rungameid

LOBO -Predator Press

I won't pretend to have invented the "SCRAM" bag, intended for impromptu vacations or unexpected travel. After three failed marriages, I keep one chambered at all times. There is one in my car, and two or three where I work.

But I am claiming credit for the "BLAM" bag -a stash at my place in case shit blows up unexpectedly- so you can come home.

Ask LOBO: Bad Gamma Jamma

LOBO -Predator Press

About halfway into "Thor: Ragnarok," I realized I was crushing on -not Cate Blanchett- but Hela. Having had a similar experience with the "Suicide Squad" villain Enchantress, it invited some mind-blowing introspection.

[I'm not attracted to goth. And Cara Delevingne, admittedly, is not exactly in my age demographic. But Suicide Squad's "Enchantress" demon(?), is like probably older than dirt anyway.]

My first thought is always now this is a woman that gets shit done. No more hassle by airport security for yours truly aka "God's football," lest ye be smoten. And standing in line too long at a grocery store? Pow! Free Slurpees for everyone!

And then I went all swoony.

-I "get" Hela.

Sure there would be downsides to dating her. TV dinners for all Eternity. And I'll bet the damned shower drain hair filter alone would be a nightmare. Toenail clippings that could shoot through concrete walls would probably change my insurance rates significantly. But can you imagine the sex? She is effectively a timeless goddess, and I am pretty open to new things. I'll just double down on the calcium so my pelvis holds up as long as possible.

This says a lot about me and past relationships. I'm not capable of that kind of aggression, so maybe it is a yin and yang thing I never noticed in myself before. An excuse for terrible evil for which I can participate, yet be divorced from on a karmic level. Maybe that is the whole new scale of evil.

I would protect her.

Area 52

[LOBO]-Predator Press

With Twitter now a smouldering wasteland, I figure I'm safer writing on something nobody reads.

"So you pissed off a bunch of nerds," says Barbarossa. "What is the big deal?"

"Because a nerd," I explain, peering through blinds pushed apart with a finger, "will put on a costume and kick your ass."

My day was spent in fairly meta thought. I guess I didn't need to explain why I canceled my subscription? But my job is to troubleshoot problems. I can't do my job without input, and I welcome it. Am I the one "out of step?" A mental analog comparison has me sending all our current accounts out to wreck up one that just left.

"Can I at least turn on the TV?" he asked.

"No lights," I reply. "Some Daredevil cosplayer might me taking a sniper bead on me even as we speak."

"Daredevil is blind," Barbarossa replies.  "He tracks stuff down by, like, sound and stuff."

"Okay fine," I concede.  "I suppose we can watch TV on mute."

I just read the news ticker for maybe thirty seconds.  The President of the United States is arguing with the National Football league.

"This isn't helping," I says.

"Did you know Hugh Hefner died?"

 "This is really not helping."

Suddenly the phone rang.

Oh shit they found me.

***

"Johnny Listen" isn't this kids real name.  His real name is Johnny something, but I found myself saying "Johnny, listen!" so often it stuck.

"Hey man," Johnny Listen says over the speakerphone.  "Can I have next week off?  I want to go on a fishing trip to Canada."

"You just started this job last week, and you want to .... ?"  I am listening to myself talk, sort of in disbelief.  Johnny Listen has the job I started with, and I remember being so infinitely grateful for it.  This kid, in theory, is following in my footsteps.

"You are going to have to call H.R." I says.  "I don't know what to tell you."

"Dude, will I be fired?"

"If you disappear for a week?" I says.  "Probably.  This is a job.  J-O-B.  And job you just started a few days ago."

"My girlfriend will break up with me if I get fired."

"Well," I sigh exasperated, "You should maybe put some thought into this."

"She thinks I am a loser.  I got fired from McDonalds because I kept messing up the orders."

Trollar Opposite (GoFuckYourself.exe)

LOBO -Predator Press

I don't have a lot of time for social media anymore, but WOW my Twitter account isn't factoring that in. It can be an eyeful over morning coffee.

-And I am not "naming names" out of spite. Quite the contrary. Both sites that blew me up as an internet troll are pretty entertaining.

A year ago, an author at Screenrant.com suggested using D.C. superhero characters in a musical. The author wrote an excellent article article spelling out how the acting cast -by virtue of theatrical background- was perfectly capable of pulling this off. The author was exactly correct, and I think the musical crossovers have since already happened.

The problem is I personally dislike musicals. I made a sarcastic remark. When I got back to the internet (perhaps two days later), my Twitter done blowed up because I was a sexist? I didn't even know the author was female. I just don't like musicals, and now I remain permanently banned on the message boards.

But the @StarWarsMinute one really hurt. Pete and Alex run a REALLY good show, and it has recently blown up in popularity. They are super fan-friendly too. There is zero reason for me not to love the show. Except. Commercials. Not the number of commercials, but where they were placing them. I felt commercials in the middle of the show messed up the cadence -it is only 15 minutes long for God's sake. Finally frustrated, I DM-ed them that I was unsubscribing - and they retweeted my DM(!), adding, "Sorry we like to get paid." And again, my Twitter blowed up.

In both cases, I feel like I was "reverse trolled." Unnecessary drama (trauma) was brought in for clickbait.

This line of thinking -or lack thereof- is pretty goddamned alarming.

Turing

LOBO -Predator Press

When The Boss flies in thirty people from all over the world, you damn well better pretend to take notes.

Most people pretend to do so on laptops and cellphones, but I went "old school" -a pencil and a notebook.

I doodled the bat symbol.

"Blah blah opportunity blah blah markets blah blah ..."

Now I have a nice catwoman silhouette in the foreground ...

"Blah blah customers blah blah blah pizazz ..."

"Excuse me sir," I raise my pencil. "Did you just say 'pizazz'?"

He scowled at the interruption.

"I don't think anyone has invoked the word 'pizazz' in thirty years," I explain. "I was wholly unprepared for this word to be rushed back into the lexicon."

"Do you have a question?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not with out your help. But you're not helping ..."