Ox Nuts and the Escape from Zanzibar

Predator Press

[LOBO]

x Nuts and Gwendolyn, on a beautiful white stallion Ox Nuts named Beautiful White Stallion, rode day and night at full gallop. But just as they arrived at the Zanzibar border, they got pulled over by the ZPD.

"Excuse me sir, I am going to need to see your license and registration," demanded one of the cops. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going? This is a school zone."

"Hey, O'Malley," said the second cop. "This guy looks familiar. Isn't this the guy that escaped the Vile Prince of Zanzibar yesterday?"

"Indeed," Ox Nuts replied menacingly. "It is I, the Mighty Ox Nuts!"

"We don't want any trouble mister.  Word on the street is somebody put a hit on the geometry class. If that's you, we don't want any part of that."

"Yeah," O'Malley agreed.  "That sounds kinda dangerous, and frankly unprofitable.  We just want to give you some traffic tickets and send you on your way."

So Ox Nuts was cited for going 30mph in a 20, a busted taillight, and a parking ticket for pulling over in a red zone.

"How can a horse have a busted taillight?" Ox Nuts complained.

"Forget it," said Gwendolyn. "Let's just go find someplace we can have sex."

"Ox Nuts cannot have sex with you," he brooded. "Not while Gwendolyn is married to the Vile Prince of Zanzibar!"

"Okay whatever. Just drop me off at that night club over there. I'll see you in a few hours." As she dismounted, she paused thoughtfully, peering into Ox Nut's clearly wounded eyes.  And as she watched, a single tear ran down his Mighty cheek.

"Well, see you later," she waved.  "Do you have any condoms?  I hate when I get all itchy down there."

Guy Lombardo and the Vile Prince of Zanzibar

Predator Press

[LOBO]

My wife is having an affair with the Prince of Zanzibar.

I know this, because I am the Prince-of-Zanzibar101@aol.com.

I don’t blame her. She thinks I am a wealthy guy with long flowin’ Fabio hair ridin in his 3,000 foot yacht.

And how can I blame her? I never would have thought AOL would let me have the official logon “Prince-of-Zanzibar101@aol.com" unless I presented proper credentials verifying my royal lineage: through what was doubtlessly an oversight, perhaps a 'comedy of cascading errors' on AOL’s part, the name slipped through their corporate security –and that’s how I seduced my wife.

-Well, that’s how I got her to add me to her ‘Buddy’ list. But that’s where it all starts, right?

If you doubt any this tragic story, Guy-Lombardo101@aol.com can verify it.

I know this, because I am also Guy-Lombardo101@aol.com. And “Guy” will be the first person to tell you that the vile Prince of Zanzibar is up to no good. The vile Prince of Zanzibar will woo her with all his money and good looks, and then just toss her aside like a prom dress made of wicker!

Still, it would be cool to ride in a 3,000 foot yacht.

"Ox Nuts" Reviews

Predator Press

[Mr I]

"Dude," he says into the phone. "That was amazing. I mean, 'Ox Nuts' is going to be a major bestseller. Maybe even a movie. It's genius! I don't think I've 'punched the clown' while crying this much since, like, September ... who knew you could write like that?"

"But I post on the blog two or three times a year," says Mr. I.

"Yeah, but who reads that tripe? 'Ox Nuts' is big! Can you put in some explosions and helicopter chases? I don't want to infringe on your art, but a scene where Ox fights a giant bug or something might help get some of your boring soppy romance edited out."

"It's supposed to be a love story, you moron."

"Well how about some buxom Nordic chicks in Viking helmets, wielding electric battle axes that go 'bla-WANGGGGGG--'?"

[long pause]

"Maybe."

Ox Nuts: The Pilot Episode

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

"Oh Ox Nuts, my love," cries Gwendolyn. "The ocean is so vast, and yet here it is, for us and us only. Our love is captured forever in this meaningless, private moment on a magnificent beach." She unties her flowing, golden hair. "Even the stars have turned away from us tonight. Take me now, you savage lustful beast! Before you are captured." Her flimsy clothing slips over her pointed nipples, her curves, finally falling around her bejewelled ankles. "I want to have experienced your mighty passion, so I can remember it fondly while you are tortured and executed by my abusive boyfriend, the vile Prince of Zanzibar. Oh Ox Nuts, ride me like a wild stallion ..."

