"Special" Effects

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ethan and I, smoking cigars, watch 'the dailies' with great interest.

"Rumsfeld is killing Osama?" he asks. "I thought Cheney killed Osama about twenty minutes ago."

"No, that was Saddam. Remember the mustache?"

"No, that was Chemical Ali."

"No, Chemical Ali was killed by Ann Coulter."

"I'm confused."

"Remember, when Cheney and Limbaugh had to hook south at the Anthrax factory? Rush, the team medic, told her he had something she could take that would let her take six or seven more direct mortar hits. Then Chemical Ali attacks them, and Ann rips out all eight of his arms and pushes him over the cliff?" I sigh. "I agree. This edit seems a little disjointed. Maybe it was a bad idea to have Cobe play all the bad guys after all."

"Cobe just doesn't seem to have any acting range whatsoever," Ethan observes.

"Vince!" I yell up at the projection booth. "Play the opening sequence." I settle back in. "Still Ethan, you're gonna love this."

Chiefly Speaking

Predator Press

[LOBO]

George Bush Junior, clutching a fire hydrant, was begging. "Please don't do this anymore. I'll do anything!"

"George," says the guy in the Nixon mask. "Join me, and together we shall rule the galaxy."

"Shit, I'd join you if you just took me to Dennys!"

"You have no idea the power of the Dark Side."

"Look, asshole. I already said I would join you." Bush gets up, walks to the mysterious stranger's car, climbs in the passenger side and slams the door. Rolling down the electric window, he yells, "This is the maximum level of joining you."

"George," says the masked stranger. "I am your father."

Suddenly, the Nixon mask comes off, and it's George Bush Senior!

"Oh yeah Dad," says George Junior tiredly from the car. "Like that bit didn't get old the first time you did it. What was I, eight then? Huh Dad? I'm thirty-five now. I'm in college fer Chrissake. Plus I think I'm a goddamn member of Congress or something like that."

Sulkily, George Bush senior drops the mask, and shuffles for the car.

"Chop chop, there pops," says Bush Junior. "I'm trying to decide between the AARP and the military defense fund even as we speak."

George Senior shuts the door, and puts his seat belt on.

"I'm gonna have twelve Happy Burgers and fifty milkshakes!" Cries Bush Junior. "Yeah!"

"Look," mumbles Bush Senior, adjusting the bulletproof mirror. "Just don't make a scene if some kid's already done the maze on the menu again. They have thousands of those in back. We just have to ask a waitress."

"Okay Dad," Says George Junior. "But can you make this car bounce in the air like those Mexican cars do?"

Bush Senior scowls and starts the car.

"Phooey,” says George Junior, folding his arms. “I don't know what the point is of being President is if you can't have a bouncy car."

Let Freedom Scream

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Alright Newt," I says. "Lets go over this scene once more."

"I'm standing right here," says Newt. "I don't think you need the megaphone."

"Look Newt," I says frustrated. "This ain't Capitol Hill. I handle all the censorship around here. Now in this scene, you jump off of the fourth story, somersault gracefully to the ground by virtue of this crane and harness, and kick the crap out of six insurgents."

Newt pulls on the harness nervously. "Are you sure this thing is safe?"

"It's all physics, baby," I says walking back to my chair. "As long as you're exactly 180 pounds like it says on your driver's license, you're as safe as if in your mother's arms. Now the second you here the 'All Clear' safety bell, jump."

A bell rang, and Newt jumped. The crane buckled, and what followed was a scene of catastrophic mechanical failure.

The bell rang again.

Exasperated, I answered my cell phone.

"Hello? Oh hi Mom. Listen I can't talk right now. I'm shooting a movie."

Somewhere below, I could hear Newt groaning.

The 'All Clear' safety bell rang.

"Cut!," I yell. "Print it. That was fantastic! Newt, nice touch with that look of terror. It looked absolutely believable."

"Uhhnn," he says.

"Alright everyone," I says into the megaphone. "We have 30 more scenes to shoot today. Is the Limbaugh Piranha Cannon ready?"

"We're all set sir," says a wincing aide two feet away. "But Rush is complaining that there aren't any piranhas in Iraq."

"Fucking actors," I breathe. "Is he at least in his suit basted with goldfish flakes and pork chops?"

"Yes."

"Well, just push him in the ammo pool and shoot that. I suspect the piranhas aren't such sticklers for detail."

The Best Laid Mice of Plans and Men

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"The idea," says Ethan touring me through the studio, "is simply that if the media is responsible for the state of current affairs-"

We enter a room where Donald Rumsfeld, shirtless with an M-60 and bandoliers, is shooting six Al Qaeda guys while rifle-butting another and rescuing a puppy.

"-that we can end the end the war the same way," Ethan finishes.

Donald 'tucks and rolls' into an adjacent set, where he delivers an Iraqi baby waving a tiny American flag, all the while ducking gunfire and lobbing potent hand grenades.

"Okay," I says. "But I don't see where I come in."

"LOBO," sighs Ethan. "I want you to film Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld getting pissed off and flying to Iraq, and ending the war once and for all. Personally."

