Dear Employer

LOBO -Predator Press

I missed work today because I was ambushed by a well-armed horde of hot time-traveling space ninjas. Subsequently held in a concentration camp for forty-four years, I escaped with only the cunning use of hair gel and a twig.

The world should be warned of this impending well-armed horde of hot time-traveling space ninja invasion, but as a matter of National Security, I need to conserve my energy in case anything weird happens. Am requesting your discretion via satellite, currently riding on the back of an elephant through Deepest Darkest Africa in search of the US Embassy. But satellites are really heavy, and my elephant is getting tired and cranky. I have to keep this message short.

The President, Myself, and the rest of the Free World all thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter, and I will check email as soon as I find a new elephant.

BTW, what do you people have against elephants?

Hard "R"

LOBO -Predator Press

I'm not here to take a political stance.  When the election rolled around, it occurred to me I couldn't help pick out the living room furniture; I really have no business picking out your leaders.  But while perhaps less surprised at the outcome than most, a morbid fascination grew.  For better or worse, we are watching history unfold.

Domestically, I've never felt we are as far along race-wise as we think.  My company, around 300 people, is roughly 30% white, 20% Latino, 25% African American, et cetera.  Then we have subsets of gender, language, religion, politics, and interests.  They do tend to cluster in their own ethnicities, which suggests to me we are all experiencing the "culture" differently, and people sharing similar histories have a gravitational pull socially.  These ever-diminishing groups refine and sharpen their borders the deeper we get.  But I also think my company, were it 100% white male, would break down into similar cliques --so I have a problem with the message "we can all get along just fine ... if we all just think like white males."  It feels like tribal dick-wagging.

And speaking of tribal dick-wagging, the international policies are likely to shift dramatically as well.  That is what actually prompted this post.  You are reading a guy on his second cup of coffee, who, in order to go to work, must convince himself that a piano won't fall on him when he steps outside.  I must navigate a world full of bear attacks, dolphin rapes, bath salts, dolphins raping bears on bath salts, plagues, plaques, floods, locusts, and irresponsible uninsured piano movers -all under the all-seeing eye of Kelly Ripa- just to get to the punch clock.  But what about those guys fighting ISIS?  Somewhere, in the middle of a hellish desert battle (remember this isn’t attacking a dessert -you can’t just throw sprinkles on your tank and hope for the best. ISIS would hit you broadside with a strawberry in a second), our soldiers just got new bosses.  New plans.  If a single poorly-chosen manager can decimate a TGIF, what can this mean?

I, for one, won't stand for our selfless protectors overseas getting cold mozzarella sticks and soggy potato skins.

A Good, Dead Hittite

LOBO -Predator Press

My therapist says volunteering time to teach orphans how to shoplift is a poor way to deal with the guilt of being a true, full-time vehement racist.

And based on my carefully-cultivated image, I'll bet you never would have guessed that I am racist. But there it is.

I hate Hittites.

I hate them with a purple, venomous passion.

See, the Hittite kingdom is conventionally divided into three periods: the Old Hittite Kingdom (ca. 1750-1500 BC), the Middle Hittite Kingdom (ca. 1500-1430 BC) and the New Hittite Kingdom (the Hittite Empire proper, ca. 1430-1180 BC).

-And I freakin hate all three of them.

I mean they are dead, right? How the fuck great can you be if you're dead? Hm? I can, say, go make a pot of coffee. Would you Hittites like a cup of coffee? No? Oh, you're dead you say?

Well, HA HA.

More coffee for me.

And no, I don't think organizing a protest is a good idea ... I'll go Dustbuster on your ass.

We all know intuitively that red is bad, right? Well, just look at this here satellite photo: see how bad these people are? I mean that is concentrated fucking evil, and they are crawling with it. I hope the Sumerians kick the crap out of them! Evil has never done anything to me personally, but I suspect in the wrong hands -like those Hittite rubes- evil would probably suck.

And yes, Indo-Hittites are pretty cool, but unfortunately everytime I see cuneiform, I just wanna puke 'cuz it reminds me of those lousy scumbag garden-variety Hittites. I'm nauseated I gotta breathe the same air they did! Blech. I can still taste Hittite crawling in it.

They oughta make anti-Hittite Febreeze.


Author's Note: This blog does not endorse the ill-treatment of the descendants of the noble Hittite, or represent the ideas or beliefs of the author.

No Hittites were harmed during the writing of this post.

Predator Press Declares War on Australia!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

EVERYBODY knows how America got started: in 1776 a bunch of us hated soccer so much we loaded up the Nina, the Pinto, and the Santa Fe, and left the oppressive British monarchy forever. We’ve been freely oppressing ourselves ever since.

