How Would OJ Fare at Shark Boxing?

Predator Press

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Our hometown Pianosa now has an exit off of I-80, and is starting to take shape. It's the only town in Illinois that has both ski resorts and tropical beaches, and located smack between a Denny's and a Shell Station. It has further been statistically proven that on Saturday nights 14% of the people at the Shell station know the directions to Pianosa (the other 86% are only looking for directions to the Denny's).

I intend to change all this: I intend to make Pianosa the host of the first registered global exhibition match of a chum-soaked man in boxing gloves being pitted against a pissed-off 47' hungry Great White shark.

Shark Boxing promises to be the largest Man-Boxes-Shark Pay-Per-View event ever broadcast on network television.

We've named our Champion "Daisy."

And once again, Predator Press scienticians have stepped up: this time to answer that age-old burning question on everyone's mind, How would OJ Simpson fare at Shark Boxing?

At great expense to you, 'o Loyal Reader, we built a supercomputer that ran simulations of what would happen should OJ accept our challenge to take the $100 prize money.

See, because she weighs in at around 3 bone-crushing school busses, you immediately think the reigning champion Daisy has the advantage, right? Well, you forget that aside for being an all-around good guy, OJ Simpson is famous for only one thing: his athleticism. He's a Heisman Trophy winner. Sure that was a few years ago, but I'll bet he can still play basketball just as good.

Shockingly, after 17 kajillion separate identical simulations it turns out OJ wins the bout 98% of the time.

We showed Daisy the statistics, and she seemed unimpressed. In fact, one of our techs captured Daisy muttering something about OJ being a "stinky-faced poo-poo head."

I can't believe OJ is letting her get away with talking trash like that.

Ask LOBO

Predator Press

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People are always asking me, "LOBO, after a mere four years, you've blossomed Predator Press into the colossal juggernaut of a blog it is today. What's your secret?"

I always tell them the same thing I tell both of our readers. It all boils down to two things: Awareness, Determination, and above all Discipline.

"A.D.D." for short.

See, what most people don't realize is that blogging about something is exactly the same as actually doing it. Here you can pretty much say anything and everything in full confidence that a preponderance of lack-of-evidence to the contrary is virtually everywhere. You know how I blogged about having lost both arms when I was shot down in the Battle of Leyte Gulf? Well now the U.S. Navy blogs about sending me disability checks. And remember how LadyTerri and I got married last week? The miracle of blogging transformed our wedding from this:




Into this:




Don't believe me? Ask any successful blogger to show you their "To Do" list. It will look something like:


1) wake up turn on computer, blog

2) take lithium drink coffee, blog

3) go to work call off, blog

4) go to doctor appointment surf WebMD, blog

5) reschedule colonoscopy eat White Castles, blog

6) clean garage buy gasoline, matches and fire insurance, blog

7) give dog bath away, blog

8) make dinner Mac and Cheese, blog

9) spend quality time with family ask lazy freeloading moochers to bring you some Mac and Cheese, blog

10) sleep blog

Again, discipline is the key.

And if all else fails, include some pornography.

Predator Press “Self-Centered Cosmology” Theory Rejected by Scientists, Wife

Predator Press

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Heather Mills Nets 50 Million for Four Year Marriage

Predator Press

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Musical genius you are I say -but that’s
6.5 Ashley Alexandra Dupres a day!

[chorus]

It's a Diabolical Thing

Predator Press

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AS we can all see, the bravado of DONCO has been its own undoing: WITNESS the proof that Don possesses weapons of mass destruction!

Currently he is constructing a giant Death Dog so devastating, once complete it will launch state-of-the-art unimaginable human-melting horrors and patio furniture from its sides.

And not just any pooch: it's a Boston Terrier.

... I wouldn't want to be Boston right now.

Read this Post or DIE

Predator Press

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After 57 episodes of "ASK A NINJA", I bought the book, T-shirt, the Neu Tickles album, the DVD, the cap, and some kickass black jammies. (Actually mine are dark green jammies; black jammies are described as difficult to get in Episode 1 ... but these are way cooler than black jammies: these got little froggies all over 'em.)

