Was Paris Hilton Really Released?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Here is a photo of Paris before prison:




But here is a photo of Paris being released from prison today:




Now while the resemblance is incredible, you might notice that "post-prison Paris" has more delicate, effeminate and attractive features than the original --a mistake commonly made during makeshift prison plastic surgeries.

Scienticians from the Predator Press Research Laboratory have taken tiny microscopic measurements over areas such as the forehead slope, bust size, chin length, et cetera, and have come back with a startling conclusion:


Clearly, what we have here is an imposter.

Was this a mystery person that spent three weeks doing "hard time" for our beloved princess? Or part of an elaborate prison escape?

Hm?

Exclusive: Tank Johnson Linked to Jessie Davis Murder

Predator Press

Bobbie Cutts Jr., suspect in the double murder of Jessie Davis and her unborn child, may not have acted alone.

A preliminary investigation has revealed that Cutts had a personal relationship with the troubled Bears player Tank Johnson.


"The association is as chilling as it is clear," states world-renown documentarian Oliver Stone. "Cutts had a dry cleaner who cleaned the suit of a college roommate of a guy that once had lunch with an Aflac saleswoman who bought a used car from a guy whose brother once fueled it in a gas station less than thirty feet from a mailbox --a mailbox conveniently used to send written correspondence all over the United States, including but not limited to Bobbie Cutts Jr himself. The implications are staggering."

Stone continues on to allege that Cutts had watched numerous Bears games on television --many that included “Tank” personally—most likely looking for visual cues and instructions. In his interview with “Son of Sam” slayer David Berkowitz, Berkowitz surmised that “[Cutts] probably felt the neighbor’s barking dog was annoying and often unreliable, and turned to professional football like any other guy that wants to kill his wife”.

The neighbor’s barking dog and Adam "Pacman" Jones, while wanted for questioning, have not yet been formerly charged with any involvement.

NBC, Predator Press Vie for Post-Prison Paris

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Our initial offer was some 2-for-1 Whopper coupons, and one for $4 off for an oil change at Meineke.

But then NBC edged us out by offering an additional $999,992.00 in cash.

So I call Brian Williams, right? I says "Brian, Buddy. What are you doing?"

And Brian says, "We're going to scoop you on this one LOBO. I've secretly always wanted to have a larger, more popular news organization than Predator Press."

"As Paris' oldest and staunchest supporters and fans," I reply, "we're still counting on her coming through for us instead. And NBC has a lot of potential; don't jeopardize your credibility over some petty jealousy."

"Screw you LOBO," says Brian. "We're getting this story."

"Screw me!?" I says. "I'll wedgie you up to your ears, you jerk!"

"Yeah," says David. "You and what army, you stinky-faced poo-poo head?"

"I know you are but what am I?" I retort cleverly.

"I'm rubber and you're glue-"

"I know you are but what am I?" I maintain relentlessly. Then, sticking fingers in both ears, I sing "Lalalalala" for like five minutes.

At some point, he hung up on me.

Real mature, Brian.

Real mature.

Editorial: The Driver 'Ten Commandments'

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ethan and I have to weigh in on this; we've always been of the opinion that the ability to drive is reflected inversely by the number of 'Jesus Fish' symbols proudly displayed on the bumper.

So if 'Jesus is your co-pilot' and God is now in the back seat, do we all need to start driving minivans again?

1. You shall not kill.

Redundant? Maybe. If you remember, this is already in the 'Original Charter'. Or is that a subtle reminder that plague, pestilence, famine, locusts and floods are still okay?

Hmmmmmmm.

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

The only people we've ever seen "communing" on a road were in the major Chicago Metropolitan Area, on either I-94, or I-290.

And they're probably still there.

--praying for The Rapture.

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

So might a fortune teller, but looking into the future equals witchcraft. Thusly, 'courtesy, uprightness and prudence' may be actually considered Heresy.

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

Always flip the decapitated family a buck or two to ease their suffering.

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

Yeah. We're in agreement on this one: All you cats out there with decals that say 'Git 'R Done' or have Calvin peeing on stuff are gonna be skinny-dipping in The Lake of Fire in fairly short order.

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

This is a call to return to what 'The Finger' originally represented.

7. Support the families of accident victims.

--and when you're pulling them out of the burning car, be sure to jerk their spine around violently; it might help 'bring them to'.

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

Bringing guilty motorists and their victims together is how the motorists became guilty and the victims became victims in the first place.

We recommend joining the 'Jaycees' or maybe a Rotary instead.

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

Throw them your handguns and grenades. Now you've not only protected them, but odds are you're the new 'more vulnerable party'.

--But always remember when 'turning the other cheek', everyone has a maximum of four --unless you're really, really fat.

