Diamond Cutter

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Maybe he was really busy,” Terri offers.

“Too busy to be a decent human being?” I says, staring at the monitor. “I don’t buy it. I’ve got plenty of time, and I’m a lousy human being.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“This was an attack,” I insist. “He planned the whole thing.”

“Okay. So you’re argument is the guy wrote two books just to screw with your blog.”

“Indeed,” I says. “He coulda had a crack team of insurgents write those books for him. You want books? I'll bet with right terrorist connections, you could get your hands on, like, three books. They have training camps for this sort of thing in Afghanistan."

“Wait. What-?”

"If you get ‘em young enough," I continue, "you can brainwash them into doing suicide ‘pie in the face’ gags. It’s diabolical, but it’s the same strategy we used when we invaded Pearl Harbor." I shake my head solemnly. "No wonder those bastards hate us.”

"Have you slept?"

“What? Need more proof you say? Look at this,” I says, pointing at the screen. “November 11. Like September 11. ‘Cept worse –nobody told me I ‘email like a girl’ on September 11.”

Using ALT and TAB, I flip to my email inbox. "'Email like a girl,'" I mutter. "That’s preposterous.”

“Look, why don’t you take a breather?”

“That is preposterous. Right?”

There’s an awkward silence.

"Ah crap," I scowl. “Would putting pornography in it help?”

What the Heck Happened to Diesel?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel goes on hiatus, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him extensively.

And who better to speculate wildly about his mysterious disappearance than myself?

Hm?

The truth is I don’t know precisely; Diesel is a very complex and multi-facetted individual. And after sleeping in his car at the airport for the last ten days, I’m finally forced to conclude he could be literally anywhere.

Sure maybe he’s training to come out of retirement and defend his Ultimate Fighting Championship title -or perhaps continuing on in his noble quest to save starving babies in some horrifyingly unpronounceable country.

-But what if he’s been kidnapped, and some diabolical mastermind is forcing him to write more books?

Whoever you are, please don’t hurt Diesel: he is a great and well-respected blogger and author, and I have appointed myself chief negotiator for a ransom ensuring his safe return.

And speaking of ransom, this is frankly the most inept kidnapping I've ever seen. What are you, stupid? Where are your demands? I'm impressed you’ve gotten this far; you’re obviously completely worthless even as a criminal, and probably don't have the huevos to chop off one of his fingers and mail it to anyone thusly proving you've got him alive.

I'll bet you wear a creepy black leather mask because you are hideously deformed too ... and that mask is stinky with the putrid stinky smell of your stinking cowardly stinkiness.

Whew –I could just imagine the smell in that thing.

Blech.

Defenders of The Faith

Predator Press

[LOBO]

For deep, restorative healing of the soul I can’t say enough about church: if Terri ‘an the kids didn’t go every Sunday, I wouldn’t be able to sleep in or bask in the gloriously quiet solitude leisurely drinking coffee in my bathrobe and slippers.

-But being the sole guardian of an important and historic document such as Predator Press can be fraught with unseen peril.

And this Sunday started off like any other. I sat down at the computer, booted up, and navigated to my Blogger login screen.

“You don’t want to do that,” my computer warned.

“Why?” I ask.

Silence.

I continue punching in my URL.

“Seriously,” the machine drones. “I would reconsider this action.”

“What’s wrong?” I inquire. “Is MyBlogLog down?”

“No.”

“Entrecard took a crap?”

“No.”

I drum my fingers anxiously. What could possibly be so wrong, my computer doesn’t want to go to my blog?

After considerable hesitation, I reluctantly inquire “Did Diesel do another upgrade to Humor-Blogs?”

“Bingo.”

Uh-oh.

"Widgets too?"

"Couldn't tell you."

Ah, Christ.

“Well how bad could it be?” I defend. “As the creator of Humor-Blogs and Blog-Storm, Diesel has demonstrated radiant braniosity -comparable perhaps even to myself! And he’s done numerous upgrades before. Surely he has things well in hand at this point.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hmmmm.

