Predator Press
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Showing posts with label brent diggs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brent diggs. Show all posts
Wednesday
Sunday
The Heart of the Artichoke
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Finally having lost faith in the "Rule of Law", I have chosen to follow the path of the Supervillain.
LadyTerri found this rather laughable.
"Supervillain?" she scoffs. "You passed out when I told you there were artichoke hearts in your salad."
"I'm a vegetarian!"
"Artichokes are vegetables."
"Well, that explains the rather lackluster effect of me gaining the vitality and courage of the artichoke by eating it's heart," I concede.
"If you're a vegetarian, why do you always want me to make pork chops?"
"'That which does not bend breaks,'" I recite wisefully.
"Stop quoting fortune cookies," she demands.
"Look," I insist. "I need a certain number of pork chops a day. I'm hypoglycemic."
"So you're going to be the world's first hypoglycemic quasi-vegetarian Supervillain? You blubbered like a sissy when Bambi's mom got shot."
"Hypoglycemics are prone to counter-regulatory hormones triggered by the falling glucose, and the neuroglycopenic effects produced by the reduced brain sugar!" I protest.
"Stop quoting Wikipedia!"
"I already bought a cape!"
***
I take exception to LaryTerri's doubts. Since childhood I have wanted nothing more than to be a Supervillain.
Dammit, I thought. What does she know? I'm absolutely oozing with, um, Supervillainiousness.
In fact I question the credentials of virtually all other acknowledged Supervillains!
Take Lex Luthor, for instance. How long can you go on as a qualified 'Supervillain' when you've known your arch-rival Superman's greatest weakness for decades and have yet been unable to exploit it? Lex shoulda just used a surface-to-air heat seeking missile to affix Kryptonite to Superman's keyster in flight. Suddenly, Superman can't fly any better'n a garden-variety cinderblock. Plus he ain't the "Man of Steel" anymore. Splatto! End of story.
Getting your ass kicked once a month hardly qualifies.
They shoulda called that guy Lex Loser
Still, I can't expect to go from zero to Supervillain overnight.
I need a reputation.
So I decides to do some midnight skulking.
Unfortunately, midnight is pretty late. I need a good 16 or 17 hours of sleep a night or I can't function at all. Plus, if I came home after midnight LadyTerri would totally kick my ass. But it occurred to me that midnight skulking at around 8:30 would be really sneaky ... no one would expect that.
Man, that's positively evil.
Ominously seizing the lunchbag she packed for me off of the counter, I made my way out to seek my evil destiny.
I started small. Once sufficiently dark, I tried kicking over the neighbor's garden gnomes. But the ground is frozen; all I did was painfully jam my toe. I figured I would have more luck with the trash cans, but their dog heard me and woke 'em up.
"Get the hell away from my trash LOBO!" Jeanie Anderson yelled.
"I'm not LOBO, Jeanie!" I replied, eyebrow arched.
-Hah! Already spinning my webs of deceit, I'm just crawling with evil now!
***
I wasn't really afraid when Stan Anderson loosed their dog Rommel on me.
That's not why I ran.
I ran because it's 6 degrees, and I'm wearing nothing but black rubber and spandex, a mask and cape.
-I'm freaking freezing.
Full-blown Supervillains seem to get way cooler uniforms. I'm not sure why ... maybe they get discounts for dry cleaning. This would be a good thing, because I keep forgetting I'm wearing the cape and dragging it outside the car door.
And that's how Rommel caught me. My cape, skirting the icy road outside the car door, was the perfect medium for Rommel to stop and drag my 1990 Plymouth Horizon off the road and into a nearby ditch.
Rommel then proceeded to dismember my car piece by piece. It was quite frightening; first it was small items like the door handles, mirrors and windshield wipers. Then those powerful paws appeared in my windshield; he clawed my rumpling hood for purchase while his enormous foam-dripping teeth shredded newly-exposed engine in enraged frustration.
Rommel paused to growl hideously at me through the glass, and I could see cuts and blood on his gums; rearing back as if in a sudden moment of inspiration, he began hurling himself against the windshield repeatedly, and web-like cracks began to race across with every impact.
Now this is why Supervillains have henchmen. I could've used a handful here. I could, for instance, make one get out and push. And then as the dog kills him, I make the next guy get out and push. -And continue on in that fashion until the beast's bloodlust was sated, or until I had been sufficiently pushed free.
Plunging finally through the windshield, I was surprised when Rommel passed right over my femoral artery and voraciously attacked the pork chops and salad LadyTerri packed for my dinner.
My God, I thought. This is the meanest Boston Terrier I've ever seen.
... and now he has eaten the heart of the artichoke too.
[LOBO]
Finally having lost faith in the "Rule of Law", I have chosen to follow the path of the Supervillain.LadyTerri found this rather laughable.
"Supervillain?" she scoffs. "You passed out when I told you there were artichoke hearts in your salad."
"I'm a vegetarian!"
"Artichokes are vegetables."
"Well, that explains the rather lackluster effect of me gaining the vitality and courage of the artichoke by eating it's heart," I concede.
"If you're a vegetarian, why do you always want me to make pork chops?"
"'That which does not bend breaks,'" I recite wisefully.
"Stop quoting fortune cookies," she demands.
"Look," I insist. "I need a certain number of pork chops a day. I'm hypoglycemic."
"So you're going to be the world's first hypoglycemic quasi-vegetarian Supervillain? You blubbered like a sissy when Bambi's mom got shot."
"Hypoglycemics are prone to counter-regulatory hormones triggered by the falling glucose, and the neuroglycopenic effects produced by the reduced brain sugar!" I protest.
"Stop quoting Wikipedia!"
"I already bought a cape!"
I take exception to LaryTerri's doubts. Since childhood I have wanted nothing more than to be a Supervillain.
Dammit, I thought. What does she know? I'm absolutely oozing with, um, Supervillainiousness.
In fact I question the credentials of virtually all other acknowledged Supervillains!
Take Lex Luthor, for instance. How long can you go on as a qualified 'Supervillain' when you've known your arch-rival Superman's greatest weakness for decades and have yet been unable to exploit it? Lex shoulda just used a surface-to-air heat seeking missile to affix Kryptonite to Superman's keyster in flight. Suddenly, Superman can't fly any better'n a garden-variety cinderblock. Plus he ain't the "Man of Steel" anymore. Splatto! End of story.
