How to Break Up With Gods

Predator Press

Dear Medusa,

I can't do this anymore.

It's not really about the obsession with sculpture, the bloody dandruff, or the thick scales stuck in the soap bar; I just really think we should start spitting and hissing at other people.

I will always remember the good times -like that time we tickled Sisyphus until he dropped his rock and he hadda start History all over- but we've grown in different directions, and I want my half of the direction our music collection has taken. And my Dean Koontz paperbacks.

We're just too different. I think we should just be friends. And I'm not good enough for you . . . you need to find someone who will treat you like you deserve being treated for.

It's not you; it's me.

Don't come by unexpectedly; my new girlfriend has a 'thing' for blindfolded mongooses.

Your Friend Always,

LOBO

Why Men Don't Talk

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"What do you mean 'where did I learn the Gale of a Million Butterflies?'" I says. "It's in the Kama Sutra. You know, history?"

Medusa spat and hissed.

"I happen to read a lot of history!"

Reminders

Predator Press

[LOBO]

China Offers Michael Vick Pet Food Endorsements

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"In promotion of our high moral standards and the wholesome nutritional value of our perfectly safe products," says corporate spokesman Chin Yan, "we feel that Michael Vick is ideal. And you won't hear any of our dogs complaining about it, either."

Transmission

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Amused, I had that 'Babel Fish' link translate the last post into Greek.

Then, just for kicks, I had it reverse-translate my stuff back to English.

Here's how it came out:


***

Ask LOBO

See Aphrodite Topless

Zeus' lightning bolts arched across the violent sky and sunk into the fiery horizon; you couldn't tell if it was day or night for days.

But I thought Medusa was really interesting. Of course, this only confused Medusa; most men who have looked Medusa in the eye turn to cold stone.

"Wow Medusa," I says. "Nice rack."

Medusa hissed and spat.

"Really?" I says. "Yeah, Day Care can be a real pain in the ass. 'Specially when you lay like 800 eggs at a squat."

Using her tail, she hurls a 2 ton stone Roman dumbass right at me. Fuckin thing shatters into a billion pieces.

"Of course I love you for your mind!" I says. "Seriously. Have you been working out?"

Ask LOBO

Predator Press

Dear LOBO,

Why is the White House Press Secretary Tony Snow stepping down after only a few months?

Ben T.,
South Bend, Indiana


Well, I'm glad you asked this Bob.

I've already heard Liberals joking like What's eating the yellow Snow?, and frankly, I consider this the apex of partisan tastelessness; our noble Reich of Patriot Conservatives are only engaged in the compassionate act of protecting us and our neighbors from worshiping false gods and idolatry in an effort to bring them the One True Lord and Savior: Jesus Christ.

The act of using poor people to kill other poor people is a tradition deeply-rooted in global history, and it's very selfless if you think about it: America has been around for a long time, and smiting godless infidels is a tough job often requiring deception, exploitation and decimation of it's own population.

And yes being smoten has the occasional tendency to feel uncomfortable and awkward. But if all those other stupid warlike, unstable cultures would just peacefully accept our obvious moral superiority and priceless Freedom, we could've avoided virtually every instance of smotion in the first place! It's their fault we gotta do all this.

So when you hear those godless infidel Liberals bashing the Bush Administration, don't lower yourself to their level. The truth is, when Predator Press considered offering Tony Snow a job, we determined he was almost too good: he only needed a few months to help the Bush Administration explain God's Will. But you don't need to explain yourself through a 'Press Secretary' when you are doing God's Will, right? Apparently, we intend to be around explaining God's Will a lot longer than the White House.

One day Dick Cheney, George Bush and I will all be standing next to Jesus in Heaven, looking down upon all these alarmist smarty-pants hippies. And as Satan splays their steamy, hissing entrails into the Lake of Fire, sodomizing their Pituitary glands with non-sterilized white-hot pokers while playing scratchy Black Sabbath records that frequently skip, we'll all just laugh and laugh and laugh.

Stat

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"I'm not even going to ask anymore," says Nurse Garrison.

"What?" I yell, cupping my huge hand to my face like a megaphone. "I can't hear your stupid diagnosis if your going to mumble it from way over there."

"I really don't understand the nature of your complaint," she says louder. "Most guys would kill for this problem."

"Yeah." I concede. "But I'm experiencing back problems."

'Motion in the Ocean'? WTF? It's a Small Penis!

Predator Press

[LOBO]


"What the hell is wrong with you?" demands Ethan, closing my office door. "The whole damn building is complaining that you keep calling and paging."

"I'm having a little trouble dialing," I says.

"Well, get off your ass and go tell Maintenance to fix your phone!"

"I'm having trouble with the doorknob too," I says.

"Why are you sitting like that? "

"Like what?"

"Like you're hiding your hands."

Resigned, I sigh and set my hands on my desk. As I open them slowly, Ethan gasps.

"Jesus Christ!" he says. "What happened?"

"Well, you know that male, eh, 'enhancement' cream we've been selling?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it turns out it works."

"It made your hands freakishly large?"

"Well I hadda apply it somehow."

Ethan pressed the speakerphone button. "Phoebe?"

"Yes sir" she replies.

"Can you send Nurse Garrison to LOBO's office?"

"Um, she stammers. "Actually sir, that might be a bit of a problem. I'm having a little trouble dialing phones this morning."

"Phoebe, why in the world would you use that cream?"

[muffled, soft sobs]

"No girl wants to be a B-Cup forever sir."

Dow Rebounds 300, Clinches Position in Finals

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"That's right Nasdaq!" says Michael Jordan after his fortuitous appointment as Chairman and Point Guard for Dow Jones earlier today. "We'll be seeing you in May."

Sausage Company Threatens Predator Press

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Dear LOBO" says the stupid letter. It has come to our attention that in your last post, you were brazenly beating meat. Meat is a sensitive industry nowadays, and having read back through your blog, we've realized you've really done nothing but dissuade people from sausage altogether.

Our products are wholesome and good. We like to think of people going to the grocery store and coming home to have a big, fat, juicy kielbasa. How are we to cope with the possibility of one day having those rather 'embarrassing' jpegs featured on the Jumbotron in Times Square? My god man, you beat that thing so hard, we think you should finally have just strangled it out of mercy!

Your wanton and excessive savage public meat beating has single-handedly cost our entire industry millions. And as President of the company, I would like to remind you that abusing your kielbasa in front of everyone sets a poor example; we are very close to dropping our endorsement deal with Predator Press altogether. This means we will no longer be funding your Vision Plan, or your discounted frames at LensCrafters.

Please refrain from further molesting your sausage on Predator Press; ultimately, you and your entire company could go blind.

Your staff is counting on you.

God Save the Queen

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So how'd you do it?" asks Ethan.

"Piss off the arsonist lesbians?" I says, flipping a hamburger on the grill.

"The who?"

"You haven't been reading either?"

"No."

"Then how did I do what?"

Ethan tears one of my elegant Excel spreadsheets out of the grill printer. "It says Predator Press Male Enhancement Herbal Supplements are up 400%."

My grill rings, and I press the 'speakerphone' button.

"You have reached 1-800-B-I-G-P-R-I-X, may I help you?"

"Hi," says the caller timidly. "I was just wondering how much effect your, ah, 'herbal supplements' have."

Thinking quickly, I grab a 14" curvy kielbasa and slap it loudly on the cutting board. "Hear that buddy?"

"Yeah," says the caller.

"I ain't hadda wash dishes or vacuum for fifteen years."