was as if I had somehow removed all oxygen from the auditorium a half-second too early: the thirty-seven rows of people ahead all stared backwards at me, jaws agape. A woman six rows behind me audibly gasped and fainted.

The suited guy at the podium points at me sympathetically. “Have you been a victim of sexual harassment sir?” he booms in surround sound.

“Not yet,” I yell back. “And I'm getting depressed.”

Happy Mother's Day! :)

Predator Press

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Happy Mothers Day Princess Amadala

Predator Press

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All Moms Should Be Incarcerated and Prosecuted. Oh. And Happy Mothers Day You Creepy People.

Predator Press

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Got MILF?

Space Rape

Predator Press

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This morning I flipped a cardboard box into the "Recycling" dumpster.

And in the brief span of time I saw triangular sun-illuminated dumpster contents, I saw like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining. And then the lid, as designed, shut by virtue of gravity.

"What the fuck?" I thought. "Jesus, that just looked like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining." Popping the dumpster back open, I thought "What the hell did I really see?"

It was at that exact moment that nine million pissed off bees attacked me.

But as you longtime Predator Press readers know, I am an honorary white-belt Master of the long-lost martial art form of Peking Duck: four or five bees stung my shirt, but I deftly locked myself in the trunk of my '74 Toyota Camry without a single sting to my actual flesh.

Still, I think all my neighbors are dead by now.

Rejection Coverage 2012

Predator Press

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Staring down the barrel of one of the most depressing, disproportionately-charged presidential elections in decades, I suppose some rare political commentary is warranted.

From Romney’s poor categorization of Russian foreign policy to Obama’s flabbergasting ignorance(?) of the role of the Supreme Court, I have seen enough historic distortion and political boobery to be genuinely concerned over the fate of a country LOBOnia shares deep and mutually-beneficial diplomatic ties with.

The United States of America.

My issue with Obama is simply that if he held off the announcement of Osama Bin Laden’s [OBL] death at least for a few weeks, we could have used the intelligence we gathered at his compound and snuffed out Al Qaeda entirely. My issue with Romney is kinda less-specified, but one only has to listen to Rush Limbaugh for five minutes to cement distrust for the Republican Party .

Under the much-ballyhooed Ronald Reagan, my life was never worse. I bussed tables at a “Duff’s” smorgasbord, and worked as a pizza cook in an effort to feed my family –all for four dollars and twenty-five cents an hour. And I was “lucky” to have it, as there was always five or six job applications from people just as desperate for the jobs I had.

There’s no point to this post, other than the sheer creeping horror I’m dealing with.

I always took it on Faith that the people in charge would be better than me. Smarter.

-I am officially concerned.

Chicago “Occupied” as Octomom to be “Preoccupied”

Predator Press

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See technically, I know Everything.

-But that means I know things that aren't necessarily true.

I am as hard-wired to news as one can be I think. And every brief debacle of my slothful and indolent consciousness on Earth is soaking up salacious gossip from any “information” source at my immediate disposal. Even at work, in the dizzying depths of my hoary hamster cage, AM radio (Right-Wing punditry disguised as news) has some frail signal.

So I knew that Nadya “Octomom” Suleman would ultimately collapse under the weight of a debased, schadenfreude-wrapt nation before you did. Honestly I knew this would happen years ago: inevitably she would have no choice. But she is paying for her desire for fame, no?

More importantly, I know that every Anarchist’s anathema, other Anarchists, are making Anarchists in general look like total assholes.

Random acts of violence and chaos are just plain evil.

These pipsqueaks are just sociopaths. "Terrorists" in the truest sense.

(More to follow. I'm feeling "heady.")