"I like the name 'Gen. David H. Petraeus' too. It sounds kinda Latin. Biblical. Greek even. 'Petraeus' almost sounds Roman, and even after all these centuries the Romans are still kicking ass. Shit, you can't make a movie sequel anymore if it doesn't have an 'V' or an 'X' or a vowel in it somewhere. What the hell would Sylvester Stallone have called his movies then?"

"Exactly."

"Okay," I says as Rumsfeld climbs into a convenient helicopter, and starts napalming 6 guys that look like Osama. "But we're going to have to get Rumsfeld a stunt chest; his pasty tits just flopping around like that might give us a PG 17 rating." I scratch my chin. "Plus it's hell on the sound guys; they say everything sounds like two fat people fucking. Can we get a prosthetic chest? Or maybe 'CGI' something in?"

"That's why you're here," says Ethan smiling. "I want you to film victory."

Australia

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"I left you guys," says Ethan tersely, "on a teambuilding exercise. For two weeks. And you have burned my entire empire to the ground."

"There's always the rubble," I says.

"You burned the rubble down!"

"Well, you can't say I'm not thorough."

"Well, I really appreciate it," says Ethan. "Now Babs doesn't get shit."

"So you're okay with having lost $470,005,058.05 as long as Babs didn't get anything?"

"Oh yeah."

"So we're cool?"

"Shit, as soon as I get some money, I'm giving you a raise!"

"Well," I says. "It had better be substantial. You have no idea how traumatizing this has all been."

"We got a military contract," says Ethan. "$150,000,000,000. The first year."

"Ethan, I don't think I'm up for pissing off other countries anymore. Do you know it's a Class X felony for a woman to have sex with me in Australia now?"

"I told you Australia existed."

"I know. And now I want to have sex there in the worst way!"

"The last thing you need right now is another woman."

"Yeah," I concur, sighing. "Another vagina to feed."

"I need you, and your amazing media prowess on this project."

"Will there be cake?" I'm clapping my hands. "I love cake!"

White Power

[LOBO]

Well, being in jail is by no means fun; nonetheless, when I found out I was in jail with Richard Gere, I was thrilled.

Richard Gere, star of such brutal fight scenes such as the ones in 'An Officer and a Gentleman' and 'Pretty Woman', was right the fuck here sharing a holding cell with me!

I immediately start talking trash.

Dice, Tic Tock, and Shiv weren’t too impressed at first, but when I told ‘em all they was 'so ugly they hadda fake orgasms while masturbating', they had a huddle.

Dice: “Yo man, these are either the dumbest white men on Earth, or maybe they’re just crazy.”

Tic Tock: “Yeah, dude just said Tom Wopat was the Antichrist. Who the fuck is Tom Wopat?”

Shiv: “Wasn’t that one cracker that dude in Pretty Woman?”

“That’s right!” I exclaim. “And if I give the word, Richard will pull your tongues through your keysters!” I stare at them crazily.

“What you dogs doin time for?” says Tic Tock.

“Tell ‘im Richard!” I says, all twitchy-like.

“I was at Christmas Mass and this guy and a hooker showed up. During the footage, I was holding hands with my wife.” Richard wipes away a tear. “They got the whole thing on film.”

“You know Richard,” I says facing a 6’6” tall angry guy twice my width, “I was hoping --as an artist—you could do better than that.”

“Better than getting arrested for the proliferation of phony ‘Fat Burning' Twinkies?”

Dice: “These niggas are fucked up.”

Tic Tock: “Just be cool.”

Shiv: “I’m tellin you, that cat was in Armageddon or something.”

Suddenly, a voice calls, “LOBO, you’ve made bail. Please exit to your left.”

“Well wow,” I says, grabbing Richard’s hand and shaking it heartily. “Good luck my friend.” I pause. "Can I have your autograph?"

Internet Swag

Predator Press

Viscosity

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

“You know,” I says, pushing my plate away. “I was a little disappointed with the fettuccini.”

“Really,” says Sapphire. “Am I supposed to think you are classy because you are pointing out flaws at something you invited me to?” she giggles. “I suppose you cook?”

“I’ll cut you a deal,” I says. “I’ll handle the macaroni and cheese. No matter what you decide to make, I’m doing the mac and cheese.”

“Oh thank God,” Sapphire laughs.

“Until we get married,” I add. “When we get married, you’ll be pretty fucked as far as pasta is concerned.”

"So then we'll eat, what, leaves and berries?"

"If you're lucky," I says frowning. "Look, I know your 'affiliation' with LOBO--"

"Well, it's funny that you mention that," she says. "Because LOBO needs to post Bail."

Perfectly Legal

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"I'm serious," I says. "I've got his contract right here!"

1) Don't be a Dick = 50%
Gilmore's Score: -50%
2) Never Say 'LOBO is Too Busy' for Free Meals = 21%
Gilmore's Score: 21%, + 6% bonus for timeliness
3) No Fat Chicks = 20%
Gilmore's Score: 20%
4) Never Kill Ethan = 9%
Gilmore's Score: -9%, + 6% bonus for timeliness


Net Total = Fuck Gilmore.

"It's all perfectly legal," I insist.

