In Carnations

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I went to visit Babs in the Pianosa Women's Correctional Facility on Saturday morning.

"Jesus Christ," I says into the telephone. "You look like shit."

"I will kill you," Babs smiles through the window.

"I didn't know that they facilitate bail only 9 to 5 Monday through Friday. It wasn't my fault I showed up at five thirty," I point out. "But seriously, you've completely let yourself go in here. You couldn't bother to at least put on some makeup? And what's the deal with the cornrows? And those fuzzy green tattoos on your knuckles? Who the hell is 'Fisty'?"

"Why are you here?"

"So's you know we're still pulling for you here on the outside. You'll be out first thing Monday. Hang in there."

Babs' shoulders sag in a silent resignation.

"I may not be able to get you out of here, but I did do something nice for you. Make sure you're watching channel 6 tonight in the rec room at 5 o'clock.

"Why?"

"Just trust me," he says. "Remember how you cried when you saw on the news all those kids got killed on Prom Night in a car accident?"

"I'm actually surprised you remember that," Babs says, intrigued, studying me closely.

"Well, I think you could use some good PR for a change, and this time it shouldn't only come from the United States Navy."


***

I don't know what happened.

All I know is Babs got into six fights Saturday night, and her bail is now $500,000.

Ethan only authorized $60.

You know, I really thought the 'Kars Kill Kids' fundraising commercials funded by the Babs Foundation would cheer her up.

But six fights in one night?

That's some serious 'Aggression Issues' at play there.

Maybe she should be in prison.

Mink

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ethan hands me a credit card

--a Super Triple Platinum card.

"Ooooo ... !" I says, turning it to watch the electroplated genuine Aztec gold surface flash in the light.

It's actually made of platinum.

The raised letters are meticulously carved diamond shards.

After a few minutes, I realize Ethan is talking to someone. Something about "being tired of this," and Babs getting someone out of jail finally or something.

"If those people keep fundraising for Babs on their blogs, you're going to force me to invoice them for Copyright Infringement!" he says, storming out.

I hope Babs gets right on that 'jail' thing.

It would suck to be in jail.

This card has a mink handgrip!

Stretch

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Is Babs' bail really that much money?" asks Mr. Insanity.

"You wouldn't believe how much it is," I says.

"You could hit up Ethan for it," he says doubtfully.

"After she tried to steal his empire?" I laugh sadly. "Ethan wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire." I scratch my chin. "Maybe we could have a telethon."

"Maybe. Have you gone to see her yet?"

"I'm going tomorrow. Today I'm getting together a 'care package'."

"Well, that's very nice. What's in it?"

"Cigarettes and soap-on-a-rope."

Pokey

Predator Press

[LOBO]

It has come to my attention that websites like "Stuff and Stuff and Stuff" are currently fundraising for Babs' bail money.

I've linked all of them in the Site Guide --right under “Petit Mal”-- just so you know that you don't have to go there; I'm bound to come up with that $60 by simple virtue of this huge stack of scratch-off lottery tickets.

These lottery tickets --coupled with about 40,000 of your generous pennies so's I can scratch 'em off-- means I have everything well-in-hand.

... And Babs always wanted to hang with Paris Hilton ... !

Focus

Predator Press

[LOBO]

So I’m worried that Babs is still in jail, and standing in line behind these two guys trying to get into this classy restaurant. One of them is wearing an “I FARM YOU EAT” sweatshirt.

And I’m thinking a guy with that shirt could pull down chicks like crazy.

I mean think about it; a guy that fondles cows knows how to keep his hands warm, right?

... But enough about promiscuous, deviant cows! I have Babs to get out of jail, and $60 worth of inventive bail money to come up with.

I must focus.


***

Now, I’m a vegan.

But for purposes of keeping an eye on this sick 'farming' monster, I eat a big rib-eye steak, baked Alaska, fried mushrooms, pork chops, potato skins, truffles, and drink a diet Pepsi.

--all the while focusing like a laserbeam on how to get Babs out of jail.

Still, I wish this weirdo would leave those poor cows alone.

That sick bastard fits the profile of a ‘Bovine Enabler’ precisely.

Ads We Need to See

Predator Press

[LOBO]

DIAMONDS
"If you're going to smack the bitch around,
give her parents something to think over."

Spring Hopes Eternal

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I venomously hate my lawn.

It's always arrogantly growing, like "Look LOBO, I'm a big green jerk and I'm screwing up your weekend 'cuz now you gotta mow! HAHAHAHA"

I want my lawn dead.

Every last blade.

I want a goddamn chloroform Holocaust.

I'll mow one last @#$!@$!! time, and leave the remains all scattered about as a warning to the other grass thinking about growing here.

Then I can lay down green linoleum, and just hose it off once a month ...

TORNADO PROVEN TO BE FAJITA LEVEL 5

Predator Press

Predator Press Copy Editor fired as FEMA deploys sour
cream, salsa, dice, and 'Monster Manual'

I, Calculatron

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The reason I failed the exam for my blogger license is ‘cuz they ask trick questions.

They ask you stuff like:

2 + 2 = ?

I mean come on!

It could just be two couples hanging out, right? I mean that’s open to a lot of interpretation. Now a question like:

2 X 2 = ?

-That’s obviously a 'fourgy'!

When Dreams Go All Frappe

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Well, Rupert Murdoch’s check never materialized.

--Honestly, I don’t know why people do business with guys like that.

Worse, I got like ten calls from Babs asking me why I haven’t bailed her out of prison yet.

It’s not like I forgot, it’s just that that sixty bucks was supposed to come out of Rupert’s 3 billion.

After a couple of days, I realized Rupert was stiffing me, and then I guess I just got a little embarrassed.

God I wish she would stop calling.

Cashing In

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I didn't expect to be at work today, but Rupert Murdoch's 3 billion dollar check is apparently delayed.

I don't know what the number '3 billion' even looks like, but I imagine the check to be very, very long; it's probably in a very, very long envelope and jamming some machine at the post office.

So I gotta go to work today.

Phooey.


***

I find myself daydreaming about 3 billion dollars. Dammit, that's a lot of scratch-off lottery tickets I'll bet. And my hand would get all cramped up after a while, and then I would have to hire someone to help me. But I'll have to hire someone to do my hiring first -I hate job interviews. And I'll bet the jerk steals my lucky scratching quarter, and I have to call the cops on him. And then the lawyers have my 3 billion dollars.

I don't like this plan anymore.

And who is going to shuffle up Jimmy Orlando's paperwork when I retire with 3 billion dollars?


***

With 3 billion dollars, I could travel.

I could go clear to Portland Oregon if I wanted. Hell, with 3 billion dollars, I could have Portland Oregon brought to me.

Where the hell am I going to put Portland Oregon?

Rupert, did you make the check out for 'cash'? The bank always gives me shit because the only ID I got is a library card that expired in 1999. But I'll bet they change their tune when they see that check! They'll all be like "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," hoping I will buy them stuff.

And buy stuff I shall! With 3 billion dollars, I could go to the Dollar Store, and buy presents for, ah ... well ... a lot of people!

Rupert, I hope you sent it certified.

Rupert?