Ox Nuts and the Vile Prince of Zanzibar

Predator Press

[LOBO]

he Vile Prince of Zanzibar, a mirror in each hand, peered from every angle he could imagine.

"It makes me look small, doesn't it?"

"Did you want us to make you a small throne so you look larger?"

The Prince's eyes flashed. "Mind your tongue, or you may not keep it," he warned. "But this throne definitely makes me look tiny. I want everyone in Zanzibar familiar with the concept of geometry executed."

"Yeah. Sure," shrugged the advisor. "I'll get right on that. Meanwhile I do have some good news."

"I love good news!" cried the prince. "Is it a pony?"

"We have captured the scourge Ox Nuts!"

Just then the doors flew open, and horrible screeching sound filled the throne room. Ox Nuts twisted his impossibly wide shoulders to enter. Each wrist was chained to a separate ship anchor that dragged noisily as he walked.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the prince.

"Indeed," the advisor nodded. "What shall we do with him?"

"Execute him. In fact, new rule: 'No more non-executed prisoners in the throne room.'"

***

Mortal men usually die within few hours, but Ox Nuts was tortured for forty days and forty nights. This caused many Union infractions, and was finally growing on the prince's last nerve.

"Why do we have to execute him in the throne room?" the prince demanded. "If I hear 'kootchy-kootchy-koo' one more time ..."

"I have an idea," said the advisor. The cloaked man in black seemed to flow eerily to the executioner's ear, and from his pocket he produced something the mere sight of which made the gasping Ox Nuts groan.

A feather.

"I am loosing my patience. Perhaps we have been too hospitable to out guest," soothed the advisor in a reptilian laced quip, waving the quill gracefully. "Remove his shoes."

-But Ox Nuts was ready. Once he was barefoot, he grabbed the executioner's neck in one foot, and ripped off the top of his skull with the other. Then he scooped out the executioner's brains in one mighty toenail, and jammed them into the advisor's eyes, blinding him.

"Eeyew!" cried the blinded advisor.

Surging with new-found strength, Ox Nuts rose to his bloody, brain-splattered feet. And dragging the anchors chained to his wrists, he took another step to the throne.

"Where's the girl?" he growled, his sepulchral voice could be felt in the marble floor.

"Do you think I a fool?" the Vile Prince laughed. "If you harm me, you will never find her!"

Another screeching step.

Ox Nuts' muscles bulged, and he lunged one anchor significantly further.  The marble cracked all the way to the prince's flip flops.

"I'll bet she is in your iPhone" Ox Nuts glowered.

"Okay okay fine," said the Vile Prince, flipping through his contacts. "I was just kidding.  Here.  I will put her on speakerphone."

The phone rang.

"What now Larry?"

"Honey. It's the Vile Prince of Zanzibar. Remember what I said about when we were on speakerphone?"

"Whatever Larry."

"Honey, uh, there's someone in the throne room that wants to see you."

"Well I just painted my toenails. Plus I am shopping on QVC. I just bought a limited collection of porcelain dolphins that will look splendid in our QVC storage unit. And did you know Kim Kardahian had her baby? The sink is still dripping and all the murderholes are clogged with leaves. What ever happened to that television show 'The Facts of Life?' I really like Tutti ..."

"Gwendolyn," said Ox Nuts, straining another step. "It is I, Ox Nuts. I am here to rescue you from the Vile Prince of Zanzibar."

"Well I won't have time to shave my legs. But I can pluck my eyebrows right? I mean I will save time since I don't need to put panties on. Should I go with an elegant flowing princess gown with a tiara and maybe some tasteful bracelets? Or something like a hot tomboy tough girl, ready for adventure? I just BeDazzled a skull onto this really cute denim vest. But I don't know what kind of shoes to wear with it. I should just go with boots probably ... "

Another step.

Ox Nuts glowered. "If you touched her, I will make your suffering legendary."