Scar Tissue

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

“Look,” says Gilmore, stuffing the bloody tissue against his nose. “I did the right thing. If, in fact, Babs has anything to do with this, somebody should have been ‘engaged’ in what is going on.”

“How do we know your loyalty isn’t with her?” says Sapphire.

Maybe it was the adrenaline of the fight -I don't know- but the next thing out of my mouth was, “What the fuck do you know about loyalty?”

Sapphire's eyes flashed dangerously. “Excuse me?” she blinked.

“What was that disappearing act over Winter Break all about? I thought we were getting pretty tight. Then boom. You didn’t even send me a Christmas Card.”

“You took a hooker to Christmas Mass from what I heard.”

“Don't blame me if there's no 'Saving' her."

Black Flag

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ethan disappearing isn’t really always that unusual; he’ll just up and go on a vacation or a business trip often without even packing.

But this is the first time he’s gone ten days without contacting anyone.

Making things worse is the glaring absence of Cobe; while that lazy fuck is off vacationing or whatever in the arctic, everything was beginning to fall apart without Ethan at the helm.

The sense of deterioration in the office was obvious and virtually palpable. Supplies were being ordered incorrectly –if in fact ordered at all. Bills were going unpaid. Deadlines were being missed. Things were so bad, when Babs asked me if I run the warehouse for a few days, I jumped at the chance.

The truth is I’m somewhat of a shipping and receiving prodigy. With a crew of 46 hard-scrabble industrial types, on a typical day we would receive about 26 semi trailers with materials and generally ship out about the same amount.

Now, under my radiant guidance, loads are brought into the north side of the building, processed, disseminated, recombined, and shipped out on trucks waiting on the south side just as usual. But now those trucks drive immediately back around to the north side, and the process is repeated.

But within only a few days, I have them doing triple the production. Hell, now I’m considering not letting the trucks stop here in the first place … just have the long line of semis circling the building clockwise. If they approve my on-site diesel refueling station, we’re talking nothing but round-the-clock efficiency.


***

Immediately after shuffling up the papers in Jimmy Orlando’s vacant office, I got the call instructing me –and all Predator Press executives—to meet at the banquet hall. My suspicions that it was a surprise party for me celebrating being named the Forbes Man of the Year were dispelled almost immediately upon arrival; already very late, I hurriedly snuck in and joined the table where Phoebe, Mr Insanity and Sapphire were already sitting even as Gilmore was addressing the podium.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending with such short notice. You’ll note that Jimmy Orlando will not be joining us today; his house mysteriously burned down yesterday, and I would like to extend my personal sympathies.”

“That’s horrible,” I says.

“Indeed,” says Gilmore, a little annoyed by the interruption. “I would also like to congratulate you all for having the highest circulation we’ve ever had this year. At this rate, we would most certainly have eventually turned a profit.”

“Would have?” Sapphire whispers.

“And as you all know, according to the Charter, Babs is the defacto CEO in Ethan’s absence. And since it’s been well over a week since Ethan was kidnapped, my may have to face the possibility that he may never return.”

“Who said anything about kidnapping?” whispered Mr Insanity.

“I’ll bet it’s Babs’ highly-developed maternal instinct,” I says.

Mr Insanity looked at me strangely. “Babs doesn’t have any kids.”

“God doesn’t give a woman breasts like that if He doesn’t intend for her to be a fantastic mother.”

“Well, while I find your logic rather fascinating,” Mr I says, “God didn’t give her those breasts. Doctor Helmsly did.”

Gilmore continued. “And as the Acting CEO of Predator Press, Babs has been forced to conclude that this business cannot continue without him. She has decided to close the doors and liquidate all the assets immediately.”

“English please,” I says. “We’re not all calculatrons you know.”

“None of you work here anymore,” says Gilmore.

“Oh thank God,” I says. “I’m freaking exhausted from all this getting up at 10 in the morning three or four days a week. And can you just mail me my paychecks? It’s a kinda long drive--”

“Perhaps,” says Gilmore, “I’m not being very clear.”

“Hey,” I says. “I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone when I ask you if there is there going to be food at this thing. I’m famished. Plus I’m tired … I had a very late night. And do you have any idea how hard it is getting a gasoline smell out of a ninja outfit? Let me tell you, it’s a big pain in the ass--”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Gilmore clearly into the microphone. “As of today, you’re all fired.”

“Who said anything about fire?” I says.

Suddenly, Mr Insanity’s hands are around Gilmore’s throat.

“You DICK!” he screamed.

Gilmore tried to squirm free, only further infuriating his assailant; Mr Insanity delivered three or four bone-crushing punches to his unprotected head before Sapphire could pull him off.

“Stop that Mr Insanity!” she demanded. “You’ll kill him before I get my turn!”

“We’re not killing him,” says Phoebe.

“What?”

“We’re not killing him,” she repeated. “We need him to find Babs, and we need Babs to find Ethan.”

Reluctantly, Mr Insanity relaxed. “You’re a fucking scumbag,” he says to Gilmore. “If it comes out that you had anything to do with this, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever met until there aren’t even memories of you anymore.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “You’re the second-worst 'Vice President of All Things LOBO' I’ve ever had!”