Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
I thought maybe I could help Max 'acclimate' to his new world by explaining his predecessor to some degree. LOBO's itinerary included picking up his repaired lawn mower from Sears, so I tried to offer some insights and observations on the way.
Fascinated by the modern and alien surroundings, Max didn't say a word until we were at the counter. "This LOBO character doesn't sound very responsible. I'm a little impressed that he even owns a lawn mower."
"Me too," I admitted. "Especially since he ripped out the lawn two years ago and laid down green linoleum. Now once or twice a month he just hoses the beer cans off into the gutter."
The clerk wheeled out the new-looking John Deere. "There's no charge," says the guy. "Tell LOBO that this mower will last for years if he stops using it to make daiquiri ice. The only thing wrong with it was a defective diaphragm. It was messing up the fuel intake."
I looked at Max waiting.
Max looked back at me, confused.
"This is where LOBO would say something like 'See, I'm so virile my lawn mower needs a diaphragm'."
This is going to be tough. I can tell.
Tuesday
Monday
Pedigree
Predator Press
[LOBO]
First of all, my ex-wife is a magnificent woman, and I hope that she is enjoying the happiness that she deserves.
And notably, I was briefly in Hell. So --what with the time distortion and all-- I had an eternity to rethink the whole relationship over and over, to try to find some way to make amends for being a total and complete insensitive bastard the entire time: If you see her, please tell her that I'm very very very very very very very very very very very very sorry.
And if it's any consolation, this bodyswitching crap hurts more than it did either time Tupac shot me.
I fumbled and staggered to stand and look in the mirror. Strangely, "CONAN the BARBARIAN" was scrawled accross the top.
Well, I thought. At least this guy is almost as buff as me.
After a few long moments, Princess Phoebe piped up. "Brighta, why is Max flexing at the Arnold Schwarzenegger poster?"
[LOBO]
First of all, my ex-wife is a magnificent woman, and I hope that she is enjoying the happiness that she deserves.
And notably, I was briefly in Hell. So --what with the time distortion and all-- I had an eternity to rethink the whole relationship over and over, to try to find some way to make amends for being a total and complete insensitive bastard the entire time: If you see her, please tell her that I'm very very very very very very very very very very very very sorry.
And if it's any consolation, this bodyswitching crap hurts more than it did either time Tupac shot me.
I fumbled and staggered to stand and look in the mirror. Strangely, "CONAN the BARBARIAN" was scrawled accross the top.
Well, I thought. At least this guy is almost as buff as me.
After a few long moments, Princess Phoebe piped up. "Brighta, why is Max flexing at the Arnold Schwarzenegger poster?"
Vexed in Biolence
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
Our email read:
"Dear Boss,
Everything is great. We balanced the budget: even excluding the eight cents made in May, you stand to make around two hundred thousand a year starting now.
All bills are already paid. In fact, we paid the next four years of Predator Press taxes in advance.
There's not much to do except count all this money over and over. Sapphire got a tattoo, but we already wrote it off in 2008.
We were hoping for the office Christmas party in the Cayman Islands this year.
Sincerely,
The remaining Predator Press Staff"
***
Ethan's eyebrows furrowed ... the email clearly smelled of Pina Coladas and sunscreen.
He pushed himself back from the desk and rubbed his temples under stylish, reflective, interactive x-ray vision sunglasses.
"A profit?" he wondered aloud.
"What the hell happened to LOBO?"
[Mr. Insanity]
Our email read:
"Dear Boss,
Everything is great. We balanced the budget: even excluding the eight cents made in May, you stand to make around two hundred thousand a year starting now.
All bills are already paid. In fact, we paid the next four years of Predator Press taxes in advance.
There's not much to do except count all this money over and over. Sapphire got a tattoo, but we already wrote it off in 2008.
We were hoping for the office Christmas party in the Cayman Islands this year.
Sincerely,
The remaining Predator Press Staff"
Ethan's eyebrows furrowed ... the email clearly smelled of Pina Coladas and sunscreen.
He pushed himself back from the desk and rubbed his temples under stylish, reflective, interactive x-ray vision sunglasses.
"A profit?" he wondered aloud.
"What the hell happened to LOBO?"
Sunday
Predatory Nature
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
Sure enough. After two and a half years of more-or-less innocent blogging, LOBO makes an ex-wife joke during a séance and here comes Satan.
"LOBO" says Satan, well-fanged multiple heads swinging, snapping at him from all angles.