"Ox Nuts I'm fine. He's my husband. He can't touch me. Larry made up the whole prince thing because he was trying to trap me in an affair."

"I will make your suffering legendary," the Vile Prince repeated, mockingly. "Meh. Where do you get your dialog? Rent-a-Center? You are about to kill your nemesis and rescue the girl. This is the best you can do? I mean there are dozens of people here to witness this history."

"Yes. Make in impression" Gwendolyn advised.  "Say something authoritative and menacing like, 'My vagina hurts.  The rest of you guys are going to have to settle for blow jobs.'"

Dwane "The Rock" Johnson Gets Tattooz To Impersonate Me

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Edward Snowden Leaks ULTIMATE "Making of Star Wars, Original Trilogy" To Kim Kardashian's Baby

Predator Press

[LOBO]

A Long Time Ago On An Armchair Far, Far Away ...

 

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Like any other Star Wars fan, I have been "chasing the dragon" for another good movie since The Empire Strikes Back.  And in anticipation of my next "fix," I find myself occasionally tracking news on the next film.

Plot rumors aside I know Disney purchased the franchise, and this move has come with mixed reviews from die hard fans.  But I'm fine with that personally.  Disney is a class act.  And if you dig into Disney's food chain deep enough, you'll find Quentin Tarantino; Disney is perfectly capable of delivering a darker vehicle than the fluff we have been getting for decades.

I have also confirmed the production company Bad Robot -whose resume includes little-known projects such as Cloverfield and Lost- is onboard.  Toss in J.J. Abrams, and I am growing cautiously optimistic.  And as a recovering Star Wars-oholic on my 9th step ("Making Amends"), I have George Lucas on speed dial.

But as for my next injection of the saga, I'm not exactly tying the rubber strap to my upper arm just yet.  The problem with the series evolution as it stands, in my opinion, is centered around a failure in character development, and -perhaps even moreover- casting.  The serendipitous and captivating personalities developed by Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill, et cetera, have given way to unwarranted celebrity cameos.  If you recall, even the beloved and cantankerous Millennium Falcon had a personality ... but everyone since that original cast might as well be wearing "good guy" and "bad guy" nametags.  We need more character complexity and nuance; no one has been particularly memorable -at least not in a good way.  Perhaps this is an unwanted byproduct of playing against a blue screen instead of using actual sets.

And speaking of that, I also want the original "feel," back.  It's too polished now, sort of devolving into a CGI special effects catalog.  It was better when the universe of Star Wars seemed like a rental apartment -the Matrix-esque gloss is inescapable.  I like that the ships and droids looked all banged up.  People looked tired and well-worn.  It was a used, "lived in" universe, simultaneously textured with haggard decline and rebirth in random patches.  Like real life.

Ironically, technology seems to have made Star Wars lose its soul.

300 Ponies

Predator Press

Johnny Cash: Beyond Thunderdome

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Dear Mr. Steven Spielberg,

As your bodyguards continue to remind me, this is in direct violation of my Temporary Restraining Order. But I cannot in good conscience let you miss out on this script, and the other ones I sent you came back smelling suspiciously like urine. My mailman probably stole the check you issued.

Enclosed is the first three chapters of my screenplay Johnny Cash: Beyond Thunderdome.  While one thousand six hundred and seven pages might seem a bit cumbersome, please remember that they are double-spaced for your reading convenience.

To summarize, Joaquin Phoenix reprises his role as Johnny Cash who has risen from the dead in a post-apocalyptic world due to bad Tina Turner music. Then he becomes a Rabbi and is forced to kick the shit out of Mad Max (portrayed by Mel Gibson).

Humiliated, Mad Max is forced underground and forges an uneasy alliance with Batman and the “A” Team: together they create a the Death Dradle which threatens to wipe out Thunderdome which -while redundant- meanaces however many extras we can pick up fast and “on the cheap.”

Alerted to the Death Dradle’s sinister purpose, the population of Thunderdome rally behind Johnny, and the six of them design and create a lethal countermeasure: The Aurora Menorah. This plan –essentially throwing sand and scorpions at anyone with a Mohawk hairstyle- is doomed to failure however: the Mohawk guys have invisible motorcycles and guns.

