[LOBO]
To place blame, please see Don Lewis.
Showing posts with label lord likely. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lord likely. Show all posts
Tuesday
Guns and Drugs
Predator Press
[LOBO]
As a good rule of thumb, if I'm not writing frequently I'm either:
a) sick as a dog
b) sick as a dog, or
c) sick as a dog.
Sure there's always the occasional rare exceptions -such as my amazing pro football career, the grueling astronaut training or the occasional zombie uprising- but in this case, it was mostly "B" with a little dash of "C".
So I spent most of the time staring slackjawed at the pretty colors changing on television. And completely at LadyTerri's mercy, I got a crash course in about 30 years of horror movies.
Gems like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Silence of the Lambs, and The Ring worked my addled psyche. Even my muddled dreams were terrifying: one in particular -about some crazy planet where people talked funny and hats were mandatory- had me so upset even LadyTerri's gradually increasing talent for dosing me with sedatives via dart gun failed.
But we cannot fault LadyTerri's mournfully terrible aim in this particular case entirely; my fevered horror was magnified exponentially by superhuman quantities of erythromycin, Alka-Seltzer, Nyquil, Contac, and the blood of a homeless wretch I felt helplessly impelled to bite repeatedly ... and were all followed by a nice fat codeine chaser.
I stole the car, locked the doors, and made for my escape laughing in triumph while slamming through the garage door at six miles per hour.
"Left!" I cried. "Left! We are almost free. Left damn you!"
Alas, my victory was to be short-lived: while my neighbor's vast and well-manicured LAWN OF FREEDOM lie merely inches ahead, I was halted abruptly and soundly by a cleverly-placed insurmountable six-inch curb.The car's alarm went off.
And there was blackness.
The cop banged on the window with his flashlight.
"Sir," he said. "Please step out of the car."
"No!" I says, cracking the window slightly. I motion him closer to the door and put my lips to the gap whispering, "There's crazy people out there!"
"Sir," says the cop with vague disinterest. "If you don't come out, I'm going to have to break the window."
It was then I spotted his gun.
"WOW!" I says. "That's cool. Can I have one of those?"
"Well, probably yes thanks to the Republicans."
"What do I have to do?"
"Well first you have to get a FOID card."
"Do you have an extra one?"
"No. You have to apply for one."
"How long does that take?"
"About three days," he says. "Now-"
"And then I can shoot people?"
"No sir," he says.
"Well how long do I have to wait to do that?"
"Sir," he says exasperated. Winding back with the large flashlight, he prepares to break the window. "Please just open the door."
"Officer!" interrupts LadyTerri. "I have an extra key."
"Honey," I says. "I know it's hard to believe this right now, but I'm doing this for our own good. In fact, I'm doin' this for America. I'm doing this for Liberty. I'm doing this for Freedom!"I punch the gas on the car.
"Ma'am," says the cop. "I don't think he realizes the car isn't running."
Thinking quickly, LadyTerri pretends she's jogging next to the car. Driving furiously, I suddenly notice her pulling up beside me.
"Jesus you run fast!" I smile. "By any chance, can you steer left?"
"Baby," she says. "Don't leave me without giving me a goodbye kiss!"
I roll down the window, pucker up and lean over.
... The dart caught me right in the neck.
correctly spelling "The Cult of Qelqoth".
Saturday
Wide Open Spaces
Predator Press
[LOBO]
After returning the big sack of *plasma* television that never worked to Best Buy, the living room was in nightmarish disarray; I decided I needed to make it up to LadyTerri by replacing our woefully dated light switch panels.
... Now I'm considering adding on an extra bedroom.
The people that built our house were contracted by Lord Likely.
[LOBO]
After returning the big sack of *plasma* television that never worked to Best Buy, the living room was in nightmarish disarray; I decided I needed to make it up to LadyTerri by replacing our woefully dated light switch panels.... Now I'm considering adding on an extra bedroom.
Monday
Bittersweet Symphony
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"So you fell down an elevator shaft," says Nurse Garrison.
"No," I correct. "I jumped down an elevator shaft. Lord Likely wanted to cut the elevator cable so the horses pulling it would be free and the townspeople could go summon help."
Glancing up from her clipboard, she sighs. "Your wife called. She's on her way."
"Thank you for notifying her," I says.
"She's very worried," Nurse Garrison shrugs. Inspecting a tiny scrap of paper through her glasses she adds, "Evidently your 'Driving Into a Lake or Volcano' insurance expired on the 4th."
"Dammit!" I complain. "There goes our Hawaiian vacation. She's going to kill me."