But what about Australia? Hm? Heck, we left Britain voluntarily … those people were kicked out!

The reason this comes up now is because it’s a matter of National Security: I recently caught Australia skulking up and down the West Coast. It wasn’t doing anything particularly suspicious -in fact at first I thought it was Kirstie Alley; it just rented a boogieboard and tooled about in the surf. But in retrospect I’m almost sure it knew I was "on" to it, and it was trying to look nonchalant.

Exactly why Australia has been sneaking around isn’t quite yet clear, but it has a long history of subtly messing with us with acts such as the “Coriolis Effect”; the Coriolis Effect -first proposed by famous mobster Don Coriolis- suggests that Australians often amuse themselves by flushing their toilets the same moment we do, thusly causing ours to back up.

But now the Aussies have become so brazen they are patrolling well inside our oceanic borders in broad daylight; if you listen closely and the wind is right, you can hear the war didgeridoos blowing in the distance. How long until Australia comes straight up the Mississippi and parks itself near St Louis? Inside agents such as Russell Crowe and Mel Gibson could just wave their arms wildly an yell “Hey! Over here! Lookit my new movie!” and pow, we got Yahoo Serious in the White House.

One only has to see a few photos of the well-decimated and uninhabitable Australian landscape to realize that St Louis, nay, America doesn't deserve a similar fate: an Australian invasion deeply offends my national sensibilities, and I won’t take the inevitable sneak attack lying down.

Unless of course it occurs during my nap.

-In which case I would hope they do it quietly.

Future LOBOnian-American Diplomatic Relations in Question

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I remember "coming to" vaguely.

-A balding man, typing with one finger, is asking me questions I am answering on autopilot.  He fills out forms -replete with scan-friendly magnetic bar codes- in handwritten immaculate print as he examines my birth certificate.  On the counter in front of me is my two-inch thick manila folder containing my identity.  A tattered copy of the current Scientific American -which I pretend to understand intensely when I think I will have time to kill in public- is pushed aside in cramped space.

The hands of a plain clock on the wall, the kind I remember staring at endlessly in school, says 8:35.  The bleak sunlight fighting in though the glass doors twenty feet to my right suggest it is morning.

Isn't this Saturday?

"Would you like to be an organ donor?"

I notice a large picture on the wall of the Illinois Governor, obviously fake-smiling with big, crazy teeth.

He looks clearly insane.

Oh no.

"No," I reply.  "Nothing works anymore anyway," I lie suspiciously.

Cumbersome American laws require you to update an address change on your drivers license within 30 days.   LOBOnia -the mobile ten foot sphere that surrounds me at all times- has agreeable trade relations with America, so a scant three years later I deigned to acquiesce at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and I am apparently awake about halfway through the process.

I died in my sleep and went to Hell.

But I have apparently planned for this in advance.  I am dressed nice, and remember promising myself to try and smile for the photo.  You know, try and change my Karma?  Still, this is a shitty, shitty way to wake up.

-In the subsequent photo of a man trying to force a sincere smile after going through the DMV,  I am obviously fake-smiling with big, crazy teeth.

I look clearly insane.

Ask LOBO

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Before there was LOBOnia, there was America -a vast and untamed frontier.

When we arrived on the Nina, the Pinto, and the Santa Fe, we all had major issues: the Ellis Island locals -"Indians"- had lost our luggage, and gave us a lot of shit about our passports.  But I rented horses and a wagon from AVIS, and a few of us struck out west.

For our Destiny.

***

"Sapphire has been fighting that grizzly bear for hours," Flandsa Ha’asasanba yelled over the windy blizzard two months later.  "We should help her!  I am cold and hungry, and she is trying to get us bear meat and a pelt."

"I got ten bucks on the bear," I yells back.  "Fuck that.  Besides, the dashboard on this wagon is giving me low tire pressure warnings.  That's totally unfixable.  We should use the wagon for a fire and eat the horses!"

And that is why, to this day, I live in Chicago.

So Complex Cassandra

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I wasn't surprised when the fight broke out at the plant today.

-Twelve hour six-day weekly shifts, blisters on blisters, and brutal, intense cold since October will get you some fucking fights.

And I started the shift in a state of pre-aggitatation myself: the Feds are wiping their ass with some bullshit “Constitution” via the NSA. Simultaneously, they're shitting on Colorado's State Rights to legalize cannabis by making the proceeds illegal to deposit in banks ... thus, a legal business Colorado supported is being meddled with and physically endangered in a pussy-ass chicken-shit attempt to trick them into laundering money.