Johnny Cash -now known as "Snake"- is captured, and Thunderdome is immediately retaken by Max. But Johnny’s last wish before his execution is to play an invisible guitar, and he plays a song so bluesy and sad Batman –his guard- hangs himself with his own BatCables™ . Johnny, after administering mouth-to-mouth CPR on Batman and triggering numerous lawsuits from DC Comics, escapes with the aid of his newfound pet rat Ben and continues on with his plan to assassinate Hitler.

Fleeing into the desert, Johnny is beset by visions and memories of his past life, realizing he died fairly definitively in the movie Walk the Line.

-Indeed, Johnny must be the world’s first musical Jewish zombie!

And if anti-Semitic Mad Max was going to be defeated, Johnny has to learn to set aside his overpowering musical Jewish zombie craving for brains: this sets the stage for some fantastic Oscar-worthy performances:



DIALOGUE EXCERPT

“Ben,” says tormented Johnny. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How the fuck could I know?” says the rat (voiced by Bruce Willis).

“Can’t I have just a little bit of brains?”

“No,” says Ben. “It’s a strict discipline.”

“But I caught you eating my bicep yesterday! Can I at least lick the brain spoon after you put the chocolate chips and sprinkles in it?”

“Let me have the bicep and I’ll think it over.”

“Done. Here.”

“No,” says Ben between chews. "Now get on your invisible motorcycle. Tina Turner just issued a press release calling you Bigfoot's Manifesto."

END DIALOGUE EXCERPT

Steven, I have no doubt you -the premier visionary Director of the Twentieth Centurion- see immediately in the genius of this script. Please call me to begin negotiations at 555-999-5150.

And hurry up.

-It’s a payphone.

What If Ed Wood Made Star Wars?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Punch-Drunk Drunk

Predator Press

[LOBO]

ADAM Sandler will doubtlessly be suing me after this post.

No, I’m serious. I spent all of Saturday and Sunday poring over dizzyingly-long subpoenas, and it turns out he is among the proud and few not suing me yet. And I can't counter-sue until Adam Sandler sues me first.

What does this all mean? This means Adam Sandler has completely lazy and worthless lawyers: they are overpaid and pasty gelatinous SLOBS swishin’ around in lil skirts.  Soon we will hear half-full Chinese take-out boxes, chicken bones, and small unfortunate animals tumbling through air pockets trapped in mountainous, groaning layers of Adam Sandler lawyer flab as it lunges in desperate pursuit of that one last cheerleader to roll over before the fire department hoists their STD-riddled, flea-infested fat asses out of pricey condominiums via numerous helicopters and cranes while dead, rotting hookers flop lifeless out from under ample bedsore-covered acres of greasy cellulite and acne once-rumored to be human Adam Sandler lawyer flesh.

-The universe has no place for idle, dawdling lawyers!

See, I am losing huge in all my countersuits on average too … and I figure Adam Sandler is easily worth $1,000,000 in fat countersuit greenbacks: that is exactly what it will cost to burn the memory of Eight Crazy Nights out of my brain.

But what do Sylvester Stallone, Hillary Swank, Mark Wahlburg, and Adam Carolla have on the mighty Adam Sandler?

Hm?

Boxing movies.

I want Mister Sandler -Adam, if I may be so bold- to read my script Punch-Drunk Drunk. It’s a sequel to Punch-Drunk Love -a stoic follow-up that finds Barry Egan succumbing to his seven evil sisters, thus being forced to eek out a meager existence boxing grizzly bears.

But boxing grizzly bears is a terrible way to eek out a meager existence, especially when you just got promoted to astronaut!  In the final match, the Emperor Grizzly Bear cheats and punctures Barry's pressure suit in the third round and is disqualitied.  (I think Rob Schneider is a shoe-in for ‘Best Supporting Actor,’ particularly because he doesn’t appear in this movie.)

So Barry is now Boxing Champion of the World and Emperor of the Grizzly Bears.  But the controversy surrounding the victory yields only mockery and taunting from sports fans of virtually every species. Tormented, Barry gets hooked on 5-Hour Energy Drinks. He doesn't know what he needs energy for -let alone 5 hours worth- but suddenly he’s a quarterback in the NFL too. Eventually Sarah Palin shoots the evil Former Bear Emperor, and -thusly befriended- the grizzly bears team up with Barry, and together they go and defeat the vampires.  And the Raiders.