Getting your ass kicked once a month hardly qualifies.
They shoulda called that guy Lex Loser
Still, I can't expect to go from zero to Supervillain overnight.
I need a reputation.
So I decides to do some midnight skulking.
Unfortunately, midnight is pretty late. I need a good 16 or 17 hours of sleep a night or I can't function at all. Plus, if I came home after midnight LadyTerri would totally kick my ass. But it occurred to me that midnight skulking at around 8:30 would be really sneaky ... no one would expect that.
Man, that's positively evil.
Ominously seizing the lunchbag she packed for me off of the counter, I made my way out to seek my evil destiny.
I started small. Once sufficiently dark, I tried kicking over the neighbor's garden gnomes. But the ground is frozen; all I did was painfully jam my toe. I figured I would have more luck with the trash cans, but their dog heard me and woke 'em up.
"Get the hell away from my trash LOBO!" Jeanie Anderson yelled.
"I'm not LOBO, Jeanie!" I replied, eyebrow arched.
-Hah! Already spinning my webs of deceit, I'm just crawling with evil now!
I wasn't really afraid when Stan Anderson loosed their dog Rommel on me.
That's not why I ran.
I ran because it's 6 degrees, and I'm wearing nothing but black rubber and spandex, a mask and cape.
-I'm freaking freezing.
Full-blown Supervillains seem to get way cooler uniforms. I'm not sure why ... maybe they get discounts for dry cleaning. This would be a good thing, because I keep forgetting I'm wearing the cape and dragging it outside the car door.
And that's how Rommel caught me. My cape, skirting the icy road outside the car door, was the perfect medium for Rommel to stop and drag my 1990 Plymouth Horizon off the road and into a nearby ditch.Rommel then proceeded to dismember my car piece by piece. It was quite frightening; first it was small items like the door handles, mirrors and windshield wipers. Then those powerful paws appeared in my windshield; he clawed my rumpling hood for purchase while his enormous foam-dripping teeth shredded newly-exposed engine in enraged frustration.
Rommel paused to growl hideously at me through the glass, and I could see cuts and blood on his gums; rearing back as if in a sudden moment of inspiration, he began hurling himself against the windshield repeatedly, and web-like cracks began to race across with every impact.
Now this is why Supervillains have henchmen. I could've used a handful here. I could, for instance, make one get out and push. And then as the dog kills him, I make the next guy get out and push. -And continue on in that fashion until the beast's bloodlust was sated, or until I had been sufficiently pushed free.
Plunging finally through the windshield, I was surprised when Rommel passed right over my femoral artery and voraciously attacked the pork chops and salad LadyTerri packed for my dinner.
My God, I thought. This is the meanest Boston Terrier I've ever seen.
... and now he has eaten the heart of the artichoke too.
Thursday
The Day the Music Cried
Predator Press
[LOBO]
It’s a little-known fact that Brent Diggs and I weren’t always the bitter enemies we are today.
For instance, I didn’t recognize Brent immediately at Juilliard Music School. In fact I thought he was just another flashy and callow wanna-be rock band frontman.
But one night after my tuba solo, he insisted on meeting me. He was so moved by my performance, as we shook hands a single tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
Now everyone knows the tuba is the backbone of any good band; once I graduated, I probably could have ‘written my own ticket’ so to speak. I was featured in Musician Magazine as the “57th best Tuba Player EVER.” Band members of both Metallica and Van Halen threatened to fracture off in order to work with me on solo projects.
And I was good too: in the recording studio, all women had to be escorted out so the soggy panties hitting the floor wouldn’t mess up the audio.
But there was something about Brent’s youthful exuberance and vitality that appealed to me, and soon we were playing together with other promising underground musical acts. And one day Brent comes to me and says, “LOBO, we gotta start our own band.”
To which I replied, “What the hell are you pointing at?”
"Just point at anything and watch what happens."
"Cool!"
“Seriously,” he continues. “With my golden pipes and your saxophone thingy, there would be no stopping us!”
“I’ll only do it if we call it Danger Couch,” I says.
“Okay,” he says. “But only if we promise the band will never ever ever break up.”
“Deal,” I says.
***
In Brent’s defense, I was already well on my way to a substance abuse problem. I had been “experimenting” –recreationally- with Pop Rocks. Honestly, to this day I think it was the advertising aimed at my generation and colorful packaging.
I ate one packet of orange Pop Rocks during rehearsals. I ate two packets of grape while blistering live solos on my 'Tube.' Soon I was up to thirty-four packets a day -just to feel "normal."
When out of my 'supply,' I shopped for them bulk online with trembling hands -often paying extraordinary fees to have them Fed-Exed the next day because I couldn't pick them up at the warehouse that night.
Four months later, when I crashed the 1954 Bentley Type R, the cops found the floorboards covered in Pop Rocks packets.
"Son-" the cop started.
"What dead hooker?" I replied.
***
Brent, watching millions of dollars evaporate due to my rapidly accelerating habit, finally confronted me. And that night I swore I would never touch a single Pop Rock ever again. But at the very next show, through my microphone, everyone in the audience could here the distinct crackling joy.
In the dressing room, Brent found my stash: a thick, tight brick of Pop Rocks sealed in a waterproof ziplock bag floating in the upper toilet tank.
Truthfully, my music suffered. Stuff that was supposed to go "bum bum, bum bum" would come out "bum bum-bwah-bum": the surgical precision required to hit that note with just the right force seemed to escape me, and it was often either far too loud or completely inaudible altogether. Worse of all, the sound engineers never seemed to figure out why everything recorded sounded like angry Rice Krispies in violent milk.
I started showing up late for performances, play like five notes, and then leave without explanation in pursuit of the nearest fix. Rather than counting out measures on 398 pages of sheet music, I would fall asleep on them for entire shows. Once I accidentally grabbed the violin sheet music and played the whole goddamn venue like it was a Danny Elfman soundtrack. This earned me a promising spot on a hip, irreverent episode of Hee Haw ... but my downward spiral was impossible to mask even from them, and I was fired for calling Tom Wopat an asshole on live television.
My hygiene suffered, and my flesh started to seethe and bubble visibly like a live thing under filthy, neglected clothing. The only thing that seemed to still like me was my dog, which I eventually sold to a Korean restaurant chef for six packs of grape, two packs of apple, and a pair of well-worn Crocs. The howling and smell of burning hair still haunts my dreams.