... As soon as that scary looking squirrel gets out of the front yard, I'm gonna open a can of whoop-ass.

Maybe I'm late for the dance (again) and you've already seen these -there are like 75 million episodes. Still, I thought they were a lot of fun. Check 'em out if you haven't!

Fore Science

Predator Press


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Following in the tradition of other great sages and intellects suffering from a deep crisis of Faith, I went golfing with Speedcat Hollydale.

As a natural born athlete, I derive much pleasure from sports: distraction might be just what I need.

"Fore!" I call. Throwing the golf ball up in the air, I smack it hard with the bat and it arced gracefully. The distance was good, but it landed far to the right of my target.

"Dammit!"

"That's a mean slice you have there," says Speedcat addressing his own ball. He had a curious habit of hitting the ball from the ground with a bent metal stick.

"You should let me take a mulligan," I protest.

"Not a chance," says Speedcat, concentrating. "I've already let you take six."

"But a daiquiri umbrella was stuck in my facemask!"

"Look," he says exasperated. "At some point you're just going to have to face the fact that you're gonna owe me that 100 bucks."

Whock

... Crash!

"Hah!" I says. "You didn't call your shot!"

"First, this isn't Pool. And second, that's the only damned window the police car had left!" Speedcat argued. "Speaking of which, we should get moving. That cop is bound to come out of that Dunkin' Donuts any second now."

"So you forfeit?"

"Like hell."

"All right, screw it," I says. Struggling under my protective sternum plate, I dig for my wallet.

'Your game was really off today," observes Speedcat. "What's bothering you?"

"I hadda get a blood test for the wedding," I concede. "The whole thing was very traumatizing."

"Did they find something wrong?"

"No. My blood got an A+, once again demonstrating it's intellectual superiority over all the other stupid and inferior bloods." I hand him a $100 bill. "I just feel like I was treated rudely from the start."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When I got to the medical center, I was very clear that nobody was gonna impale me except for Doctor Toboggans ... Especially not that quack Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep."

Speedcat paused from packing his clubs. "Well that sounds pretty straightforward actually."

"Yeah. But Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep was argumentative," I says, throwing my football shoulderpads in the trunk. "He was all, 'But Toboggans isn't that kind of Doctor,' and Toboggans is busy saving America from certain economic disaster,' blah blah blah."

"You're kidding," says Speedcat, tightening the knot on the kayak caddy. "Hey, watch out. Here comes the Zamboni."

"Thanks."

"So what did you tell him?"

"I asked him flatly what kind of 'medical center' the ignoramus was supposedly running devoid of such luminaries as Doctor Toboggans."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know. The tranquilizer dart started taking effect."

The Prince of Dorkness

Predator Press

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"What, brings you here today my son?" asks Father Fritz.

"Well, Patrick Swayze's death really shook me up, and I'm getting married Friday."

"I'm so happy for you my child!" says Fritz.

"She's not Catholic," I says. "I've been trying to convert her, but she's really stuck on this whole 'Christian' thing. I just want to be sure I can tell her with absolute certainty she's going to suffer Eternity burning in Hell for her heathen beliefs."

"What?"

"Hey, I'm not doing those 'stand-sit-kneel-sit-stand-sit-kneel-stand-kneel calisthenics every Sunday so's I can go to Heaven with a bunch of lazy hippie pagans."

"But you haven't been to church since 1999!"

"That was by your request."

"You kept handing out Gatorade and towels and high-fiving people. It was very disruptive."

"I was moved by The Spirit."

"LOBO," says the priest, leaning back in his chair. "Have you ever considered any other religions? Perhaps becoming Jewish?"

"I can't make that whole 'beard-without-a-mustache' look work. And those 24' sideburns could get caught in the heavy machinery at work."

"How about a cult?" he offers. "I know for a fact there are dozens of perfectly good cults out there."

"Hm," I says thinking. "I know these Qelqoth guys with a cult that seems pretty cool."

"Well there you go," says Fritz.

"I just wish I could remember what it's called ... "

Predator Press Loses Product Line to DONCO

Predator Press

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Finally breaking the silence, blog mogul Don Lewis -author of "It's a Funny Thing"- has formally announced once and for all the sinister consolidation and centralization of humorous blogging from his notoriously evil fortress located in equally-evil Northern Idaho.