(I still have to write Acts II and III.)

Raiders of the Lost Crusader meme Trailer

Predator Press

[LOBO]




To place blame, please see Don Lewis.

299

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Alas! For perhaps the first time in history, circumstances have placed severe limitations on my ability to keep up with Predator Press.

But fear not, o loyal reader! It is all geared to improve everything in the long run. In an hour, I have a pitch meeting for my new screenplay “299.”

It’s the untold story of 299 Greeks that quit the army, got “real” jobs, and died of a vast myriad of STDs decades later.

The Astronaut Whisperer

Predator Press

[LOBO]

After being struck by a landing space shuttle, air traffic controller Dirk Elway’s life is completely transformed: sunken into the bleak menthol fog of Nyquil and Altoids addiction, even his goldfish have run away.

Similarly one of the surviving astronauts on board that very same space shuttle goes crazy, buys a box of Depends, and rides across the country –ultimately killing everyone in Twentynine Palms California with a rake.

On a hunch, Clint Eastwood –a world-renown Astronaut Whisperer- gambles that Dirk and The Astronaut’s macabre killing spree are somehow linked; armed with nothing but a 32 oz jar of Tang and a walkie-talkie Clint makes contact, culling the rogue Astronaut and reuniting him with ailing Dirk … but soon thereafter Dirk is mysteriously killed by an overdose of rake to the back of the skull.

Can Clint teach The Astronaut to laugh and love again? Will The Astronaut once again claim his coveted spot in the London Symphony Orchestra? And how can The Astonaut's lowly new job of testing 747 engines by tossing live seagulls into them let him rise once again to his once-lofty astronaut status? Only time and a ragtag group of Baptist church choir enthusiasts led by Whoopi Goldberg can tell.

We here at Predator Press give The Astronaut Whisperer, like, ten big thumbs up: this is the surprisingly engaging tale of an astronaut beset by tragedy and a love for gardening, and Clint's dogged and relentless efforts to repair his broken and battered spirit.

Scheduled for release this summer, it’s an uplifting, fun and romantic little film that’s a must-see for the whole family.

Nicolas Cage is not in this movie.

Bindsay Bohan: the Motion Picture

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“LOBO Productions,” I says coolly into the phone.The line is a bit loud with white noise, and the connection is terrible.

”Hello,” a female voice replies politely. “I’m calling to inquire about a film you have in production. It’s called “Linday Lohan: Fighting the Fears.”

“Ah yes,” I reply. “It’s kind of a biography of Lindsay Lohan.”

”Can I speak to whoever is in charge of that film?”

“You’re speaking to him” I says, twirling the telephone cord in my finger. Shiftless, my son, enters the kitchen, and I immediately put my finger to my lips, giving him the universal ‘Shhhhh!’ kata.

“LOBO Productions has their receptionist working on films?”

“Scorcese has the switchboard next week,” I explain. Shiftless, who is now making a sandwich, is rudely pushed aside as I dig into the junk drawer. “It’s a work study thing. Sorta so we can ‘keep it real.’”

“Hey,” says Shiftless, annoyed.

-Shhh!

“Thank you Mister Spielberg,” I says at Shiftless dismissively. From the drawer, I withdraw some napkins with notes scribbled on them. “Linday Lohan: Fighting the Fears. Yes. I have the script right here.”

”Well I’m Lindsay Lohan.”

“Who?” I says absently, trying to decipher the napkin scrawl.

“Lindsay Lohan. I never heard anything from my agent about this project. Am I expected to be in it?”

“We would love to have you in this movie,” I says truthfully. “How soon can you audition?”

[a brief pause]

”You want me to audition? For the role portraying myself?"

“I’m sorry if I mislead you Miss, eh-"

"Lohan."

"But-“ I spin the napkins back and forth. Some of the smudges even require me to read the sloppy jotting from the reversed side. “It appears this is our big Oscar push, and we wanted to cast the roll as early as possible -with a crushing heavyweight lead, the like of Tom Hanks or Robert De Niro.”