Six months later TMZ tracked me down in a cheap motel room, and Doctor Harrold Toboggans, Doctor Drew Pinsky, and a camera crew from MTV's Behind the Music descended upon me like a plague of locusts. Unemployed, I was pouring Pop Rocks into a spoon and tonguing the inside of the packet. Eyes darting and bulgy, I had a lighter and a syringe, prepared for the Mother-of-All Pop Rocks high.
"I think it's time you faced the fact that you have a problem," said Brent.
"Nonsense," I says through purple teeth, twisting the thick rubber band over my elbow. "I can quit anytime I want. I don't need some goddamned intervention!"
Then, blammo.
Distracted, I let the paparazzi too close; the highly-unstable Pop Rocks in the spoon detonated in the machine gun-like camera flash.
Doctor Harold Toboggans, Doctor Drew Pinsky, the camera crew from MTV's Behind the Music and I survived by some incalculable miracle, having been thrown clear of the blast.
Thank God, I remember thinking.
-I was getting really sick and tired of hearing that ‘I’ve got a problem’ bullshit.
[LOBO]
It’s a little-known fact that Brent Diggs and I weren’t always the bitter enemies we are today.
For instance, I didn’t recognize Brent immediately at Juilliard Music School. In fact I thought he was just another flashy and callow wanna-be rock band frontman.
But one night after my tuba solo, he insisted on meeting me. He was so moved by my performance, as we shook hands a single tear rolled slowly down his cheek.Now everyone knows the tuba is the backbone of any good band; once I graduated, I probably could have ‘written my own ticket’ so to speak. I was featured in Musician Magazine as the “57th best Tuba Player EVER.” Band members of both Metallica and Van Halen threatened to fracture off in order to work with me on solo projects.
And I was good too: in the recording studio, all women had to be escorted out so the soggy panties hitting the floor wouldn’t mess up the audio.
But there was something about Brent’s youthful exuberance and vitality that appealed to me, and soon we were playing together with other promising underground musical acts. And one day Brent comes to me and says, “LOBO, we gotta start our own band.”To which I replied, “What the hell are you pointing at?”
"Just point at anything and watch what happens."
"Cool!"
“Seriously,” he continues. “With my golden pipes and your saxophone thingy, there would be no stopping us!”
“I’ll only do it if we call it Danger Couch,” I says.
“Okay,” he says. “But only if we promise the band will never ever ever break up.”
“Deal,” I says.
In Brent’s defense, I was already well on my way to a substance abuse problem. I had been “experimenting” –recreationally- with Pop Rocks. Honestly, to this day I think it was the advertising aimed at my generation and colorful packaging.
I ate one packet of orange Pop Rocks during rehearsals. I ate two packets of grape while blistering live solos on my 'Tube.' Soon I was up to thirty-four packets a day -just to feel "normal."
When out of my 'supply,' I shopped for them bulk online with trembling hands -often paying extraordinary fees to have them Fed-Exed the next day because I couldn't pick them up at the warehouse that night.
Four months later, when I crashed the 1954 Bentley Type R, the cops found the floorboards covered in Pop Rocks packets.
"Son-" the cop started.
"What dead hooker?" I replied.
Brent, watching millions of dollars evaporate due to my rapidly accelerating habit, finally confronted me. And that night I swore I would never touch a single Pop Rock ever again. But at the very next show, through my microphone, everyone in the audience could here the distinct crackling joy.In the dressing room, Brent found my stash: a thick, tight brick of Pop Rocks sealed in a waterproof ziplock bag floating in the upper toilet tank.
Truthfully, my music suffered. Stuff that was supposed to go "bum bum, bum bum" would come out "bum bum-bwah-bum": the surgical precision required to hit that note with just the right force seemed to escape me, and it was often either far too loud or completely inaudible altogether. Worse of all, the sound engineers never seemed to figure out why everything recorded sounded like angry Rice Krispies in violent milk.
I started showing up late for performances, play like five notes, and then leave without explanation in pursuit of the nearest fix. Rather than counting out measures on 398 pages of sheet music, I would fall asleep on them for entire shows. Once I accidentally grabbed the violin sheet music and played the whole goddamn venue like it was a Danny Elfman soundtrack. This earned me a promising spot on a hip, irreverent episode of Hee Haw ... but my downward spiral was impossible to mask even from them, and I was fired for calling Tom Wopat an asshole on live television.
My hygiene suffered, and my flesh started to seethe and bubble visibly like a live thing under filthy, neglected clothing. The only thing that seemed to still like me was my dog, which I eventually sold to a Korean restaurant chef for six packs of grape, two packs of apple, and a pair of well-worn Crocs. The howling and smell of burning hair still haunts my dreams.Six months later TMZ tracked me down in a cheap motel room, and Doctor Harrold Toboggans, Doctor Drew Pinsky, and a camera crew from MTV's Behind the Music descended upon me like a plague of locusts. Unemployed, I was pouring Pop Rocks into a spoon and tonguing the inside of the packet. Eyes darting and bulgy, I had a lighter and a syringe, prepared for the Mother-of-All Pop Rocks high.
"I think it's time you faced the fact that you have a problem," said Brent.
"Nonsense," I says through purple teeth, twisting the thick rubber band over my elbow. "I can quit anytime I want. I don't need some goddamned intervention!"
Then, blammo.
Distracted, I let the paparazzi too close; the highly-unstable Pop Rocks in the spoon detonated in the machine gun-like camera flash.
Doctor Harold Toboggans, Doctor Drew Pinsky, the camera crew from MTV's Behind the Music and I survived by some incalculable miracle, having been thrown clear of the blast.
Thank God, I remember thinking.
-I was getting really sick and tired of hearing that ‘I’ve got a problem’ bullshit.
Tuesday
Caligula
Predator Press
[LOBO]
s a few of you might have realized, my computer recently went kablooey … I’m woefully behind on comments, and have even re-issued a handful of posts. I’ve kajiggered a system of using my email to get that done, but it’s time consuming.