"I put the toilet seat down!" cried LOBO, shielding his eyes from the furious, bloodthirsty tempest.
Satan paused. "I'M NOT YOUR EX WIFE, DUMBASS."
LOBO cautiously peeked through his fingers at the scaly, seven-headed thing dripping blood from jagged teeth. "Oh thank Jesus God!" he says. "You really had me going there."
"YOU HAVE INVOKED AN EX-WIFE JOKE, AND HAVE THUSLY INSULTED MY ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF MARKETING WHO REPORTS DIRECTLY TO JOSEF STALIN."
"Is Marilyn Monroe still hot--?"
"SILENCE!" Satan demanded. "AS YOU HAVE SINNED, I CAN FULFIL THE DEAL WITH MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM. HAVING SOLD HIS SOUL FOR THE HAPPINESS OF PRINCESS PHOEBE, YOU WILL NOW EXCHANGE BODIES AND LIVE HAPPILY FOREVERAFTER."
"Does he have high speed internet?"
"YES, BUT HE USES A MACINTOSH."
LOBO screamed.
[Mr. Insanity]
Sure enough. After two and a half years of more-or-less innocent blogging, LOBO makes an ex-wife joke during a séance and here comes Satan.
"LOBO" says Satan, well-fanged multiple heads swinging, snapping at him from all angles.
"I put the toilet seat down!" cried LOBO, shielding his eyes from the furious, bloodthirsty tempest.
Satan paused. "I'M NOT YOUR EX WIFE, DUMBASS."
LOBO cautiously peeked through his fingers at the scaly, seven-headed thing dripping blood from jagged teeth. "Oh thank Jesus God!" he says. "You really had me going there."
"YOU HAVE INVOKED AN EX-WIFE JOKE, AND HAVE THUSLY INSULTED MY ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF MARKETING WHO REPORTS DIRECTLY TO JOSEF STALIN."
"Is Marilyn Monroe still hot--?"
"SILENCE!" Satan demanded. "AS YOU HAVE SINNED, I CAN FULFIL THE DEAL WITH MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM. HAVING SOLD HIS SOUL FOR THE HAPPINESS OF PRINCESS PHOEBE, YOU WILL NOW EXCHANGE BODIES AND LIVE HAPPILY FOREVERAFTER."
"Does he have high speed internet?"
"YES, BUT HE USES A MACINTOSH."
LOBO screamed.
Saturday
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
So we're all holding hands in a small circle.
"Jim," asks LOBO into the darkness. "Are you there?"
"Yes," says Legless Jim. "I'm holding your fucking hand, you idiot!"
LOBO gasps. "It really is Jim! Nobody other than Jim would know that I'm an idiot."
We all opened an eye and looked at each other.
"Jiiiiiiiimmmm," LOBO says with a ghostly Scooby Doo waiver in his voice. "We are calling from the land of the liviiiing ..."
"Yeah, if you say so," says Jim between Fritos.
"So is Marilyn Monroe still hot?"
"I guess," Jim shrugged. "If you're into skinny white chicks." Getting up, he slipped LOBO's hand into Sapphire's and headed for the kitchen. "Is there any more beer?"
"Jiiiiimmm," says LOBO. "You're fadiiiing away from us. Are you going towards the light?"
Jim grabs a beer. "Hey!" he says. "This is fuckin warm--"
"Oh my God Jim," says Sapphire, suddenly crushing LOBO's hand. "Stay away from the light!"
"Go to the light!" LOBO insists, wincing in pain. "And tell my ex-wife I said 'hey'!"
[Mr. Insanity]
So we're all holding hands in a small circle.
"Jim," asks LOBO into the darkness. "Are you there?"
"Yes," says Legless Jim. "I'm holding your fucking hand, you idiot!"
LOBO gasps. "It really is Jim! Nobody other than Jim would know that I'm an idiot."
We all opened an eye and looked at each other.
"Jiiiiiiiimmmm," LOBO says with a ghostly Scooby Doo waiver in his voice. "We are calling from the land of the liviiiing ..."
"Yeah, if you say so," says Jim between Fritos.
"So is Marilyn Monroe still hot?"
"I guess," Jim shrugged. "If you're into skinny white chicks." Getting up, he slipped LOBO's hand into Sapphire's and headed for the kitchen. "Is there any more beer?"
"Jiiiiimmm," says LOBO. "You're fadiiiing away from us. Are you going towards the light?"