”Who did you get?”

“Chris Tucker.”

”Who is she?”

“I do have a cocktail waitress roll I think you would be perfect for,” I offer.

”You want me to be in a movie about me, where someone else plays me-“

“Not just anybody plays you, Miss Lohan. Chris Tucker plays you.”

”Wait. Is this that ‘LOBO’ guy that I have all those Temporary Restraining Orders against?”

“No it’s not,” I says. “But while we’re on the subject, is the TRO in Tulsa really necessary? You never go there unless it’s a flight connection.”

“If you go through with this movie, I’ll sue you down to the contents of your colon before I have you killed.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’m abandoning the project.”

”Good,” she says with finality.

Click!

“How did it go?” asks Shiftless, pulling his sandwich plate to the table.

“Pretty good,” I says. On the napkin I change ‘Lindsay Lohan: Fighting the Fears’ title to ‘Bindsay Bohan: Biting the Bears.’

Putting the notes back in the junk drawer, I shrug. “We got a lot of boring legalese out of the way.”

Teenage George Lucas: The Lost Files

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Dude,” says Lenny. “Are you feelin it?”

“Oh yeah,” says George.

“We should maybe go someplace else. That dog is givin me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What dog?” asks George.

“Dude,” says Lenny pointing. “Right over there.”

“That’s a palm tree.”

“Well I hope it’s friendly.” Lenny takes a drink out of his Coca-Cola bottle and winces thoughtfully. “Hey, what do palm trees eat, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” says George. “Dirt I think.”

“Whoa,” breathes Lenny. “Shit there’s a lot of dirt man.”

“Lenny I think I wanna make movies,” reflects George.

“Me too dude. And some waffles.”

“No I’m serious.”

“So am I. Some waffles would kick ass right now.”

“I mean about making movies. I wanna make a big epic science fiction saga about the struggle between good and evil.”

"I told you not to take so much your first time."

“It'll have cool robots an stuff," insists George. “Yeah. In fact it’ll have robots with personality. And I’ll create a handful of memorable and likeable characters to be the heroes.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” says Lenny. “I would abandon that 'memorable and likeable characters' crap only a few movies in. Nobody wants those in movies with robots.”

“Robots and aliens,” adds George wistfully.

“Aliens too?” says Lenny. “Man that would be cool.”

“-With an evil Dictator, and a whole big Nazi-like army of half-robot lookin’ identical bad guys that can't hit anything they shoot at.”

“Dude,” says Lenny eyeing the palm tree carefully. “One of the heroes could be like a big giant space dog or something. A big giant spacedog that shoots a crossbow.”

“Big giant spacedogs that can shoot crossbows would get along just fine with an evil Dictator and a whole big Nazi-like army of half-robot lookin’ identical bad guys that can't hit anything. They would be in cahoots and lockstep the whole way.”

“You could make ‘em gay or something,” replies Lenny. “And when this ‘empire’ figures out it can’t legislate all the gayness out of ‘em, boom, it’s illegal to be a big giant gay dog that can shoot crossbows."

"Spacedog," George corrects. "How about if they can escape because they can fly the spaceships too?"

"Ooooo, cool," says Lenny. "And because they're illegal, it’s cool to make ‘em slaves or whatever.” He pauses. "I got it. He's a pirate. Or maybe a smuggler even!"

“I don't know," says George. "How could I possibly work in a big giant gay outlaw pirate smuggler slave hero spacedog that can shoot crossbows and fly spaceships? This seems a bit far-fetched. I'll have to scale it back somewhere. Plus I was hoping to keep these movies kid-friendly.”

"Just drop the crossbow then," Lenny concedes. "Maybe let him duel with a cool-looking electric sword or something."

“Huh."

“I’m hungry,” says Lenny.

“Me too.”


"
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Halo of Files

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I made it through acid rain, ozone depletion, contraction of the thermosphere, global warming, et cetera.

So I was neither surprised or impressed that we cracked the Earth’s crust and spewed millions of gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico.