Taking a deep breath, I complete the URL.

-R-E-S-S-.-C-O-M

Then, backing as far from the monitor as I can reach, I stretch forward and tap the ‘Enter’ key.

Predator Press leapt from the screen, and within a fraction of a second swallowed my entire head.

I screamed.

-I'm almost sure of it.

Overbalanced, I reeled backwards while helplessly grasping for purchase -but sensing me struggle, Predator Press coiled powerfully around my neck as to weaken me and cloud my cat-like faculties.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed my hot cup of coffee and splashed it right in Predator Press’ face. But this only infuriated the beast: it threw me to the ground and started punching me in the kidneys.

Frantic and gasping for air, I spotted a pencil that had rolled under my desk; clutching it desperately, I plunged it deeply into the Predator Press RSS.

Predator Press shrieked in furious agony, and scampered up into the upper southeast corner of the room –well out of reach.

“Bull shit!” I cried. Grabbing a handy broom, I began swinging wildly at Predator Press. But Predator Press was too fast, and the blows whistled by harmlessly.

-Well “harmlessly” if you’re not my trophy shelf.

Or the lamp.

Or the china hutch in the living room.

-For what seemed like an eternity, Predator Press zigged to my zags.

But then it made a fatal mistake: I cornered it in the laundry room, and a wild grab found my fingers around it’s neck. I hurled it hard against the dryer, and this stunned it: soon I was strangling it on the floor as it floundered and twitched.

“But,” it choked, flopping slightly. “I … love … you!”

It was at that moment I realized that I was succumbing to my own personal rage.

Slowly, I released my grip around it’s neck.

-And Predator Press kicked me square in the nuts.

Twice.

Moments later, staggering to my feet, I could hear Predator Press working the deadbolt to the front door.

Oh, this ain’t over Mister Smarty-Blog I thought, throwing open the cover to the breaker box.

-Not by a long shot.

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.

After Math

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Last place, D?” I says.

“Hey, it only means I had the tenth funniest blog last year,” he beams. “I’m just excited to have been nominated.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, D.”

“Stop calling me ‘D,’ okay?”

“Maybe this will cheer you up.”

“Hey, this is a bill for $45,152!”

“And as your P.R. Agent, I suggest you pay it. You don’t want a reputation as a deadbeat.”

“You aren’t my P.R. Agent!”

“Would anyone other than your P.R. Agent make you this?”

Predator Press Semi-Annual Caption Contest Winner Announced

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Congrats to Alex L., author of the relentlessly insightful Discrete Charm of the Middle Class for his winning entry.

Well, the only entry actually.

-But I’ve grossly underestimated how much work goes into having these “Caption Contests,” aka judging them and stuff.

With all my candor I’m sure it’s very easy to forget that I’m a dignitary -an emissary from the great nation of LOBOnia, a 10-foot mobile US breakaway province that surrounds me at all times.

It tends to be very time consuming.

And we often mutually benefit from the intertrading commodities -LOBOnia even uses your American currencies.

“Hello you wonderful Americans!” I always singsong as I enter a gas station.

See, America and LOBOnia have great relations overall. In fact there’s nothing I enjoy more than bursting into large groups of industrious hard-working Americans and greeting them effusively.

Invariably, I am met with those silent smiles, the smiles of people drinking in the goodwill and friendship established between these two mighty empires. Seizing the moment, I will approach the countertop deskspace –the area where the proprietor carefully checks his magazines for unsightly typos.

“Ahmed my good man,” I says. “Have you voted for Diesel yet today?"

"Who?"

"Diesel. He's a famous guy on the computer thingy. Drives a car with a clitoris?"

More polite smiling.

"-ah forget it. Ahmed, I wish to engage in a series of negotiations which will allow me to import a rather large emergency cache of Funyuns.”

“Isle Two,” says Ahmed.