Jim grabs a beer. "Hey!" he says. "This is fuckin warm--"
"Oh my God Jim," says Sapphire, suddenly crushing LOBO's hand. "Stay away from the light!"
"Go to the light!" LOBO insists, wincing in pain. "And tell my ex-wife I said 'hey'!"
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
Too depressed to even defile any graves, LOBO wailed over Legless Jim's coffin. "Why?" he sobbed at the empty sky. "Why Jim? He was such a good guy. Young, vibrant ... so full of life and love! He had so much to contribute."
I put my hand on his shoulder, and for a second, his tearful eye met mine. Then he turned and shook his fist upward, "Couldn't you take Mr Insanity instead? I mean he's actually on the payroll ...!"
***
The Chick Magnet wouldn't start, so Sapphire drove LOBO, Legless Jim and I home. Legless Jim rode shotgun; he was developing a thing for the girl.
"It'll never work," LOBO whispers to me. "She might be a malfunctioning psychotic robot, but even with Brad Pitt's legs I don't think necrophilia is among her vast repertoire of neurosi and insecurities."
"'Vast repertoire--'?!" says Sapphire, slamming on the brakes.
"Hey," LOBO continues. "It's not my fault you're a psychological wasteland of irrational thought processes--"
Sapphire glared at him through the mirror for a moment in complete disbelief. Then, the overhead light came on as she opened the door.
"What he's trying to say," Legless Jim added, thinking quickly, "is that you are a very attractive woman that's just having an unlucky run right now."
She paused.
"Yeah," says LOBO. "You're a totally hot babe. There's absolutely no reason you shouldn't be beating guys off with both hands."
"We're going to be late for the séance if we don't get moving," I says, nervously close to the man who would soon be turned into a smoldering crater.
"Séance?" says LOBO, alarmed.
Sapphire shut the door, and activates the door locks, smiling coyly.
"Yeah," I says. "We're going to try to contact Legless Jim from the other side."
LOBO shrunk in his seat. "We're going to contact the dead?"
"Yes," says Sapphire, grinning. "Haven't done anything to piss off the dead lately, have you?"
LOBO couldn't hear.
He was loudly trying to chew his way through the car door.
[Mr. Insanity]
Too depressed to even defile any graves, LOBO wailed over Legless Jim's coffin. "Why?" he sobbed at the empty sky. "Why Jim? He was such a good guy. Young, vibrant ... so full of life and love! He had so much to contribute."
I put my hand on his shoulder, and for a second, his tearful eye met mine. Then he turned and shook his fist upward, "Couldn't you take Mr Insanity instead? I mean he's actually on the payroll ...!"
The Chick Magnet wouldn't start, so Sapphire drove LOBO, Legless Jim and I home. Legless Jim rode shotgun; he was developing a thing for the girl.
"It'll never work," LOBO whispers to me. "She might be a malfunctioning psychotic robot, but even with Brad Pitt's legs I don't think necrophilia is among her vast repertoire of neurosi and insecurities."
"'Vast repertoire--'?!" says Sapphire, slamming on the brakes.
"Hey," LOBO continues. "It's not my fault you're a psychological wasteland of irrational thought processes--"
Sapphire glared at him through the mirror for a moment in complete disbelief. Then, the overhead light came on as she opened the door.
"What he's trying to say," Legless Jim added, thinking quickly, "is that you are a very attractive woman that's just having an unlucky run right now."
She paused.
"Yeah," says LOBO. "You're a totally hot babe. There's absolutely no reason you shouldn't be beating guys off with both hands."
"We're going to be late for the séance if we don't get moving," I says, nervously close to the man who would soon be turned into a smoldering crater.
"Séance?" says LOBO, alarmed.
Sapphire shut the door, and activates the door locks, smiling coyly.
"Yeah," I says. "We're going to try to contact Legless Jim from the other side."
LOBO shrunk in his seat. "We're going to contact the dead?"
"Yes," says Sapphire, grinning. "Haven't done anything to piss off the dead lately, have you?"
LOBO couldn't hear.
He was loudly trying to chew his way through the car door.
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Receiving the news of Legless Jim's untimely death came as quite a shock.
Especially to Legless Jim.
"But I'm not dead," he would insist.
I took it really hard.
I couldn't even gloat.
Walking out to the Chick Magnet, my badass ride, I just sort of collapsed against the primered 1990 Plymouth Horizon. And for a long, quiet moment of serious mortal self-reflection, I writhed in the excruciating pain of tragic loss.