10. Feel responsible toward others.

We're convinced this is a sentence fragment. It should say "Feel responsible toward others at very high speeds, and surrounded by two tons of fiberglass and steel".

--because if they ever do anything stupid like that again, you're responsible.

Spamlet: Act II

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Okay," I says to the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Now you're going to give me shit too?"

"Look," he points out. "The 'Ghost of Christmas Past' wasn't in Hamlet. And why the hell would I try and give everyone the Christmas Spirit in June? I'm supposed to be in the Bahamas!"

"That's why he picks you up in the stealth bomber right before the duel with Hitler's Robotanks," I says, losing patience. "You know, why don't you try doing a little homework first, lil miss 'Negative Nancy'? It's all right there in my first draft."

"Sir?" a shrill voice yells up to the window. "Sir, are you there?"

I flip open the shutters, and look six stories down onto the sidewalk. "See?" I says.

"It's Tiny Tim," scowls the ghost, perplexed. "What is he doing here?"

"This is the part when the crippled poor kid mooches a Christmas turkey off of newly-redeemed Hamden-"

"Hamlet," the ghost corrects. "And the character you are referring to is actually Ebenezer Scrooge."

"Hang on there boy!" I yell out the window. "Ebenezer Scrooge wasn't in 'Hamlet' dumbass," I says, turning to the ghost. "And Predator Press isn't about 'accuracy'. It's about making sure that the moral of the story is conveyed intact." I lean down into my deep-freezer, and produce a 70-pound frozen turkey. "Wow," I grunt. "This thing must have been a damn Pterodactyl!"

"Hurry sir," Tiny Tim calls faintly. "I'm getting weak from malnutrition, and I think one of my crutches is about to break!"

"I'm coming you impatient little shit! Now shut the fuck up before you piss off my neighbors! I'm busy." Struggling with the slippery turkey, I set it on the edge of the freezer. "I'll bet that little prick is going to be a real pain in the ass once Hitler turns him into a nuclear cyborg."

"So what exactly is the moral in Shakespeare's Hamlet?" the ghost asks.

"See, Omelet-"

"Hamlet."

"Would you stop interrupting me when I'm trying to answer your questions?"

"Sorry."

"Help me get this thing up on the windowsill, okay? In this adaptation, Hansel, the main character, is deeply-wounded mostly because his sister Gretel is in love with his mother Ediplex. Plus she's like this really messy eater ... every time they have a picnic, there's like breadcrumbs all over the place. This pisses off the cops, and gets them fined like a million dollars by the EPA."

"You've never even read Hamlet, have you?"

"Sure I have," I reply.

"Is that it, sir?" calls up the boy excitedly.

"You betcher bony crippled ass it is, Rick!" I yell down. "Are you ready?"

"Yes sir!" cries Tiny Tim, arms outstretched.

"Wait," says the ghost. "You're not going to-"

"Here goes!" I cry, pushing the turkey smoothly over. "Four seconds remaining in the game, and Green Bay is up by four; LOBO sees an open man in the End Zone--!"

"I got it!" cries Tim. "I got i-!"

Suddenly, there's this thick, wet thud.

"It's complete!" I cry, shooting my arms up in the air. "Home run! LOBO wins it! The crowd goes wild!" Shaking my fist in celebration, I jog victoriously in a little circle while simulating a raspy crowd noise in my throat. "In your face, Brett Favre!"

"You killed him!" cries the ghost from the window.

"What? Nah. Look." I says, pointing at a twitching shoe surrounded by a growing pool of blood. "He's still moving. He's fine. Stuff like this builds much-needed character in today's uncultivated youth."

"Well he's leaking 'character' all over the place," says the ghost.

"Hey, along with all that great parking, a little rain must fall. And sometimes that rain comes in the form of big gigantic frozen turkeys. Is it my fault this place isn't wheelchair accessible? You heard him: he had crappy crutches; this was bound to happen eventually."

"So you're saying a 70-pound frozen turkey falling six stories on a crippled, starving boy was most likely inevitable."

"No, I suggested potato salad, or maybe coleslaw. The turkey was his idea."

"So you're merely the medium through which the 'Hand of Destiny' works?"

"Yep. Act of God. This happens all the time around the North Pole. You're just walking around minding your own business, you know, building igloos and clubbing baby sea lions, and suddenly a flock of indigenous turkeys succumb to hypothermia while flying overhead. Then wham. It's all over. Entire villages are wiped out. It's tragic."

"And this relates to Hamlet how, exactly?"

"Who?"

Spamlet: Act I

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Okay, fine. I was supposed to relieve Max, Brighta and Vetter from guard duty at six in the morning.

Wednesday.