"I thought she was kidding," says the Nurse. Peering over her glasses, she appears strangely incredulous. "You still have a Driver's License?"
"I got better'n that," I says. Flipping open my wallet, I show her my polished badge.
Pushing her glasses back up her nose, Nurse Garrison reads it aloud:
Head of Secret Zombie
and Boogeyman Prevention
for Liberty and Justice.
"So it should. The SZBPFLJ -as the blissfully unaware public so likes to pronounce it- was commissioned in February of 2002 by President George Bush himself."
"This badge implies you are a Federal Agent. It's got to be a Federal Offense to present it."
"And I never understood that," I agree. "That would never stop zombies or the Boogeyman from trying to impersonate me. George can be very frustrating."
"It says 'Made in Taiwan'."
"Cut me some slack," I reply. "I'm lying as fast as I can."
Saturday
The Exciting Electrical Elevator Endeavor
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep?" I wheeze weakly into the phone.
"LOBO? How did you get this number?"
"I peeked over Nurse Garrison's shoulder when she was filling out my chart."
The doctor sighed. Setting down his golf clubs, he eased back into the driver's seat of the cart. "She told me you have a sinus infection.”
"Then why do I feel like my brains have expanded, ripped through my skull and seeped out while a gnarly-toed bigfoot splashed around on them?"
"Because you have a sinus infection."
"I blame the boy," I says flatly.
"It's entirely possible. You did mention he was sick last week. You could have picked up what he had."
"Well this was most ill-conceived. He is by far the most expendable of us. I mean he can't get a job or drive a car ... and those tiny soft hands are poorly-suited for building even the most woefully small of colossal effigies of myself!"
The sky darkened suddenly, and the doctor looked up to see black clouds moving in. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the warm smell of rain filled the atmosphere.
“What the hell was that?" I says into the phone. "Where are you?”
“It’s a storm coming in,” replied the doctor. “I’m at the 17th hole of the Cancun Open.”
“What’s your handicap?”
"At the moment, you are. Get some Tylenol," suggested the doctor.
"I can't. I'm still stuck in the elevator."
"I thought you were rescued."
"Well, the elevator started working again. But just as I called the police, the CIA, the FBI, FEMA and Interpol to tell them everything was cool, Lord Likely got on and beat the control panel into slag with his cane.”
“They don’t make these confounded contraptions like they used to,” explained Likely. “And who is this Mandy person?”
“LOBO, I can’t help you from here. Would you please just call the fire department back?”
“They won’t answer,” I says sulkily.
“Tell this medical practitioner to fear not,” says Likely. “I’ve had Botter lay down at the bottom of the shaft and cushion our descent.”
“Will that work?” I ask Likely.
“I don’t know,” says Likely. “That’s why you have to go first. Botter is chocked full of spiky bones and so forth; he will need to be tenderized thoroughly before my Lordliness can attempt such a feat.”
“I’m ready Milord!” cries Botter from far below.
“Doc,” I says into the phone. “What if I jump, and then right before I smack into the ground, I swerve to avoid it?”
Doctor Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes just as the heavy rain began to fall. “It’s worth a try. But wouldn’t you just veer of into the side of the concrete elevator shaft?”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Resigned, I yell down, “Okay Botter, are you ready?”
“Yes Sir.”
To Likely, “And you’re sure he won’t move?”
“Dare he move a muscle, I shall beat him severely about the legs,” says Likely with command.
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”
After a brief moment, I step into oblivion.
“Oh wait sir!” cries Botter. “I forgot your Tylenol in the car!”
[LOBO]"Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep?" I wheeze weakly into the phone.
"LOBO? How did you get this number?"
"I peeked over Nurse Garrison's shoulder when she was filling out my chart."
The doctor sighed. Setting down his golf clubs, he eased back into the driver's seat of the cart. "She told me you have a sinus infection.”
"Then why do I feel like my brains have expanded, ripped through my skull and seeped out while a gnarly-toed bigfoot splashed around on them?"
"Because you have a sinus infection."
"I blame the boy," I says flatly.
"It's entirely possible. You did mention he was sick last week. You could have picked up what he had."
"Well this was most ill-conceived. He is by far the most expendable of us. I mean he can't get a job or drive a car ... and those tiny soft hands are poorly-suited for building even the most woefully small of colossal effigies of myself!"
The sky darkened suddenly, and the doctor looked up to see black clouds moving in. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the warm smell of rain filled the atmosphere.
“What the hell was that?" I says into the phone. "Where are you?”