"But I'm not dead, dumbass!" says poor old Lifeless, Legless Jim.
His obituary was featured in the Las Vegas Times --along with the 1999 other brave heroes lost in the Russian invasion-- on page 53 of the People section.
My "WWID" license plate obscured in comet-like dust behind my car, Legless Joe incessantly badgered me the whole way to the funeral, completely wrecking my somber, agonized grief.
It's a good thing this disrespectful fuck is already dead, I thought.
[LOBO]
Receiving the news of Legless Jim's untimely death came as quite a shock.
Especially to Legless Jim.
"But I'm not dead," he would insist.
I took it really hard.
I couldn't even gloat.
Walking out to the Chick Magnet, my badass ride, I just sort of collapsed against the primered 1990 Plymouth Horizon. And for a long, quiet moment of serious mortal self-reflection, I writhed in the excruciating pain of tragic loss.
"But I'm not dead, dumbass!" says poor old Lifeless, Legless Jim.
His obituary was featured in the Las Vegas Times --along with the 1999 other brave heroes lost in the Russian invasion-- on page 53 of the People section.
My "WWID" license plate obscured in comet-like dust behind my car, Legless Joe incessantly badgered me the whole way to the funeral, completely wrecking my somber, agonized grief.
It's a good thing this disrespectful fuck is already dead, I thought.
Thursday
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
LOBO was so dejected from his court martial, Legless Jim and I were at a complete loss as to what to do with him.
Ultimately, we hadda take him by a cemetery to cheer him up.
"Pisspoor prototypes!" he cried happily when we arrived.
"Whatcha gonna do now, Mr 'Nuclear Engineer 1964-2003'?" he would demand, kicking over the tombstone. Then he would move to the next one. "Hm, Louis Pasteur ... I'll bet curing typhoid fever won't save you from this, you now-worthless dead fuck!"
It's good to see him happy again.
[Mr. Insanity]
LOBO was so dejected from his court martial, Legless Jim and I were at a complete loss as to what to do with him.
Ultimately, we hadda take him by a cemetery to cheer him up.
"Pisspoor prototypes!" he cried happily when we arrived.
"Whatcha gonna do now, Mr 'Nuclear Engineer 1964-2003'?" he would demand, kicking over the tombstone. Then he would move to the next one. "Hm, Louis Pasteur ... I'll bet curing typhoid fever won't save you from this, you now-worthless dead fuck!"
It's good to see him happy again.
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
LOBO faced his court martial with rather uncharacteristic dignity.
"So let me get this straight," says General Hamms. "In order to defend the US from a Russian invasion, you wrecked a 35 trillion dollar war vessel."
"No," says LOBO adamantly. "The superintelligent giant squid did."
"It says here you let him drive."
"I didn't have a crew. Legless Jim ran out of Martini olives, and everybody was ready to mutiny."
Gasps rippled throughout the courtroom.
General Hamms points at the court reporter. "Let the records show that the defendant --former Brigadier General LOBO-- has admitted under oath that he left the US Warship Johnson negligently out of Martini olives under his command!"
"Order! Order!" demands the Judge, banging his gavel in a feeble effort to reclaim decorum under the booing and hissing. "Mr. Curr, how do you plead?"
"Guilty," he says. "I fucking hate olives almost as much as I hate those little supremacist Cheerios. Both of them exploited the Spaghettio, and made 'em run casinos." He paused dramatically. "Can't we all just be a grey quazi tomatoe-pasta pizza topping that stays crunchy in milk?"
And so General Hamms ceremoniously tore the bars, stripes and stars away from LOBO's notoriously-itchy uniform.
[Mr. Insanity]
LOBO faced his court martial with rather uncharacteristic dignity.
"So let me get this straight," says General Hamms. "In order to defend the US from a Russian invasion, you wrecked a 35 trillion dollar war vessel."
"No," says LOBO adamantly. "The superintelligent giant squid did."
"It says here you let him drive."
"I didn't have a crew. Legless Jim ran out of Martini olives, and everybody was ready to mutiny."
Gasps rippled throughout the courtroom.
General Hamms points at the court reporter. "Let the records show that the defendant --former Brigadier General LOBO-- has admitted under oath that he left the US Warship Johnson negligently out of Martini olives under his command!"
"Order! Order!" demands the Judge, banging his gavel in a feeble effort to reclaim decorum under the booing and hissing. "Mr. Curr, how do you plead?"