The upside is there is stuff I‘ve been working on that‘ll be pretty interesting. For instance, I have an interview with one of my favorite blogger-slash-authors Chris Wood on the table; sure he‘s from the UK and insists on butchering our fine American language and is probably indirectly responsible for soccer ... Nonetheless he’s brilliant, hilarious and talented [Chris, stop reading here] and deeply psychotic -to the point where my finder's fee commission from Doctor Toboggans should be astronomical [Chris, okay to continue reading from here].
And I was initially thinking my book -"This Book Kicks the Crap Out of All Those Other Books"- would be a cookbook, but it turns out a chalk outkine of a lobster at the bottom of the pot ruins virtually any bisque, no matter how much garlic you add.
Instead, I rewrote it by replacing the word 'deep fry' with 'death ray' and 'lobster' with 'alien,' thusly creating an adventure-fiction saga: it's sort of an experiment to see if can hold interest over longer stories ... in effect, sampling myself for the possibility of writing my own book.
It'll be crap, I assure you. But it'll be my crap, so buy it! People pay lots of money for crap nowadays, so it's kinda fashionable if you think about it: there's this media whore named 'Shakespeare' who is totally unreadable -and he‘s got, like, four books published!
But this post isn’t about how all Predator Press readers agree Shakespeare is a limelight-mooching talentless hack: this post is about a very kind and unsolicited write-up I got from FamousWhy Terri found.
Take that, Shakespeare.
-Asshole.
[LOBO]
s a few of you might have realized, my computer recently went kablooey … I’m woefully behind on comments, and have even re-issued a handful of posts. I’ve kajiggered a system of using my email to get that done, but it’s time consuming.The upside is there is stuff I‘ve been working on that‘ll be pretty interesting. For instance, I have an interview with one of my favorite blogger-slash-authors Chris Wood on the table; sure he‘s from the UK and insists on butchering our fine American language and is probably indirectly responsible for soccer ... Nonetheless he’s brilliant, hilarious and talented [Chris, stop reading here] and deeply psychotic -to the point where my finder's fee commission from Doctor Toboggans should be astronomical [Chris, okay to continue reading from here].
And I was initially thinking my book -"This Book Kicks the Crap Out of All Those Other Books"- would be a cookbook, but it turns out a chalk outkine of a lobster at the bottom of the pot ruins virtually any bisque, no matter how much garlic you add.Instead, I rewrote it by replacing the word 'deep fry' with 'death ray' and 'lobster' with 'alien,' thusly creating an adventure-fiction saga: it's sort of an experiment to see if can hold interest over longer stories ... in effect, sampling myself for the possibility of writing my own book.
It'll be crap, I assure you. But it'll be my crap, so buy it! People pay lots of money for crap nowadays, so it's kinda fashionable if you think about it: there's this media whore named 'Shakespeare' who is totally unreadable -and he‘s got, like, four books published!
But this post isn’t about how all Predator Press readers agree Shakespeare is a limelight-mooching talentless hack: this post is about a very kind and unsolicited write-up I got from FamousWhy Terri found.Take that, Shakespeare.
-Asshole.
Monday
Predator Press Interviews: Doctor Harold Toboggans
Predator PressWhen my Fantasy Football Team failed to reign in an unexpectedly winnable matchup Sunday, I was miffed. And when my tire went flat yesterday, I resisted. But when I found out the Jon and Kate Gosselin were getting a divorce, that was the last straw.
-It was time to eliminate the source of all my misfortunes, none other than Brent Diggs.
The connection to football, automotive failure, ‘Jon and Kate Plus 8,’ and Brent Diggs I don't exactly understand. But I don’t understand how fusion works either, and it does. It’s called science. You should try it sometime.
In a ghillie suit made of almond tree branches I made, I followed Brent completely undetected. And in a brazen act of stealth and guile, I slipped silently behind him as he let himself in his front door. He tried to make me into think he did see me by saying “Hello LOBO” -but because I was in camouflage, I knew he was bluffing.
Conveniently, Brent left the room and I began to plot how and where his murder would take place. I decided that because it was almost Christmas, I would hide in his fireplace chimney ... and then, when he opened the flue for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, POW.
The problem with this plan is that a ghillie suit made of almond tree branches is too flammable to wear hiding in a chimney, and I would need a trash can of adequate size to dispose of them properly so I not annoy Mrs Brent. I am a guest. This may be Brent’s murder, but that’s no excuse not to be tidy.
Never, in a million years, would I have expected Doctor Harold Toboggans to enter the room!
-Doctor Phil, maybe. But not Doctor T.
“Psst!” I whisper from the center of the room, waving subtly. “Doc! It's me, LOBO. I’m over here in camouflage!”"I was wondering why the Christmas tree reeked of Old Spice."
“Are you here to murder Brent Diggs too?”
"No, he is still useful to me as my web-lackey, working off his therapy bill and publishing my exploits. But I used up all my compassion today at the office, so if you simply must "bump him off" I won't stand in the way. In fact, unless your aim has improved, I won't even stand in the room."
“Probably a good idea," I agree. "Seein' as this is a murder, things could get ugly. Brent is an ex Marine, and Marines are extremely difficult to kill. Luckily I’m an ex-Marine too.”
"Reaaaaaaally?"
“No. I made that up. Besides I’m far too deadly for the Marines. They said so. It wouldn’t be fair to the other countries.”
"Well you definitely put the special back in Special Forces..."
"When did you start growing your mustache upside down?"
"Is it upside-down again?!!! I mean...well LOBO, sometimes when I put my entire focus on a single problem, like acquiring your debit card number, my follicles actually invert. It's quite a rare phenomenon, in fact now that Einstein is gone I think I'm the only one that still does it."
“Doc," I says, laying out on the couch. "I’ve probably got some time to kill before Brent gets back, and then something else to kill, and then more time. Mind doing an impromptu interview? On the last step of ‘800 Steps To Adequacy,’ and only $2,000 away from graduating to the 'Ladder of Adequate Empowerment,' I'm a huge fan of your work.”
"No session today, I'm fresh out of pepper spray. But be sure to purchase my latest self-help masterpiece, 'Learning to Live With Self-Loathing.' It's perfect for challenging cases like yourself."
"Wow!" I whistle, impressed. "That's the biggest book I've ever seen. It must be brilliant. And it just so happens I'm in dire need of a large, heavy and brilliant blunt object. How much is it?
"How much do you have?"