But when I showed up Friday night, those stinky fucks were all sleeping!

"Wake up you lazy bastards!" I says, kicking them.

"LOBO," exclaims Brighta. "Oh please God tell me you brought food--!"

"Yes Brighta," I says. "We will have many talks and committee meetings over your obviously deficient work ethic, your inability to score any action beyond 'Butter-Faces' in bars, and your overall bitchy attitude towards guard duty in the future. But enough about your passive-aggressiveness due to latent homosexuality!" I turn on my holographic belt buckle. "Predator Press is bring robbed."

They stare in amazement at the beamed images.

"Wow," says Max. "That's really cool."

"It was $11.99 at a Best Buy in Dallas," I says. "But I think I got the last one."

"Is it that guy behind Cobe?" asks Brighta, pointing at a holographic Cobe walking fast as a jogger overtakes him.

"No," says Max. "It is Cobe."

"No fuckin way!" says Brighta.

"Yes Brighta," Max says calmly. "Look behind his left ear."

"It's a pencil," says Brighta, squinting. "Is it some special 'Secret Project' pencil?"

"No," I interrupt. "It was a goddamned authentic Predator Press #2 pencil, and it came right out of this here box." I flip it open. "See? There's only four left."

Brighta stares.

"Four," I demand, "out of a box of ten?"

"Watch," says Max.

Cobe walks right past his own luxury car, and opens the twin doors of a 53' semi trailer.

Like 10,000 #2 pencils spill into the road.

"I ask you," I says, staring at Max. "How exactly am I supposed to get Nelson Mandela to testify for Paris's release with this going on?"

"Well," says Max, "Don't let him fucking shop at Best Buy, for one."

CNN.com More Interesting When Read Too Fast

Predator Press


Russian Computers on Space Station
Rebooted, Partial Power Restored

-70 Dead

With Malice of Thought

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Let me get this straight," says Nurse Garrison, looking out at me over her glasses. "Lindsay Lohan lopped your arm off?"

"Check," I says.

"You realize that your insurance doesn't cover prosthetics."

"I thought you said we had Mr Insanity frozen in a block of carbonite."

"I did," says Nurse Garrison.

"Well, I don't really see him signing anything soon, do you?"

"You're a monster," she replies.

"Fuck off!" I says.

I hate HMOs.

Jedi Woodshed

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"LOBO," says Lindsay Lohan, extending her lightsaber. "You are plotting to use drugs to fund an intergalactic Empire, and thus have fallen to the Dark Side."

"Yeah, so?" I says. "What about the 'Grateful Dead'? And Pfizer? And Twinkies for that matter?"

"You may have beaten my Time-Traveling Ninja Bodyguards," she continues, "but I emailed George Lucas today; when he finds out about all these copyright infringements, he's gonna sue you down to your socks!" She rubs her thumb across her fingertips, and then blows on them. "Predator Press is finished."

"WHORE!" I scream, viciously swinging my, uh, 'lit up, pointy-stick' ...

Rock Bottom

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"What happened?" says me.

"I gave the FDA a sample of OxyCaine," says Ethan. "Two hours later, the FDA headquarters burned to the ground."

"Who's the guy in the cage?"

"That's Andrew C. von Eschenbach, M.D.," says Ethan. "The head of the FDA."

Andrew C. von Eschenbach, M.D., wearing nothing except a tie and an argyle sock on his left foot, reckognizes his name and peers out hopefully.

"Yech," says Ethan. "Make him put on some underwear before he pokes someone's eye out."

I reach into the cage, and scratch behind his ear. "He doesn't seem so bad."

"Well," says Ethan, "without his approval, we can't sell this crap."

"Who's a good boy?" I says in my puppy voice while scratching Andy's neck. "Why you are!" I says. I hold up some pills by his nose. "Iszoo gonna 'prove Ethan's feely-good pills?"

Drooling sloppily, Andy nodded an effusive yes.

"I gotta tell you Ethan," I says, tossing the pills into the corner of the cage as Andy bounded after them. "I don't think this is as complicated as you do."

This is Your Brain on Drugs and Ruining My Carpet

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

“Is it addictive?” asks the President of the Food and Drug Administration over the speaker.

“Not at all,” replies Ethan. “OxyCaine lodges itself in the pleasure center of the brain and, eh, 'improves the efficiency the circuitry’ if you will, on a completely permanent basis. Who would want to increase dosage for that?”

“Are there any side effects?”.

“No, no,” Ethan says into the speakerphone. “Other than feeling and acting like a pretentious ass all the time, an intense enormous 24-7 erection and losing ten pounds a month like it or not, there are no side effects whatsoever.”

There’s a brief silence.

Then finally, “Um, can I get some samples before I make my decision?”