"Guilty," he says. "I fucking hate olives almost as much as I hate those little supremacist Cheerios. Both of them exploited the Spaghettio, and made 'em run casinos." He paused dramatically. "Can't we all just be a grey quazi tomatoe-pasta pizza topping that stays crunchy in milk?"
And so General Hamms ceremoniously tore the bars, stripes and stars away from LOBO's notoriously-itchy uniform.
Monday
Parting Schatt
Predator Press
[Mr. Insanity]
"Remember this?" I demanded, kicking the old man in the stomach. I stuffed the rumpled paper into the old business teacher's face.
"Yes," cried the muffled voice. "It's a ridiculous business model presented by an idiot former student of mine. LOBO, I think!"
"Yeah, well he's a bigshot war hero now. So we had this checked out by Steven Hawking. It turns out you gave him a 'C' because you forgot to carry the one when you checked his math!" I kicked him again.
"Steven Hawking is a hack--!" wailed the sobbing, frail instructor. "A reckless mathematical maverick!"
"Professor Schatt," I continued, "for failing to credit LOBO with the delivery of eighty thousand widgets per year since 1997, the compiled interest, and the pain and suffering inflicted upon my client --your former student-- we hereby hold you liable for 352 trillion--"
"353 trillion," says Legless Jim, winking.
"--353 trillion dollars," I says, stompin on his lymph nodes.
"Let's go to the ATM," the broken professor whimpered.
[Mr. Insanity]
"Remember this?" I demanded, kicking the old man in the stomach. I stuffed the rumpled paper into the old business teacher's face.
"Yes," cried the muffled voice. "It's a ridiculous business model presented by an idiot former student of mine. LOBO, I think!"
"Yeah, well he's a bigshot war hero now. So we had this checked out by Steven Hawking. It turns out you gave him a 'C' because you forgot to carry the one when you checked his math!" I kicked him again.
"Steven Hawking is a hack--!" wailed the sobbing, frail instructor. "A reckless mathematical maverick!"
"Professor Schatt," I continued, "for failing to credit LOBO with the delivery of eighty thousand widgets per year since 1997, the compiled interest, and the pain and suffering inflicted upon my client --your former student-- we hereby hold you liable for 352 trillion--"
"353 trillion," says Legless Jim, winking.
"--353 trillion dollars," I says, stompin on his lymph nodes.
"Let's go to the ATM," the broken professor whimpered.
Helter Skelter
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Look," I says, scratching 'cuz of this itchy fucking uniform. "We have a lot in common. You're a cold-blooded superintelligent, giant, evil squid and I'm a ..."
Uh-oh.
"... really ... "
Think fast.
" ... notorious ..."
C'mon douchebag.
"Douchebag!" I says, relieved.
The superintelligent giant squid eyed me warily.
"I'm serious!" I says. "When's the last time that Santa asshole showed up for you, hm?"
The squid's giant eye, hanging on an articulated eyestalk, was tearing up. (And for all you people that read books and crap, yes I know squids don't have articulated eyestalks. This is my story. So go read Quincy or something, smartass!)
"Well, this year would be the 25th Anniversary of 'Silent Night, Holy Crap'," I says in yet another desperate effort to get you confused new readers to go back to the March 2006 Archives link --almost directly to the right of this post-- when these fuctup plotlines got started. "And I've got a little payback planned out for The Fat Man."
The superintelligent giant squid squealed with glee.
"You want in?" I asked.
[LOBO]
"Look," I says, scratching 'cuz of this itchy fucking uniform. "We have a lot in common. You're a cold-blooded superintelligent, giant, evil squid and I'm a ..."
Uh-oh.
"... really ... "
Think fast.
" ... notorious ..."
C'mon douchebag.
"Douchebag!" I says, relieved.
The superintelligent giant squid eyed me warily.
"I'm serious!" I says. "When's the last time that Santa asshole showed up for you, hm?"
The squid's giant eye, hanging on an articulated eyestalk, was tearing up. (And for all you people that read books and crap, yes I know squids don't have articulated eyestalks. This is my story. So go read Quincy or something, smartass!)
"Well, this year would be the 25th Anniversary of 'Silent Night, Holy Crap'," I says in yet another desperate effort to get you confused new readers to go back to the March 2006 Archives link --almost directly to the right of this post-- when these fuctup plotlines got started. "And I've got a little payback planned out for The Fat Man."
The superintelligent giant squid squealed with glee.
"You want in?" I asked.
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