“It’s a storm coming in,” replied the doctor. “I’m at the 17th hole of the Cancun Open.”
“What’s your handicap?”
"At the moment, you are. Get some Tylenol," suggested the doctor.
"I can't. I'm still stuck in the elevator."
"I thought you were rescued."
"Well, the elevator started working again. But just as I called the police, the CIA, the FBI, FEMA and Interpol to tell them everything was cool, Lord Likely got on and beat the control panel into slag with his cane.”
“They don’t make these confounded contraptions like they used to,” explained Likely. “And who is this Mandy person?”
“LOBO, I can’t help you from here. Would you please just call the fire department back?”
“They won’t answer,” I says sulkily.
“Tell this medical practitioner to fear not,” says Likely. “I’ve had Botter lay down at the bottom of the shaft and cushion our descent.”
“Will that work?” I ask Likely.
“I don’t know,” says Likely. “That’s why you have to go first. Botter is chocked full of spiky bones and so forth; he will need to be tenderized thoroughly before my Lordliness can attempt such a feat.”
“I’m ready Milord!” cries Botter from far below.
“Doc,” I says into the phone. “What if I jump, and then right before I smack into the ground, I swerve to avoid it?”
Doctor Nyarlathotep rolled his eyes just as the heavy rain began to fall. “It’s worth a try. But wouldn’t you just veer of into the side of the concrete elevator shaft?”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Resigned, I yell down, “Okay Botter, are you ready?”
“Yes Sir.”
To Likely, “And you’re sure he won’t move?”
“Dare he move a muscle, I shall beat him severely about the legs,” says Likely with command.
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”
After a brief moment, I step into oblivion.
“Oh wait sir!” cries Botter. “I forgot your Tylenol in the car!”
Friday
Ask LOBO
.jpg)
Predator Press
[LOBO]
People are always asking me, "LOBO, how come you don't have like 97 blogs?"
Well, I'm glad you asked me that.
My favorite neighbor, the Canadian Curmudgeon, has two great and well-written blogs. And from "across the pond" Lord Likely has about 12. No matter what your thoughts are on the butchery of our fine American language with that crazy accent, you have to salute the British for just sheer blogging industriousness; Lord Likely alone makes our discovery of England completely worthwhile. When's the last time you read a brilliant gem out of the Galapagos Islands? Hm?
But I'll be blog surfing in MyBloglog or blogcatalog and stumble onto some profile -invariably a weird, hairy dude with a scantily clad attractive woman icon- that has like 15 or twenty blogs, and the only thing they have in common is the disturbing desire to escape every one of them: the topics will range from something cute and fluffy like "My Intermittent Ponderings" to "How Spiders F--k".
And I'm cool with that. I mean who doesn't want to read an insightful scientific dissertation on how spiders f--k? How many legs can she get behind her head? I mean you have to click on that.
So now you're committed: Join? Not join? And then you start seeing the other stuff like "SEO Academy: Internet Marketing". Bloggers, I'm coming clean on this right now: nothing shuts my brain off faster than the word 'SEO'. It's mind numbing. I don't even know what the hell 'SEO' means, and I'm bored to death with it.
It has been long standing Predator Press policy to have people that visit but don't 'join' our neighborhood swiftly and quietly killed. But, for instance, MyBlogLog only lets you join 15 'neighborhoods' a day ... and it now I got like 18 more blogs to read by this prolific asshole! Man I was trying to relax and enjoy some web-surfing, and now you're making me make decisions.
Jerk.
So why don't I have 97 blogs? Because:
a) I don't have that kind of time,
b) I'm already complaining about stuff as fast as I can, and
c) I'm almost certain I've pointed out how lazy I am on this blog before, so back off.
Frankly, Predator Press is already beyond my control: it's a rampant and insatiable fusion-fueled juggernaut of a blog that chews up entire universes and spits out kittens. For fun. Another "Predator Press" would tear holes in the fabric of Space-Time, destabilize the "Blogosphere", and ultimately collapse the entire internet into a singular dense point that corrupts your computer cookies, downloads brownies and pizza instead, and ultimately skews your ebay feedback until you have to burn down your own home for the insurance money while fighting zombies dressed in a Speedo.
Would you really want more than one Predator Press?
I, for one, happen to like cookies.
And zombies are assholes.
Tuesday
Thursday
Quick! Look Over There!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Sorry we haven't posted for a few days; we took some time off in commemoration of Richard Jewell.
In the meantime, please click on the pic to check out some of our other fave sites!
[LOBO]
Sorry we haven't posted for a few days; we took some time off in commemoration of Richard Jewell.