“Your assistance in these matters are as always appreciated,” I says embarking for "Isle Two" ... about three feet away. “When your American President inevitably seeks an audience with me, I will be sure to underline your vigorous efforts to facilitate our frequent commerce.”

“$2.11,” says Ahmed.

“It says $1.99 on the bag.”

Ahmed rolls his eyes. “It’s an import-export tariff.”

“I have authorized no such levee.”

“$2.11,” says Ahmed.

I shake my scepter warningly. “But it says $1.99 on the bag!”

[*sigh*]

-Being a dignitary is very time consuming.

Congrats Alex!

There's An A$$hole in the Bucket List Dear Liza, Dear Liza

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I've never seen "The Bucket List," but I've seen a jillion posts about it. And I was cool with steering clear of the topic despite it's intriguing nature.

So I'm dead last with my 'Bucket List' post.

-Mine is to have my life made into a major motion picture, and being subsequently driven from the movie's premier by the resulting angry, bloodthirsty rioting mob.

I swear on a stack of Bibles that's mine.

So now that I've ripped off 1,116 other bloggers of a post premise, I might as well go the distance and rip off Diesel too, right?

I am proud to present Predator Press' very first Semi-Annual Caption Contest!

"But LOBO," I can hear you saying. "How can you possibly have time for Caption Contests while trying to defend the Earth from the unrelenting tide of the Great Zombie Omnacracy?"

Easy!

Getting rid of zombies isn't like, say, getting rid of Jews or anything: zombies are dumb. So I've decided that I will make the caption, and you -the loyal reader- will do all the Photoshopping. Seriously. And have you seen my Photoshopping? Ughh.

-You couldn't possibly do any worse.

Besides ... by doing this, I've reminded you to vote for Diesel in a sneaky, subliminal hypnofied way: it's like jamming broken and salted vote for Diesel glass into your Frontal lobe. If you don't vote for Diesel, you will doubtlessly wake up out of breath, heart racing, dripping sweat with a nosebleed and the subject of a new Stephen King -no, a Dean Koontz novel.

-And all the while wondering why you didn't just simply vote for Diesel.

So here it is:




Good luck to all!

Kenny Loggins and Huey Lewis Concert “A Bloodbath,” Thousands Dead

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When Kenny Loggins and Huey Lewis agreed to unite and promote the nominations of Humor-Blogs’ own i am bossy and Matress Police in the 2008 Weblog Awards, no one considered that their fans might have some hatchet-burying in mind themselves.

42 year old Priscilla Frisk, President of the Huey Lewis Fan Club, encouraged all her constituents to “Do some real clubbing,” and supplied nightsticks, mace and facemasks at the door.

In response, Loggins supporters Bloggins for Loggins launched a more technically-savvy attack and ruined the credit of all HLFC chartered members by quadrupling their mortgages.

As the death toll continues to grow, authorities seem helpless.

“It’s a horrible circumstance,” admits Commissioner Rudolph Banks. “The only thing those two groups want to do is kill each other. I’ve sent in virtually my entire police force to break it up, and they’ve all been tossed out bloodied and bankrupt.”

VOTE OR DIE!!!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Eyebrows furrowed, I watch the little hourglass in my laptop screen intently.

“So you're a nominated finalist for Best Humor Blog in the 2008 Weblog Awards, and if people vote for you every day starting tomorrow you’ll be, like, king or something?”

“Hey,” says Diesel. “It’s an honor just to be nominated. But why not?”

“How did Predator Press do?"

“Predator Press was, ah, disqualified,” replies Diesel thinking quickly. “Predator Press was too good."

I peer over the edge of the laptop suspiciously. “Stop here,” I says. “The signal is awesome.”

“We’re in the middle of a seventy mile an hour freeway.”

“This is California, D. People do it all the time.”

After a few uncomfortable moments, it’s clear Diesel has no intention of even slowing. “Well,” I says sulkily. “I am honored that you’ve ask me to handle your public relations for the duration of the contest.”

“I didn’t ask you to handle my public relations,” he says. “You were sleeping in my car."