-What really bugged me, I suppose, is that we did it for the oil.

So our options are 1) Buy oil from countries that want to kill us, or B) Drill our own oil via companies that may make our environment completely untenable?

Shit, if we're negotiating for position on a "need-versus-environment" sliding scale, I would rather have the chlorofluorocarbons back frankly.

My hair used to be awesome.

We claim to be interested in alternate forms of energy, yet continue to elect people with a vested interest in oil. Trusting the wolves to guard the sheep is hardly an effort we can take seriously. Want some real progress? Gather up all the physicists, chemists, and biologists, et cetera, dust off Alcatraz, and lock them all up in it. Give them chalk, calculators, and all the meth they can handle, and don’t feed them or let them sleep until they’ve come up with something. Throw in some anonymous violent criminals (to keep it interesting between the occasional ancillary cancer cures and teleportation devices) and Pay-Per-View the whole thing to finance it. Wouldn‘t it be awesome to see an emaciated, blood-soaked and twitchy Doctor Michio Kaku pulling a shiv from Stephen Hawking‘s neck, screaming “Eureka!” in the comfort of your own home?

Now that‘s fucking science.

But even with the oil leak dubiously closed and subtle stirring of the HBFFL‘s inevitable annual wakening, I may never have emerged; safely ensconced in a womblike fog of alcohol and chain-smoked cigarettes, the raging dissonance is blunted by an artificially-inflated perception distance.

Embittered by the lack of resonance to the mighty Predator Press empire, I let the Arizona immigration issue slide while Mexican drug lords rose to power. Sensing my ambivalence, vast anti-Predator Press networks -having jealously long sought the destruction of the greatest bastion of knowledges and wisdomness humanity has ever seen- seized upon this opportunity to strike: Wesley Snipes faces incarceration, rendering him wholly unable to play me in LOBO: The Motion Picture for another three years. Sweet, innocent little Lindsay Lohan, bereft of my protection, has been framed for witchcraft or something and faces a similar fate. China has set their Dalian oil fields afire in open revolt, and Castro has reemerged, emboldened by my glaring absence. And Predator Press didn't even get nominated for an Emmy.

-Not one!

And nourished by this fertile apathy, a brazen and unbound evil blossomed. Heedless of the desperate cries of the United Nations, the Vatican, and various high-ranking members of the 4-H Club, Predator Press offices remained closed and dark; the massive, once-bustling blog ink warehouses gathered dust -a dust accompanied only by the occasional lonely howl of a lifeless wind making way aimlessly through cobwebbed corridors, looking in vain for tumbleweeds to blow.

Millions of readers camped outside, singing songs in joyous anticipation of my return. But an ominous shadow of cold, hard doubt permeated the throngs, like a big, stealthy panther. Yes -a big, stealthy, fire-breathing, flying monkey-panther of permeating doubt.

Those poor throngs.

In grief and despair, many immolated themselves. Many threw themselves from building tops. Many immolated themselves and then threw themselves from building tops. It’s a good thing I had those suicide pits installed: I love my readers, but they ain’t exactly the tidiest people in the world.

And then -just as it seemed that all hope was lost and the Earth was to be plunged into a cold, dark, LOBOless void for all eternity- a familiar voice boomed across the internet.

“Mel Gibson did what!?“

Christopher Walken Auditions for "LOBO the Motion Picture Part III: Attack of the Titanic Avatar of the Twighlight Basterdz' Pornographic Clone Wars"

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Everything Must Go

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"There is no ‘Les’ in Les Miserables,” says Terri. “It's not a person. It means ‘The Miserable Ones.’”

“Ah crap," I says. “You mean to tell me I’m 100 pages into a book written by a guy that can’t even spell?"

Terri sighs. “Apparently.”

“Well I’m going to re-write it,” I boast.

“Really.”

Yes. Check this out. “Doctor Les Miserables was a rapper -like Doctor Dre- who loved two things: his bling, and performing abortions.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work” says Terri, reading over my shoulder.

I continue typing. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at abortions, and had to run an orphanage as a consequence … ”

“You’re missing the point-”

“Before you go stompin on my work, would you at least let me get to the alien invasion?