In the meantime, please click on the pic to check out some of our other fave sites!
Monday
Blogger Summit Accomplishes Little
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Hey," I says. "Thanks for getting me out of jail."
"No problem," says Doc Mike. "Actually it was Lord Likely."
With a sharp crack, Botter delivers a series of searing blows about my legs with a riding crop. "If M'Lord ever hears of you besmirching blogdome by blogging on a dead rat again," he declares, "He'll have you basted with gravy, and leave you on an island of cannibals!"
"Yes sir," I says, wincing as my sweat burns into the wounds. "How's the food there?"
"Not bad," says Likely.
"Hey," says Domestic Minx. "Why aren't you crying like a sissy?"
"I temporarily fused my tear ducts closed with hot wires," I explain.
"Was that so other prisoners couldn't see you crying?" asks Doc.
"No. That was because a big hairy guy with a knife wanted to see what would happen."
"So you burned your tear ducts closed?" asks LadyTerri.
"Hey," I says. "I was just glad he wasn't some kind of weirdo."
"Good point," says Likely.
"I thought your were a 14th-level Master of Peking Duck," says Doc.
"I am," I says coolly.
"A 14th-level Peking Duck Master," explains Doc skeptically, "can hide under or behind anything, virtually instantly. Thai legend says it can only be learned in a vision during intense meditation."
"Intense meditation!" demands Minx, eyeing me closely.
"I overslept for breakfast and work the next day," I insist. “Fortunately I didn’t have eggs, sausage, pancakes, or a job. Everyone would have been totally fucked.”
"Peking Duck," says Michael-Anne incredulously. "You expect us to buy that--?"
"Where'd he go?" asks Minx.
"I'm right here," I says. "Up in this tree."
"So am I," says Babs. "And I studied The Duck under Ethan's 'lawyers' for two months."
"Babs!" I says. "When did you get out of jail? And did Ethan's lawyers give you that cool set of nunchuck chainsaws?"
"They would given me nukes. The EPA even cleared it. I just wanted the tactile pleasure of slowly dismembering you myself."
"And better JPEGs," volunteers Minx.
"Step back ladies," insists Likely to Terri, Minx, and Michael-Anne. "Don't get LOBO's blood on your dainty ankles."
"14th Level my ass," mutters Doc.
[LOBO]
"Hey," I says. "Thanks for getting me out of jail.""No problem," says Doc Mike. "Actually it was Lord Likely."
With a sharp crack, Botter delivers a series of searing blows about my legs with a riding crop. "If M'Lord ever hears of you besmirching blogdome by blogging on a dead rat again," he declares, "He'll have you basted with gravy, and leave you on an island of cannibals!"
"Yes sir," I says, wincing as my sweat burns into the wounds. "How's the food there?"
"Not bad," says Likely.
"Hey," says Domestic Minx. "Why aren't you crying like a sissy?"
"I temporarily fused my tear ducts closed with hot wires," I explain.
"Was that so other prisoners couldn't see you crying?" asks Doc.
"No. That was because a big hairy guy with a knife wanted to see what would happen."
"So you burned your tear ducts closed?" asks LadyTerri.
"Hey," I says. "I was just glad he wasn't some kind of weirdo."
"Good point," says Likely.
"I thought your were a 14th-level Master of Peking Duck," says Doc.
"I am," I says coolly.
"A 14th-level Peking Duck Master," explains Doc skeptically, "can hide under or behind anything, virtually instantly. Thai legend says it can only be learned in a vision during intense meditation."
"Intense meditation!" demands Minx, eyeing me closely.
"I overslept for breakfast and work the next day," I insist. “Fortunately I didn’t have eggs, sausage, pancakes, or a job. Everyone would have been totally fucked.”
"Peking Duck," says Michael-Anne incredulously. "You expect us to buy that--?"
"Where'd he go?" asks Minx.
"I'm right here," I says. "Up in this tree."
"So am I," says Babs. "And I studied The Duck under Ethan's 'lawyers' for two months."
"Babs!" I says. "When did you get out of jail? And did Ethan's lawyers give you that cool set of nunchuck chainsaws?"
"They would given me nukes. The EPA even cleared it. I just wanted the tactile pleasure of slowly dismembering you myself."
"And better JPEGs," volunteers Minx.
"Step back ladies," insists Likely to Terri, Minx, and Michael-Anne. "Don't get LOBO's blood on your dainty ankles."
"14th Level my ass," mutters Doc.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
LOBO - Predator Press "I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me ," Wendy growled.... -
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...
