Predator Press
[LOBO]
It was only in that moment of ridiculous terror I realized it was, well,
ridiculous.
-First of all, what the hell would I be doing in a cave? I am a lazy, lazy individual; caves require, you know,
getting to them and stuff.
And this is all predicated by the unlikely idea you could convince me to go
into a cave as well. Think about what you are up against here: if you uttered something that could be even
vaguely paraphrased into "Let's work hard to get into a place we can easily get killed in!" aloud in my house, I would immediately call 911 and secretly hope the cops beat you into paste once removed from the premises.
Who is going to miss a spelunker anyway? Somebody would go, "Where is Bill? I haven't seen him in a few days," and somebody else would reply "He's a spelunker." Then the first guy would say "Oh."
-And that would be that. They wouldn't even
look for you for weeks.
If at all.
Now that I think about it, I
hate spelunkers -spelunkers, and guys named "Travis." And if you're a spelunker
named Travis? Please save us all a lot of time and trouble and kill youself as soon as possible. It's for the greater good. Into the zinc smelter you go, and then
foom -that zinc smelter is launched into the sun.
It's that simple.
Anyway if I'm not really in this cave because I'm dreaming, it stands to reason this cable-thick webbing that is keeping me from running isn't real either. This is a good thing, because the spider the size of a 7/11 that just caught me just laid about fifty teeny weenie hungy-looking babies, each only the size of a compact car.
-They
too probably aren't real.
Jesus Christ I hope my sheets are dry when I wake up.
This first problem obviously is coming up with a
new dream. I don't like horror and worrying if the washing machine and dryer are empty, so no more nightmare -I wanna do, ah, smarmy science fiction. Yeah. With a zesty hint of Western and maybe a pinch of James Bond too.
-I don't remember any transition at all. It was more kinda like forgetting the cave and the spiders.
Now I'm looking down upon a magnificent futuristic city: my cape blows back in the breeze revealing two big and dangerous looking holstered guns -guns I presume I use on people that make fun of my cape.
Man I look good in Spandex.
"That was brilliant sir!" say a voice from behind.
I whirl with the reflexes of a cat, eyebrow raised and gun drawn.
A grandfatherly-seeming man with a high-tech looking darkened spectacle approached, and I could see the flaming remains of my X Wi -I mean X-
Thing fighter. (Does George Lucas still sue?) "Congratulations, my boy! You have saved the world again."
"Really?" I asked. "What exactly did I do?"
Suddenly, a thick throng of people close around me in a single wave, drowning the old man out completely.
"That was a fantastic display of heroism, physical prowess and utter genius!" says one.
"Yes it was," I agree. "What was it again?"
Then the cheerleaders start a rhythmic chant, "Horay for LOBO! You saved the world again!"
"Yes I did I suppose," I acquiesce. Well why should
I be a party-pooper? Heck, this dream skips right to the victorious end, minus all that exhausting, dangerous 'adventure' crap and tedious detail.
Now that I think about it, this is the best dream I've ever had.
There's only one problem really. See in every 70's or 80's movie you'll ever see, the bad guy always demands a million dollars.
One.
-By today's standards, that's, well,
laughable. You could probably get a million dollars for Corey Feldman.
So this is like the Twentieth Century or something. Couldn't I have saved more than one lousy world in my own dream? That's pretty lame if you ask me.
Bodysurfing over the still-growing crowds, I sigh disappointedly under the spectacular fireworks displays spelling "LOBO" is the sky.
Then I notice something unusual.
"Put me down," I tell the crowds.
Once my feet were on terra firma, the fan I happened to be facing smacked my shoulders proudly.
"How did you do it?" he asked.
"Do what?" I replied, still watching the strange object in the sky.
It was a clearly approaching -a gigantic
Independence Day-sized flying saucer.
Other people were now noticing it too.
The crowd scattered, and in moments I was in a huge clearing, directly under the central eye of the massive craft.
"
LOBO" a mechanical voice boomed, shaking the ground. "
We have come to destroy the universe."
"Like I care," I says. "It's a dump anyway. Just don't mess with any of
my stuff."
"
But," the voice continued. "
We have changed our minds after witnessing your recent brilliant and heroic actions. Perhaps there is hope for your feebleminded race and ours to live in peace."
"And what did I do exactly?"
"
You saved the universe."
The crowd cheers in the distance, and once again I am flooded by well-wishers.
But suddenly a stray LOBO firecracker bounced off of the goliath saucer's hull, and a million lasers unified on a single point -incinerating the unfortunate pyrotechnics engineer instantly.
And the guns began to take aim on possible threats in the sea of people.
"Oh my god," a woman screamed. "They killed Travis, the fireworks guy!"
As the smell of burnt hair wafted over the fearful spectators, a long uncomfortable silence ensued.
Finally seeming to notice, the saucer blurted "
Long Live LOBO."
Whew, I thought.
-I'm pretty good at this 'hero' stuff actually.
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