-A Federal Offense.

Hmmmmm.

So who owns the banks? Who owns America? Who do they represent?  Who owns this big lie “Freedom," and why did all those all those brave guys die defending it?

I'm not sure why it bothers me frankly. LOBOnia seceded from the “American Dream” many, many, many tax seasons ago.  We don't understand paying somebody to fuck with Us in pursuit of “Liberty”: the “Land-of-Opportunity to rub nickels together for some fuck on a distant foreign beach yelling into his cellephone about his profit margin between blowjobs” can kiss Our royal ass.

LOBOnia formally requests Colorado to send diplomats and delegates to hammer out Peace Treaty terms, and discuss a possible Alliance.

(Catered by Fritos.)

I Warned You People! Nature HATES Us!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

ONCE AGAIN Illinois has been leveled to the ground, and I alone am left to pick up the lazy, worthless pieces.  Well just once I would like to be one of those lazy, worthless pieces ... but God, in His Infinite Wisdom, is Infinitely and Wisely cruel to His favorite blogger.

It's pretty bad.

This is the worst kind of natural disaster possible -the kind that happens to me.  Now there's only one thing left: swift and lethal payback.

-It's time to show that bitch Mother Nature exactly who's in charge around here.

Take that, Earth.

Exclusive: Wikipedia Search Casts Doubt on Bin Laden Assassination

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Q 1: How could a seal possibly have pulled the trigger?

Fact: Seals don’t have opposable thumbs. And perhaps more importantly, they don’t have shoulders. Am I supposed to believe a “navy” seal swam to Pakistan carrying an AK-47 in its flippers the whole way?

Those guns have straps for a reason.

Q 2: What the hell is a "navy" seal doing in the dessert anyway?

Fact: Osama bin Laden [ObL] wasn’t holed out on some parfait. That’s a dessert. A desert, it turns out, is a place like the beach except there is explicitly no ocean by definition. So where did the “navy” park all their boats an crap without somebody seeing them do it?

Remember this isn’t attacking a dessert -you can’t just throw sprinkles on your aircraft carrier and hope for the best ... Pakistan would have hit you broadside with a strawberry in a second.

Q 3: Why does President Obama’s Birth Certificate make no mention of the effort?

Fact: Obama’s Birth Certificate was created by ancients like fifteen or twenty years ago, and it could not have known about the events that transpired on 9/11.

-Or could it? Obama's Birth Certificate contains a wealth of knowledge about Obama such as where and when he was born, his parents' names, and the fact that he was once black.

The Birth Certificate, therefore, has demonstrated repeated culpability and motive in the entire presidency from infancy -maybe even from inception.

So how can we ever know that the afore-mentioned Birth Certificate itself didn’t hide Mother Obama’s birth control on that fateful, romantic night in Syria or Iran?

-Or that the fate of America‘s 2008 president wasn't SEALED [eh?] that night on a blue EPT stick by Hitler himself?

Hm?

Mahatma Gandalf

Okay. At some point, you're just bragging ...

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So how is the deportation from Saudi Arabia going?"

"Meh," I reply, staring at my cold fries with mild disinterest. "Hey, aren't you dead?"

Mister Insanity, still wolfing down food with a predatory fierceness, shrugs. "This blog has killed me numerous times."

I ponder this as he breathlessly slurps at his beer between bites.

"I wouldn't stand for that. That sucks," I offer sympathetically. "Someone should be punished."

He nods in agreement, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.  "So you read an article saying three guys got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too irresistible to women. And, thinking you could use the publicity, defected to Saudi Arabia to get deported?"

"What's with the sarcastic tone?" I ask, "This is probably the best idea I've ever had. It's just taking a little longer than I initially planned."

"Maybe they don't find you irresistible enough to deport."

"Hah," I guffaw. "No, that's not it. I think they want to keep me to learn how to be a better country from me complaining about them."

"It sure worked for America," Mister Insanity notes.

"Yes," I agree. "I can be their Gandalf."

"Pardon?"

"I can teach them nonviolent resistance and stuff."

"You mean Gandhi," he corrects. "Mahatma Gandhi."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank God," I says. "This beard itches like crazy."

"You realize I'm going to have to run all things LOBOnian while you're gone."

"But I'm standing right here," I point out.

"You have the emotional capacity of a five year old, you're wildly incompetent, and every heartbeat you have only increases the threat you will end the entire human race."

I blink. "I'm standing right here, you know," I remind him.

"And you're lucky I haven't called Immigration," he reminds me.

"Touché."

"So what's your plan?"