"That's because I understand the urgency of the situation, D."

"What’s the duct tape for?”

“I always carry duct tape around. You know, in case I get writer’s block.”

“What?”

“There are subtle nuances when it comes to motivating people to vote for you, and this should only be handled by the utmost of discrete professionals."

The modem shriek stops, and almost on autopilot I plug in my logon info. "You really should treat this like any other textbook election, and elections are touchy, sensitive events. Barack Obama is a good example ... with all that hard work combined with proper handling, that dude'll probably end up being a bigwig mayor or something.”

I could just jump the median, thinks Diesel. Straight into oncoming traffic.

“I think you should give people prizes if they vote for you,” I decide. “You know, like a swimming pool or something.”

-I’d be a fucking hero.

“That’s dishonest,” he sighs. "Hey. Wanna listen to the radio-?"

“But then what if we didn’t give them the swimming pools afterward? Wouldn't that cancel out all the Karmic hoodoo?”

“I want to win on the merits of my blog.”

“Hey man, don't get me wrong. Mattress Police is one of the best blogs on the planet. I'm just sayin' I can get a great deal on electric melonballers.” I raise my fingers in the air to make quote marks. “They’re Martha Stuart.”

My laptop chimes, and a cheery voice says “You’ve got mail!”

“Oooo goodie!” I says.

“Look,” says Diesel. “I really appreciate your enthusiasm. Just vote for me here and there, okay?”

“Dude listen to this. ’POZ you are so funny. LOL, Terri.’,” I scowl. “She’s calling the Prince of Zanzibar ‘POZ’ now.”

“So?”

“It’s a pet name!” I says. “It’s one step away from ‘snuggly-buggly’ or ‘honey-bunny!’

“Look. Just promise me you’ll vote. Don’t do anything else. And for God’s sake please don’t post about it.”

“Okay,” I says glumly.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

"I think I missed my exit,” he says exasperated. “Break out that map in the glove compartment."

I lean past the laptop screen and pop open the glove box. Inside there’s a California map, a car registration, and eight side-by-side rolls of duct tape -each varying in thickness, and meticulously arranged in ascending size.

Uh-oh

Ghost of Christmas Past CAUGHT ON FILM!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ghost of Christmas Past, sure maybe I’ve been a little scrooge-like this year.

-But you crossed a line with me buddy. And I’ve got film proving you broke in, knocked me out with my 31-pound stainless steel Franklin Mint Limited Edition Collector’s Replica #412 of the Millennium Falcon, chained me up, and made me listen to all of your horrible backwards Satanic songs!

Perplexed at how Diesel was preventing me from voting on Humor-Blogs, I devoted all efforts of my vast security network to catch him in the act.

-That’s right: I got a Nanny Cam. And this is just a sample of the 16 hours of horror I was subjected to:




I assure you Ghost of Christmas Past [GOCP] I've contacted all the proper Authorities and my lawyer is filing numerous torts and depositions even as we speak! And "Charles Dickens" ring a bell? Hm? That's not just the funniest sounding author ever anymore ... 'A Christmas Carol' is a blueprint for your whole operation!

If I were you, I would turn myself in immediately.

-Oh and BTW I've got a little "surprise" planned for the Ghost of Christmas Present:




(I sure hope he doesn't get Diesel instead.)

Playing With Matches

Predator Press

[LOBO]

HINTS
v

One of these two will transport you into hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.

The other will only write about it.

One of these 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 is a visionary of internet comedy.

The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.


One of these was in a TV series.

The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.


One of these two made an outrageously successful 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.

... I can't tell the difference either.

Diesel's New “Server Error in '/' Application” Humor-Blogs Upgrade Rolls Out To Mixed Reviews

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I am teasing of course ... Diesel has been trying to perfect the Humor-Blogs “Server Error in '/' Application” for years now, and I'm proud to be here enjoying the hilarious culmination of all his efforts; "Object reference not set to an instance of an object" just gets funnier and funnier everytime I read it!