LOBO: Your new series, Mind Over Memphis, is a towering triumph of both science and cinematographical achievement. It’s like a burrito with a mountain of information for beef and intriguing guests for cheese ... all wrapped in a delightfully soft, still-steaming entertainment tortilla. Do you know if Brent has any food here?
DT: Yes, my videos are quite amazing. It's the sort of work Spielberg would do if he were ready to move to the next level. And yes, I think there is some jello in the back of the fridge that isn't too badly molded.LOBO: What will become of your Mind Over Memphis show if you find the fabled ‘Memphis’? And how did you get your mind over it without knowing where it is? And where was the rest of you at the time?
DT: Actually the title refers to the way my intellect towers over this town like a benevolent thundercloud of wisdom. Unfortunately, the city does stray form under my impressive shadow from time to time and I have to track it down. Such is the price of greatness.
LOBO: In your lecture series “Approaching the Outer Edge of Adequacy,” DVD 192 -roughly 80 minutes in- you said “over-adequacy can be just as dangerous as a lack of adequacy.” Can you elaborate on that theory?
DT: The pool of over-adequate individuals on this planet is fairly small, basically just me. And if there is one thing I don't tolerate, it is competition. It can be quite dangerous, if you know what I mean.
LOBO: In DVDs 404, 405 and 406, were you aware you had linguine in your mustache? I have always thought it was symbolic of something.
DT: LOBO, my entire life is a symbol of hope to lesser intellects...And to money launderers everywhere.
LOBO: I haven’t found any references to “Cryohydrotachophobia Purging” in your work. Yet during your “Crouching to Competence Wilderness Retreat,” you had me wear a sack over my head while the rest of the campers punched me -insisting it was the only cure for the morbid fear of rogue icebergs. Is that an experimental treatment? And why was everyone laughing?
DT: You just have to trust me, I'm the doctor.
LOBO: There has been some speculation –and numerous lawsuits- surrounding the fact that your anti-zombie patch Cerebitol causes sterility in a significant number of it’s users. Why people would people want to have babies in the face of the Zombie Menace is completely beyond me. Have you any thoughts you wish to share on this clearly-frivolous pending litigation?
DT: Really? That's excellent. It means I can market it as a contraceptive too. Your words ring with the sound of money.
LOBO: And you heard they can cause blindness, right?
DT: That was you. You aren't supposed to put the patches on your eyes.
LOBO: Pirates have zombie troubles too -and given the growth potential of that market, don't you think it's a mistake to alienate them? You could be a hero in their circles. Just imagine ... every time you vacationed in Somalia, they would buy you drinks and stuff. [wistful sigh] Say, you know what Doc? The mere calming effect of your presence has inexplicably diminished my desire to kill Brent. Is there a cure for that? Or am I just being lazy?
DT: Actually, you've been field testing my latest innovation, Slumberoos. Imagine a custom blend of ritalin and tranquilizers all together in a giant patch. Now take that patch and weave a snug undergarment out of it. Then sneak it into someones wardrobe and watch the therapy begin.
LOBO: Well, being unable to feel my legs while wearing them is difficult to get used to -but you can't beat this absorbency. By the way, this gum is terrible. I didn’t know gum spoiled. I probably shoulda known ‘cuz there was hairs in it.
DT: That's spirit gum. Don't worry about the lint, it's a great source of fiber.
LOBO: [slurring] Is that spearmint?
DT: No, that's Aqua Velva.
LOBO: Doctor T, you’re amazing. I’ll bet you could cure anyone. Any thing! I’ll bet you could take, like, sick polar bears that think they are deep sea bass and get them to think they are polar bears again. Or at least some kind of mammal ....DT: Ah LOBO, so many issues, so little time. I guess Brent lives another day.
LOBO: zzzzzzzzzz
Tuesday
Am I the Only One that thinks Twitter is Crap?
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In the “What are you doing?” box, I put “typing” about 6,005,004 times until I learned that I could cut and paste stuff with hotkeys.
-Now I can put “Cutting and pasting ‘typing’ with hotkeys” 10 times faster than I ever could type “typing.”
But, but despite this markedly increased efficiency, I don’t get it.
Doctor Toboggans, you should stop "following" me now ... I won't be doing anymore updates.
I’m over this.
[LOBO]
In the “What are you doing?” box, I put “typing” about 6,005,004 times until I learned that I could cut and paste stuff with hotkeys.-Now I can put “Cutting and pasting ‘typing’ with hotkeys” 10 times faster than I ever could type “typing.”
But, but despite this markedly increased efficiency, I don’t get it.
Doctor Toboggans, you should stop "following" me now ... I won't be doing anymore updates.
I’m over this.
Sunday
Hallooo Down There!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Okay. I know it maybe wasn’t a publicity stunt. But I also know the Heenes were on a reality show called Wife Swap.
-And getting on a reality show alone takes a certain kind of narcissistic media whore: at some point, the Heenes hadda sit in a roomful of other narcissistic media whores trying to get on Wife Swap, and the Heene’s narcissistic media whoring stood out tall and proud above all others.
I would hold them more accountable for that.
Still, it worked.
It ‘raised the bar’ of narcissistic media whoring in fact.
Well so far I haven’t even been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in Narcissistic Media Whoring this year yet: if I don’t stay on my toes, it could go to either Jon Gosselin or Doctor Toboggans -and I owe that 'Toboggans' cat way too much money not to pay him with whatever he might have won if Gosselin and I didn't reach a deal.
So unlike that pansy Heenes kid, I have actually launched myself into the stratosphere: from like, 1,000,000 feet in the air, I, LOBO, am blogging to you from my laptop.
-I hope my electrical cord will hold Larry King when he has ta shimmy his butt all the way up here.
[LOBO]
Okay. I know it maybe wasn’t a publicity stunt. But I also know the Heenes were on a reality show called Wife Swap.-And getting on a reality show alone takes a certain kind of narcissistic media whore: at some point, the Heenes hadda sit in a roomful of other narcissistic media whores trying to get on Wife Swap, and the Heene’s narcissistic media whoring stood out tall and proud above all others.
I would hold them more accountable for that.
Still, it worked.
It ‘raised the bar’ of narcissistic media whoring in fact.