"I finally logged into my fantasy baseball team, you know, to reaffirm my patriotic American affiliation. I'm trying to pretend 'America's favorite pastime' is interesting." Smugly, I add "-I haven't watched any soccer at all."

"You don't like baseball?"

"I only played one game," I admit. "It was when I was an impressionable lad of maybe twenty-six years old. I went up to bat, and the coach told me to 'line drive between second and third base.' Knowing I would be lucky to hit the ball at all, I asked him for a map of where between second and third base is. He chuckled and said how much he like my spirit, and said 'go for it.'"

"So what happened?"

"I cracked that ball with everything I had," I says. "But while we were all taking off our sunglasses and searching for the ball in the sky, the ball rolled to a stop in front of the pitcher."

"That's rough," Mister Insanity admits.

"He had me 'out' at first base before I even got to my telescope."

The Return of Mister Insanity

Predator Press

[Mr. I]

"Our intelligence suggests that LOBO defected to the Saudi," explains Sapphire.

"Hmm," I says ponderously.  "You are aware that this blog has killed me off three or four times.  Are you going to offer the readers any explanation?"

Sapphire stares.

"Well okay then," I says.  "Has anyone thought of going on a manhunt to get LOBO back?"

Sapphire stares.

More.

"Well," says Barbarossa finally.  "I don't think we want the parade called off."

Non-Apocalypse Blues

Predator Press

[LOBO]

One of the drawbacks of not having a nice and timely Mayan Apocalypse is I still gotta do stuff. Like wake up. Go to my job. Pretend I'm working for eight hours. Go to sleep.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

It didn't help I used the rent money to buy scratch off lottery tickets either.

-Lousy stupid fucking Mayans.

So What is a Caucus?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

A caucus is a meeting held by Caucasians –hence why most are held in Iowa.

Caucasians are a group of light skinned people who, like the Jews, have faced decades of oppression. For instance in early American history, the North American Indians started firing arrows at them almost upon sight.

The "Anne Coulter" was a
popular Caucasoid model
in the late 19th Century.

The peaceful Caucasians -armed only with firearms, cannons, a naval armada and organized militia- were soundly conquered on the battlefield of Indianapolis, Indiana. Even to this day, Caucasians are subjugated by horrifying casino odds, and Caucasian children are issued agonizing "Indian burns" on the playground.

Later in early American history, plantations and farming became big business.  But while darker-skinned people were allowed to have jobs, Caucasians were forced to stay home and perform vastly less dignified duties such as accounting and planning cotillions.

Widespread violence and cruelty often forces Caucasians to deploy decoy robots of themselves. These are called Caucasoids.

Modern Caucasians, while not attending caucuses, are often found watching NASCAR, playing in the NBA [citation needed], attending square dances, and buying Toby Keith records.

Rejection Coverage 2012

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Hmmmmmm.

My life was never worse than it was under the much-ballyhooed Ronald Reagan.

But Ronald Reagan is credited with restimulating the American Economy exponentially during the 80's.

Thus -despite being all old and battered and spent- I owe another hellish decade to protect the Nation's future for my kids and should vote Republican?

-Have you seen my kids?

Fifty Shades of Grey Matter

Predator Press


[LOBO]

"So who are you voting for?" Barbarossa asks in a disinterested, sing-song manner.

"Obama," I reply through a foamy upper lip.  Setting the large mug down authoritatively on the bar with my left hand I simultaneously hold my right fist to my heart, belching softly. "Jesus. Are you kidding? The Dems are going to hunt the rich people down and burn them at the stake."

Looking to me from the overhead television for the first time in a half hour, he grunts.  "I never had you pegged as a Liberal."

"I'm not," I reply. "At some point the Conservatives will get tired of being burned at the stake, and hire me to eliminate the 'Liberal Scourge' out of desperation.  Remember, the Republicans have all the money.  And guns."

"Wow. What's fucking awesome," Barbarossa ponders.  "You're gonna play one side to eliminate the other.  Then what?"

"I dunno," I shrug at the television.  "Margaritas maybe?"

Welcome to History Todd Akin

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I feel bad for Todd Akin, the Missouri Congressman who opposes abortion even in cases he coined "legitimate rape" because women's bodies resist pregnancy due to the shock.

This is what happens when you get your medical credentials from Wikipedia and have seen "Porky's" waaaay too many times.

The Concrete Ceiling

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Three weeks ago I requisitioned 100 Q-Tips and this morning I received, on official and spiff Predator Press stationary, the rejection letter.  Evidently a minimum of three contract bids are required.