While initially shocked at the subsequent hostile takeover of our highly-profitable line of frighteningly realistic Halloween costumes, the folks at Predator Press Fiendish Fashions are preparing to surrender unconditionally to welcome their new comic overlord and CEO.



Frankenstein

Dracula

Ann Coulter

Creature from the
Black Lagoon

Frankly, these things were giving us the creeps anyway.

Did I Eat This?

Predator Press

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After three years, I finally got my RSS feed working.

I'm really impressed with myself.

I called my dad.

"Hey dad!" I says. "I got my RSS feed working!"

"What? Who is this?"

"Dad, it's me. LOBO."

"Who?"

"Very funny dad," I says chuckling. "We missed you at the wedding"

"What wedding?"

"I am married the fair LadyTerri."

"Oh man, she's hot."

"I know!" I says.

"Who is this really?"

"LOBO," I says. "Remember? You are undefeated at finding the most Easter eggs. I was the short one wearing the blindfold."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your dad was the one hiding the Easter eggs in the first place?"

"You would get frustrated after a few hours, and from then on made us paint them white so they would be easier to spot," I reflect. "I found one on my Big Wheel yesterday."

"Well I wouldn't eat it. Look. I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong-"

"You used to drill us at 3:30 every morning in case of a zombie uprising."

"Zombie uprising? I'm sorry, but-"

"Unless it was Wednesday or Sunday. That's when we practiced for alien robot overlords."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Say, are you calling me from a cell phone?"

"You don't remember bursting out from under my bed, banging a trash can and shining a flashlight into my eyes while zapping me with a cattle prod and screaming obscenities until I wet my pants? That's one of my fondest memories."

[audible sigh]

"You realize that alien robot overlords would be able to intercept these transmissions -if they really existed?"

"Um-"

"And that once they secured a foothold on Terra Firma, they would play back all these messages searching for possible insurgents? They would send Ragnarok the Colossus!"

"Or Thrang, the Human Rototiller!"

"-If they existed."

"How is Rex?"

"Zombie."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We hadda put him down in 2005. He unmistakably had The Look."

"So Rex is gone? Who delivers your mail now?"

"I dunno. Some robot."

"How's mom?"

"Possible zombie."

"Mom?"

"You know her. It's hard to tell. She's never been the same after the abduction."

"Yeah. Good luck getting her near a trailer park."

"I keep tellin' her the best way to kill aliens is with a tornado. But then she just gives me The Look."

"How about Aunt Phyllis?"

"Robot Zombie."

"Really?"

"She always was a social butterfly. It worked out really well for her ... she's a Class C."

"A stainless model?"

"Fusion powered. All chrome. She's really come a long way. And you should see how fast she can deal the cards at Euchre. Mom and her are still inseparable ... but if we have another incident at the children's petting zoo, I think they are going to call the cops."

"I can just imagine the bill for dry cleaning."

"Look. I gotta go. You take good care of that LadyTerri, okay?"

"I will dad."

"God she's hot."

"I know dad."

"And congratulations on that RSS feed thing. If you guys ever get down here to Capitol Hill, be sure and drop into my office."

"We will."

"And stay away from Humor Blogs. Those people are weird."

"I will. I love you, dad."

"Fag."

Opinion: Fisting Not Just for Old People Anymore

Predator Press

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You remember the drill: no sooner would you get that kickass skateboard ramp all set up and some blue-haired wrinkle kit runs out yelling "GET OFF OF MY LAWN!" Wobbling precariously on his or her rocker, they shook their liver-spotted and crunkly clenched hand menacingly at about eye-level to punctuate every syllable.

But widely-embraced by America as a whole, 'fisting' is now being done by a whole range of generations: Years ago I fisted Madeline Albright repeatedly over her foreign policy. Now, disillusioned artists on American Idol are fisting Simon Cowell even as you read this. Heck, a guy fisted me earlier in traffic!

'Fisting' has sneakily entered the American lexicon of body language, and is rapidly rising to a level of globally recognized symbolism.

Now that's progress.