Well so far I haven’t even been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in Narcissistic Media Whoring this year yet: if I don’t stay on my toes, it could go to either Jon Gosselin or Doctor Toboggans -and I owe that 'Toboggans' cat way too much money not to pay him with whatever he might have won if Gosselin and I didn't reach a deal.
So unlike that pansy Heenes kid, I have actually launched myself into the stratosphere: from like, 1,000,000 feet in the air, I, LOBO, am blogging to you from my laptop.
-I hope my electrical cord will hold Larry King when he has ta shimmy his butt all the way up here.
Snarquis de Sade
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I know you all have seen this image in the past, but I wanted to update my screenshot on various services: this is my all-time favorite Photoshop –a pic originally spawned by my buddy Speedcat Hollydale. (You can see his original version by clicking the pic.)
For me, today is general blog maintenance: I’ve added a “Top Commenter” widget (see ”Pack Mentality,” right), and Twitter –although I’m not 100% on Twitter yet. While currently unfamiliar and purely experimental, please feel free to add me as a Twitter follower [@SnarquisDeSade] and I’ll return the favor.
-I don’t really foresee being able to devote a lot of time to Twitter, but at the very least I regard it as a handy little shorthand tool for keeping track of some of my favorite people.
[LOBO]
I know you all have seen this image in the past, but I wanted to update my screenshot on various services: this is my all-time favorite Photoshop –a pic originally spawned by my buddy Speedcat Hollydale. (You can see his original version by clicking the pic.)For me, today is general blog maintenance: I’ve added a “Top Commenter” widget (see ”Pack Mentality,” right), and Twitter –although I’m not 100% on Twitter yet. While currently unfamiliar and purely experimental, please feel free to add me as a Twitter follower [@SnarquisDeSade] and I’ll return the favor.
-I don’t really foresee being able to devote a lot of time to Twitter, but at the very least I regard it as a handy little shorthand tool for keeping track of some of my favorite people.
Friday
Playing With Matches
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.
See, nowadays new blogs are poppin up everywhere and all the time. I’m willing to bet at this point there are like fifteen or twenty of them -all industriously ripping off my idea to have an online diary, and paying me, um, zero in royalties.
And I'm fine with that really. There is no real need to thank me ... from the very conception of the concept of “blogging,” I knew it was too great a gift not to share with the rest of Humankind.
-But I cannot, in good conscience, let said Humankind forget the history behind it.
As an example, I invite you to take the following quiz:
HINTS
v
One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.
The other will only write about it.
One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.
The other is made of Latex and rubber.
One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.
The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.
One of these two was in a TV series.
The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.
One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.
The other is somehow cashing in despite "Pet Detective", and Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Budget Surpluses."
One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.
(In this case, both answers are correct. I can't tell the difference either.)
***
Now for any of you that took this quiz and didn’t score like four million points, I think you really need to do some homework. You know, like, “study” or something. Don’t write a blog without knowing the cold hard facts surrounding the glorious history of blogging: it would just embarrass us both.
So where was I?
Oh yeah.
Diesel.
***
See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.
“D,” I says. “You have to scale back the awesomeness of this book. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you write another one.”
But Diesel can be pretty stubborn when it comes to advice.
“They wouldn’t dare,” he says smugly.
“D, I’m serious,” I insist. “They made this guy Hemingway write like three books.”
“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”
“I’m totally serious.”
“Have they made you write any books?”
“Hell no,” I smirk. “I’m on to those pricks.”
“What’s your secret?” he asks.
“Bad punctuation, grammar … the occasional smattering of misspellings. All buried deeply in unreadable pedantic and wordy nonsense."
I pause.
“I think it’s more of a gift, really.”
[LOBO]
Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.See, nowadays new blogs are poppin up everywhere and all the time. I’m willing to bet at this point there are like fifteen or twenty of them -all industriously ripping off my idea to have an online diary, and paying me, um, zero in royalties.
And I'm fine with that really. There is no real need to thank me ... from the very conception of the concept of “blogging,” I knew it was too great a gift not to share with the rest of Humankind.
-But I cannot, in good conscience, let said Humankind forget the history behind it.
As an example, I invite you to take the following quiz:
v
One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.The other will only write about it.
One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.The other is made of Latex and rubber.
One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.
One of these two was in a TV series.The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.
One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.The other is somehow cashing in despite "Pet Detective", and Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Budget Surpluses."
One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.(In this case, both answers are correct. I can't tell the difference either.)
Now for any of you that took this quiz and didn’t score like four million points, I think you really need to do some homework. You know, like, “study” or something. Don’t write a blog without knowing the cold hard facts surrounding the glorious history of blogging: it would just embarrass us both.
So where was I?
Oh yeah.
Diesel.
See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.“D,” I says. “You have to scale back the awesomeness of this book. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you write another one.”
But Diesel can be pretty stubborn when it comes to advice.
“They wouldn’t dare,” he says smugly.
“D, I’m serious,” I insist. “They made this guy Hemingway write like three books.”
“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”“I’m totally serious.”
“Have they made you write any books?”
“Hell no,” I smirk. “I’m on to those pricks.”
“What’s your secret?” he asks.
“Bad punctuation, grammar … the occasional smattering of misspellings. All buried deeply in unreadable pedantic and wordy nonsense."
I pause.
“I think it’s more of a gift, really.”
Wednesday
268 Days
Predator Press
[LOBO]
With only two hundred and sixty eight or so shopping days left, those showing even the slightest hint of radiant braniosity are already gearing up for the Holiday Season. Indeed, I’m so far “ahead of the game” so to speak my Christmas decorations are already up! (The tree is looking a little spindly, but look around you: trees are everywhere. They’re a tougher breed than you might suspect.)
The reason this is now crucial is two hundred and sixty eight or so days is roughly nine months –almost exactly the gestation (incubation?) period of an average human baby. Without planning ahead, instead of buying dozens of copies of Danger Couch! and the Tinsel of Doom [reviewed here] to distribute amongst your loved ones, you could be embroiled in a screamy, messy childbirth.
Nobody wants that. And have you seen some of the baby pictures out here on the blogosphere? -Yeesh!
I have it on good authority that typical babies are loud, destructive, often smell funny, and are [*shiver*] virulent disease carriers. Seriously. Mumps, measles, cholera -okay I’m freakin’ myself out here, but you get the point, right? No babies could ever provide love, laughter and joy comparable to a single copy of DC!ATTOD. Puppies –eh- maybe, but not babies.