So I either need to triple the money I make, or reduce bills below the excruciating level I live at now.  And with the American economy obviously flagging -and apparently dragging the LOBOnian down as well- I'm probably being more realistic addressing the latter at the moment.  But what am I supposed to do?  Cut High Definition out of my cable bill and watch football like poor people?

Why in America is it so hard to find an affordable modest, clean, crime-free apartment adjacent to an Emergency Room with a helicopter pad?

Divided You Fall

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Want a decent example of how fucked contemporary America is? Rush Limbaugh and I are in total agreement.

The single surviving facet not struck down by the Supreme Court in Arizona's attempt to get a handle on their "Immigration" issue was the one where, if lawfully stopped, the police were authorized to verify the citizenship status of the individual.

Let me start by saying I do not think the need to present an ID is a racist issue. Even I, the Mighty LOBO -Senior LOBOnian Diplomat and Liason to the United States- have to present identification several times a week.

So all ten people legally in Arizona said, "Hey, we have to pay for these untaxed people through social services funded by our legal residents. Federal law prohibits this type undocumented 'occupation,' but you Feds are not enforcing your own laws. And this is really screwing the four people in Arizona who are paying taxes."

The Supreme Court rejected virtually every element of Arizona's proposed laws -based ironically on the fact that "immigration" is an exclusively Federal issue- but retained Arizona's right to identify "illegals" to the Feds.

So cool, right? At least the Feds are still on board?

Within HOURS of this teeny "victory," Federal officials told Arizona "Yeah. You can find out if they are illegal or not. But don't call us about it." I swear to God that's exactly what happened: the 'United' States told Arizona "You're still on your own."

So Arizona is handcuffed to whatever al qaeda fuck that wanders in without recourse because the Feds decided to be defunct and useless by selective enforcement of their own law? That's at least dereliction of duty if not outright treason, and Arizona is obliged to manage an unenforceable, porous, dangerous and expensive border as a consequence.

-Whoops ... can we really even call it a "border" at this point with a straight face?

I cite the United States in contempt of it's own hallowed "Constitution," and if I were Arizona, I would secede from this so-called "Union" entirely. LOBOnia backs Arizona 100%. Moreover, LOBOnia has plenty of room for Arizona, and invites Arizona to become an official LOBOnian territory -replete with a LOBOnian government and LOBOnian taxation.

C'mon Arizona. Think about it at least.

-LOBOnia has better weather too.

Rejection Coverage 2012

Predator Press

[LOBO]

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

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

The United States of America.

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

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

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

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

-I am officially concerned.

I Live Today

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Millions and millions of you longtime readers may have noticed a few rerun postings on Predator Press, and the inevitable subsequent glaring absence of sanity, intelligence, wisdom and reason across the globe.

Stop immolating yourselves. Stop jumping from tall buildings. Stop immolating yourselves and then jumping from tall buildings: I’m going to level with you. It has been a tough year for your irascible-yet-lovable Chancellor of the vast LOBOnian nation.

And you have only yourselves to blame.

(Resume immolating and jumping now.)

I’m sure we can all agree a chiseled physical phenomena such as myself would and should be utterly devoid of mortal woe. But my body apparently wasn’t notified of these details, and after the epic clash of titans I endured in June –where Big Cereal's crimes against our mighty nation and Humanity required swift, lethal and benevolent payback (and a short jail term)- half of 2011 has been dedicated to recovery and rehabilitation.

I have no doubt that you all are working frantically on technologies that will make me even more immortal and indestructible. But as of yet I got diddly, and your utter failure in this regard is simply impossible to ignore: the LOBOnian Nation has no place for this level of incompetence. Don’t make me revoke your visas!



LOBOnian slackers will be de-meated, and their bones will be exiled!

Couple this ineptitude with my ongoing treatments for Tri Polar Disorder and Cryohydrotachophobia (the fear of rogue icebergs), a lot of travel, football season, various temporary restraining orders and lawsuits, a hangnail and a new job, and it should be clear why I haven’t been following up on this lack of progress with appropriate, eh, “motivation.”

The new job in particular is a pain in the ass. Every day I have to get up, go to it, clock in and stay there doing stuff for like fifty hours, and then clock out and do it all over again the next day. I don’t know how I got tricked into it frankly.

The perpetrator of all this criminal exploitation is a book distributor. And I know what you’re thinking. “Books? Let’s see. There’s The Bible, Batman, Archie and Veronica, and Penthouse ... Ptthbt! How hard could that be?” Well it turns out there’s books on everything from computers to babies to photography to history, all stacked on pallets as far as the eye can see. Jesus Christ, there’s like a hundred of them!

Steinbeck, Camus, Hemingway ...

... Man you people read a lot of schlock.