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