-And babies cost, like, hundreds of dollars whereas DC!ATTOD is a mere fifteen! Heck at that price, you could by a copy of DC!ATTOD, a Danger Couch! t-shirt and probably two or three puppies.
-So act now, keep your pants up in the meantime, and have a Happy Holiday Season.
[LOBO]With only two hundred and sixty eight or so shopping days left, those showing even the slightest hint of radiant braniosity are already gearing up for the Holiday Season. Indeed, I’m so far “ahead of the game” so to speak my Christmas decorations are already up! (The tree is looking a little spindly, but look around you: trees are everywhere. They’re a tougher breed than you might suspect.)
The reason this is now crucial is two hundred and sixty eight or so days is roughly nine months –almost exactly the gestation (incubation?) period of an average human baby. Without planning ahead, instead of buying dozens of copies of Danger Couch! and the Tinsel of Doom [reviewed here] to distribute amongst your loved ones, you could be embroiled in a screamy, messy childbirth.
Nobody wants that. And have you seen some of the baby pictures out here on the blogosphere? -Yeesh!
I have it on good authority that typical babies are loud, destructive, often smell funny, and are [*shiver*] virulent disease carriers. Seriously. Mumps, measles, cholera -okay I’m freakin’ myself out here, but you get the point, right? No babies could ever provide love, laughter and joy comparable to a single copy of DC!ATTOD. Puppies –eh- maybe, but not babies.
-And babies cost, like, hundreds of dollars whereas DC!ATTOD is a mere fifteen! Heck at that price, you could by a copy of DC!ATTOD, a Danger Couch! t-shirt and probably two or three puppies.-So act now, keep your pants up in the meantime, and have a Happy Holiday Season.
Tuesday
Ask LOBO: How to Blog Part II
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, how can I learn to blog good?"
Well I’m glad you asked me that.
See, the environment from which you blog can’t be taken seriously enough.
Obviously we can’t all blog like Diesel does -drinkin’ chardonnay and smokin’ cigars with all the leisure time in the world, insulated in the 57th-story penthouse of the Humor-Blogs skyscraper and guarded by an evil Ed Harris and a battery of deadly bikini-clad secretaries.
Nor can we like the much-beloved Doctor Toboggans -from the deep unmapped catacomby bowels of the Delta Medical Center, surrounded by cages of helpful serial killers and upbeat Wall Street executives.
From the surface level of the Earth one must take precautions lest the aliens read your unprotected terrestrial thoughts and suck out your blogging ideas -thus paving the way to the enslavement of Humankind in the blogging labor camps on Alpha Centauri.
And not just anybody can make a regulation foil fedora that blocks your brainwaves from interception: don't fall for rank amateur construction! Without the proper pyramidical dimensions, improper geometrical configurations can actually amplify valuable transmissions to the Evil Alien Omnocracy!
Further, one should probably start with a nice and quiet ergonomic space restricted explicitly for blogging.
And deploy a 3000-watt strobe light immediately.
-It confuses the zombies.
[LOBO]
Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, how can I learn to blog good?"Well I’m glad you asked me that.
See, the environment from which you blog can’t be taken seriously enough.
Obviously we can’t all blog like Diesel does -drinkin’ chardonnay and smokin’ cigars with all the leisure time in the world, insulated in the 57th-story penthouse of the Humor-Blogs skyscraper and guarded by an evil Ed Harris and a battery of deadly bikini-clad secretaries.
Nor can we like the much-beloved Doctor Toboggans -from the deep unmapped catacomby bowels of the Delta Medical Center, surrounded by cages of helpful serial killers and upbeat Wall Street executives.
From the surface level of the Earth one must take precautions lest the aliens read your unprotected terrestrial thoughts and suck out your blogging ideas -thus paving the way to the enslavement of Humankind in the blogging labor camps on Alpha Centauri.
And not just anybody can make a regulation foil fedora that blocks your brainwaves from interception: don't fall for rank amateur construction! Without the proper pyramidical dimensions, improper geometrical configurations can actually amplify valuable transmissions to the Evil Alien Omnocracy!Further, one should probably start with a nice and quiet ergonomic space restricted explicitly for blogging.
And deploy a 3000-watt strobe light immediately.
-It confuses the zombies.
Sunday
The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Yes it's true: it's here! It's The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity! We know you have been wanting this. We know you have been needing this! We know you have been yearning for this.
And here it is.
Yippie!
-Stop touching yourself! We are only getting started.
I committed to actually following through with this much-anticipated event immediately after thinking of it a few minutes ago. But the first problem was Who should host it?
We needed somebody special. Somebody with the radiant braniosity of, like, a million men. Or seven women. Or like three women and five hundred seventy one thousand four hundred and twenty eight point five men.
Luckily I was standing right there.
-It was Fate.
So without further adieu, I bring you The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity!
Category 1: Best '80s Cheerleader Bait
Yes, while most of us were getting our faces rated for PSI durability by virtue of high-velocity underinflated muddy red rubber, these two guys were leaving a string of broken hearts and condoms all across our great nation.
And we all remember those shorts: they were fantastic for Sharon Stone-ing your way from a "C" to an "A" in a particularly tough chemistry class.
Many government agencies regard the subsequent long and twisting track of unwanted children and unpaid child support as “The Trail of Tears,” and terms of their probation have prevented me from releasing their names.
Category 2: Most Bloggable Hair
To the left we have the indomitable William McCamment of Dead Rooster. He claims to only use Paul Mitchell products, and describes his technique as "Jumping out the window, and hair spraying it real fast."
To the right we have Jeff of View From The Cloud. Clearly being groomed for his long career ahead as the Regional Sales Manager for Pfizer, this is the hair of a guy that can get shit done.
-Jeff is the only blogger in history to be nominated twice in The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity! ... he's also in the previous Best '80s Cheerleader Bait category with the Unfinished Rambler.
Category 3: Best Faked Death
No, we’re not talking about the much-beloved Doctor Toboggans –we here at Predator Press have known all along that Doctor Toboggans is perfectly safe ‘n sound in the trunk of that car I left in Mexico a few months ago.
But the elaborate and meticulous planning it took for Brent Diggs to survive the six best hitmen I could find, having his body burned in the desert, having the ashes tossed into a zinc smelter and then having that zinc smelter launched into the Sun really, really impressed me.