All kidding aside, for the first time in maybe a year I've made the finals in his Caption Contest -and this is one of the funniest competitions I've seen in a while.

Vote early, vote often, and cheat where and when necessary.

(Lyin' to me if you voted for someone else is perfectly acceptable: the other entries are side-splitting!)

Thanks!

:)

How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs.com

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Now that I have verifiably been #1 on Humor-Blogs, I feel I am qualified to lecture comprehensively on the subject.

And for the low, low price of $679 I totally will!*

With my 64 DVD series of lectures, you will learn top #1 Humor-Blogger secrets like:

Tip #4: "Cook 'Minute Rice' for 2 minutes and 54 seconds: it resets 'Humor-Blogs' to zero. But be sure your fire extinguisher is fully charged, and keep a list of phone numbers including the Fire Department and restaurants that deliver handy," and

Tip #454: “CDs 51-64 are actually blank. Use them to record your favorite music and drown out the family bitching about your blogging,” and

Tip #73: "Switching your feed tube and catheter bucket is a great timesaver, but can eventually cause anemia. Eat a banana every few days to avoid Rickets."

Act now, and I'll not only provide free shipping, but I'll throw in a free tube of antibiotic ointment guaranteed to cure butt bedsores 1.6 times faster than exercise!*

But wait*! There's More*! The first 100 buyers will receive a copy of Diesel's Antisocial Commentary: The Secret Files of the Mattress Police at a discounted price of $156! *

* This is a limited-time offer.

* "How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs" may cause nausea, temporary blindness, and explosive discharge of the left kidney.

* No assembly is required.

* 16 animals were beaten into a chalky paste during the making of this post. But it was in order to perfect my #1 on Humor-Blogs.com Barbeque Sauce so I'm cool with it.

Predator Press Interviews: Bloggers of Note

Predator Press

[LOBO]

It grows increasingly difficult to write when my subconscious is beleaguered by strange disappearances around the 'Blogosphere' ... and as I arrived at my Angry Seafood Interview, it occurred to me that perhaps I was closer to solving the mystery than I initially thought.

Convinced I had stumbled upon what might be the key to unravel this puzzle, I employed the full might of my radiant braniosity:

Clue 1: Consider the name of the blog. "Angry" is the very first word, and followed closely by "Seafood", a food obtained from the sea -hence it's name.

Clue 2: People have disappeared at sea before. In fact, I'm almost certain of it. I read it in a book somewhere.

Could "Angry Seafood" be taunting us with the whereabouts of our wayward blog colleagues? And -infinitely more important- might I be walking right into a trap?

Clue 3: The vanishing of "The Frogster", who allegedly abandoned his brilliant and lucrative rockstar-type lifestyle of blogging in favor of playing piano. I never believed that for a second. Just try to imagine yourself laying on a pile of cash sandwiched between six or seven exhausted coeds and just deciding "You know, I think I want to give this all up to play the saxophone."

Oh no. That's just not rational.

Something was up, and I strongly suspected Angry Seafood was behind it.

I think the Frogster was trying to tell us something, and finding that piano might be crucial.

But throughout the course of the interview, I saw no piano.

... I brought my baseball bat for nothing.


***

The complete absence of any piano whatsoever did not surprise me; surely upon hearing of my visit, the entire Angry Seafood compound was cleared of any scrap of evidence.

I saw nothing suspicious at all: a clear indication that every last precaution had been taken, and that Angry Seafood was guilty as all hell.

Still, due to sheer size, the vast Angry Seafood lair had lapses in security. I found numerous opportunities to snoop unobserved.

While hoping to Find Boddie in one of the turrets, I found a leftover interview question by Don Lewis:

AS: Which politician would be the funniest drunk and why?

DL: Practically any of them. I mean, why would I want to watch those guys while I'm sober?

Oh...wait a minute... Did I misunderstand the question?

AS: And what should we do about stupid people?