Well done sir!
Bravo.
Category 4: Best Movie Pitch
Hey! How’d that get in here?
:)
Category 5: Best Posts
It was tough picking out my fave three posts of the year. But I’ve narrowed the list to:
Angry Seafood - "Polygamist Cult Not Attractive Enough to Join"
This riveting exposé dives deep into the seedy underbelly of polygamy and splays it’s steaming entrails all over the linoleum.
Included topics are the downside of inbreeding and it’s inherent adverse effects -such as significantly inhibited recruitment.
neOnbubble - "Make Money Online With Blackmail"
Hats off to a deviously brilliant concept: an anonymous blackmail exchange program. I don’t want to ruin it by going into too much detail, so you’ll have to check this one out yourself.
... and then let the paranoia set in.
Speedcat Hollydale - "Old Towne Speedcat Goin Down the River"
When Speedcat Hollydale announced he was going to release his single “Old Towne Speedcat Goin Down the River,” legend has it Scott Stapp got over himself and David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen started making out with each other.
But Speedcat would have none of that: instead of muscling his Les Paul and Marshall stacks into the studio, Speedcat does is solo and acapella from his very own kitchen.
Personally, I think this has way more influence on modern music than Kurt Cobain ever did.
Category 6: Predator Press 2008 MAN OF THE YEAR
Look I know all that happened in 2007. But Predator Press didn’t have these awards in 2007! And trust me, I combed over 2008 -nothing this year nudged him out.
I consider Larry Craig undefeated.
You may remember Larry Craig as being in, oh, say the House of Representatives … but it’s infinitely more likely you remember him from what he called a “highly heterosexual miscommunication brought on by some bathroom discomfort.”
Larry -who inadvertently put the 'key' in 'keyster'- spawned a cottage industry of “I Have A Wide Stance” t-shirts that still make me laugh hysterically every time I see one.
Anywho there you have them: LOBO’s picks for 2008. But I didn't want to leave anyone out: we're all winners here:
[LOBO]
Yes it's true: it's here! It's The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity! We know you have been wanting this. We know you have been needing this! We know you have been yearning for this.And here it is.
Yippie!
-Stop touching yourself! We are only getting started.
I committed to actually following through with this much-anticipated event immediately after thinking of it a few minutes ago. But the first problem was Who should host it?
We needed somebody special. Somebody with the radiant braniosity of, like, a million men. Or seven women. Or like three women and five hundred seventy one thousand four hundred and twenty eight point five men.Luckily I was standing right there.
-It was Fate.
So without further adieu, I bring you The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity!
Category 1: Best '80s Cheerleader Bait
Yes, while most of us were getting our faces rated for PSI durability by virtue of high-velocity underinflated muddy red rubber, these two guys were leaving a string of broken hearts and condoms all across our great nation.
And we all remember those shorts: they were fantastic for Sharon Stone-ing your way from a "C" to an "A" in a particularly tough chemistry class.Many government agencies regard the subsequent long and twisting track of unwanted children and unpaid child support as “The Trail of Tears,” and terms of their probation have prevented me from releasing their names.
Category 2: Most Bloggable Hair
To the left we have the indomitable William McCamment of Dead Rooster. He claims to only use Paul Mitchell products, and describes his technique as "Jumping out the window, and hair spraying it real fast."
To the right we have Jeff of View From The Cloud. Clearly being groomed for his long career ahead as the Regional Sales Manager for Pfizer, this is the hair of a guy that can get shit done.-Jeff is the only blogger in history to be nominated twice in The 2008 Absolute Bestest Incomprehensive Awards Ceremony Ever Held By Predator Press in the History of Humanity! ... he's also in the previous Best '80s Cheerleader Bait category with the Unfinished Rambler.
Category 3: Best Faked Death
No, we’re not talking about the much-beloved Doctor Toboggans –we here at Predator Press have known all along that Doctor Toboggans is perfectly safe ‘n sound in the trunk of that car I left in Mexico a few months ago.
But the elaborate and meticulous planning it took for Brent Diggs to survive the six best hitmen I could find, having his body burned in the desert, having the ashes tossed into a zinc smelter and then having that zinc smelter launched into the Sun really, really impressed me.Well done sir!
Bravo.
Category 4: Best Movie Pitch
Hey! How’d that get in here?
:)
Category 5: Best Posts
It was tough picking out my fave three posts of the year. But I’ve narrowed the list to:
Angry Seafood - "Polygamist Cult Not Attractive Enough to Join"This riveting exposé dives deep into the seedy underbelly of polygamy and splays it’s steaming entrails all over the linoleum.
Included topics are the downside of inbreeding and it’s inherent adverse effects -such as significantly inhibited recruitment.
neOnbubble - "Make Money Online With Blackmail"Hats off to a deviously brilliant concept: an anonymous blackmail exchange program. I don’t want to ruin it by going into too much detail, so you’ll have to check this one out yourself.
... and then let the paranoia set in.
Speedcat Hollydale - "Old Towne Speedcat Goin Down the River"When Speedcat Hollydale announced he was going to release his single “Old Towne Speedcat Goin Down the River,” legend has it Scott Stapp got over himself and David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen started making out with each other.
But Speedcat would have none of that: instead of muscling his Les Paul and Marshall stacks into the studio, Speedcat does is solo and acapella from his very own kitchen.
Personally, I think this has way more influence on modern music than Kurt Cobain ever did.
Category 6: Predator Press 2008 MAN OF THE YEAR
Look I know all that happened in 2007. But Predator Press didn’t have these awards in 2007! And trust me, I combed over 2008 -nothing this year nudged him out.I consider Larry Craig undefeated.
You may remember Larry Craig as being in, oh, say the House of Representatives … but it’s infinitely more likely you remember him from what he called a “highly heterosexual miscommunication brought on by some bathroom discomfort.”
Larry -who inadvertently put the 'key' in 'keyster'- spawned a cottage industry of “I Have A Wide Stance” t-shirts that still make me laugh hysterically every time I see one.
Anywho there you have them: LOBO’s picks for 2008. But I didn't want to leave anyone out: we're all winners here:
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Predator Press [LOBO] Yes it's totally true. There is now, in fact, a $14.95 Bionic Ear . And I'm not even going to g...