DL: Continue sending them to Washington. At least that way they're not here trying to play footsy with me from the next stall. I'd prefer sending them abroad, but as we recently saw with Martha Stewart, the Brits are wising up.

The Angry Seafood Psychiatric Ward had only one occupant. He claimed to be the High Priest of the Cult of Qelqoth:

AS: Why can’t you drink the water in Mexico?

CQ: Unfortunately, I live in the United Kingdom and as such, I have limited access to Mexican water supplies. However, my friend Pedro often comes back from his holidays with Peyote cacti. To date, I've had no significant problems with either the water absorbed by this plant or the total mind fucks that occur as a result of eating it.

When I woke, my glow sticks were lifeless green shells -mere memories of what they once were; I could never find the Domestic Minx with them. But the The Offended Blogger graciously answered the next question on my list:

AS: Why can't you drink the water in Mexico?

OB: Because if I did, that would mean that I ran off with Jesus -my taco truck guy- down to Mexico again. And my husband already warned me that if that happened one more time he would cut off my allowance!!

The disappearance of the ditch digger in the Atrium produced a dialogue with Diesel:

AS: Someone makes the discovery that semen can be used as an alternative fuel source. Good or bad for the porn industry?

RK: I dunno, but it gives a whole new meaning to the term "gas guzzler."

AS: And what should we do about stupid people?

RK: Huh?

And while checking the Medical Center for signs of Dr. Toboggans, I found a rather enigmatic quotation from the Brent Diggs that gave me pause:

AS: If you could create your own court procedural drama what would it focus on?

BD: In the not-too-distant future, Earth is taken over by alien invaders. These large lobster-like conquerors bring a golden era of peace to ourworld as they ban war, pollution, and the seafood industry. The defunct American court system is overhauled, with legal decisions no longer being settled by lawyers and judges but by ceremonial alien arm-wrestlers. The show: Claw and Order


I'm not sure what this all adds up to.

-but I'm going to find that damned piano someday.


(All unposted interview "Q & A" are published in "comments")


-:¦:-•:*'""* -:¦:- THANK -:¦:- YOU -:¦:- *'""*:•.-:¦:-

:)

A Fine Whine

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Poink!

“Ouch!”

Scowling, I turn to LadyTerri.

“What the heck was that?”

Smiling coyly, she dangles a tiny stiff fiber in my face.

A gray hair.

“LIAR!” I scream, seizing at the damning evidence.

But she’s the picture of health and prepared for my reaction; scampering deftly out of reach, she’s fully exited the room before I can even rise to my feet.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” she singsongs from the kitchen.

Exhausted from rising suddenly, I slump back into my computer chair and try to catch my breath.

“That’s not funny,” I call. “There’s no proof that that came out of my head. You coulda pulled out any hair and swapped it with that monstrosity!”

But I know the truth.

And now she knows it too.


***

An impulsive murder-suicide plan is quickly ruled out: with both of us dead, who will raise the kids? And for that matter, what if the kids spot another gray on my corpse? Then I won’t be around to kill them too; my secret will get out, and I’ll be the laughing stock of the blogosphere anyways.

No, that plan has just too many flaws to be taken seriously.

The obvious alternative was readily available online. This little beauty [pictured left] retails at $18.99, and provides the perfect solution to hide my hideous deformity ... but it looks a bit like steel wool, and I'm staunchly against the abuse of robot sheep.


***

Why, O cruel God, hast Thou afflicted me thusly? Do I not go to church in disguises so Father Fritz won't kick me out anymore?

Why not pick on Diesel instead? We're exactly the same age, and -aside from you Divining me with a serious infusion of talent- Mattress Police will always have a lot more readers: he would totally blog about hoary flaming death toads raining down on him amidst Your mighty wrath! And as a self-taught linguistic expert, I'm almost certain he lives in New Jersey based on his dialect.

O Vengeful One, is smiting New Jersey with a few flaming toads too much to ask from your most faithful of followers?

I'll be in Slacker Heaven before you know it.