Wild, Wild West

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Just a short Wi-Fi note; the relentless old bat I mugged for this laptop is really upset and won't leave me alone.

But before you go on all 'judging' me, keep in mind this is LA; the law has long since abandoned any hope of reclaiming it.

I really should break down and buy my own laptop someday. These are nice!

... Besides, I don't seem to be able to run as fast as I used to.


More exploits about this trip can be read over at .45 Caliber Headspace.

Hollywood

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Cut, cut, cut!" I yell into the megaphone.

-LOBO: The Motion Picture has thus far been nothing but headache after headache.

"C'mon Jackie," I says, rubbing my temples. "The line is, 'You pullb my tond through my keythter!'"

"But why would I talk like that?" asks Jackie Chan.

I should've gone with Stallone.

Once again, I calmly explain. "You would have to talk like that if Lindsay Lohan pulled your tongue through your keyster!"

"Lindsay Lohan is in this movie?"

"Yes. Sort of. But due to various licensing liberties and an explicit lack of consent, we're to referring to her as 'Bindsay Bohan.'"

"Really," replies Jackie.

"Yeah. And she's being played by Chris Tucker."

"Well, what's my motivation?" smiles Jackie politely.

"Your 'motivation' is that Lind -I mean Bindsay- has sent her time traveling ninja bodyguards out to assassinate you, and you're disguised as a giant cicada. Jesus, do I have to explain everything? I mean you read the script presumably."

Frustrated, I walk back to my chair. Sitting heavily, I raise the megaphone to my lips.

This is what I get for flying out to Hollywood to make a documentary.

"Alright. Take two." I command. "Cue the robot dinosaur. Aaaaaaaand action!"

Jackie bounds up the six-story mechanical reptile, skewering stunt ninjas left and right. When he reaches the upper-left shoulder, he does a summersault flip and balances gracefully on the radiator of a car it was crushing in it's giant claws.

Howling in fury, the robot dinosaur unleashes it's full arsenal of laserbeams and missile batteries, and Jackie dances and twists impossibly to avoid them.

For a full thirty seconds, the sky is a thunderous inferno alive with fire, explosions and shrapnel. But soon the robot's howitzers cease their deadly hail of steel, and one by one the metallic clicketty clicketty clicketty of empty chambers replace the deafening storm.

-Jackie Chan had kicked all it's claws off.

The smoke slowly clears, revealing Jackie perched on the beast's nose.

It's eyes lock on him, and the pupils expand.

With a serene look, Jackie pounces into the air and severs the beast's head off with a single stroke of his lightsaber.

But even as the screaming monster's head slides off in a horrible shriek of grinding steel, Chris Tucker appears behind him on a hovercycle:

Bindsay Bohan: "You have fallen right into my trap LOBO!"

Jackie Chan: "Don't sing it Bohan. Bring it."

[blinding flash]

Jackie Chan: "You purred my tongs through my keystone!"

"Cut!" I scream, hurling my megaphone. "God dammit Jackie. If I was okay with plain English bein butchered, I woulda got Schwarzenegger!"

Wesley, Cripes!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Once again, the United States Government has jealously dealt a sneaky beneath-the-belt blow to the mighty Predator Press Empire -this time having sentenced Wesley Snipes to 3 years in prison.

The premier of LOBO: The Motion Picture has been once again postponed indefinitely.

This is no small setback. It’s not as simple as just getting another actor; after seeing Blade, I was instantly convinced that only Wesley had the vast acting range, martial arts repertoire and rigorous superhuman physical endurance necessary to play yours truly.

So it’s back to the drawing board.

Despite the rejection letters in the mail, I would like the following gentlemen to return to the set for another screen test:



Thag has stolen my spellchecker, and gaven it to The Skwib

Pulp Non-Fiction

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Tagging" me seems redundant; more than half of the material I've done in the past few weeks is pimp other sites.

So while flattered, I never know what to make of memes 'an stuff.

I'll do the first and most important part -the part about me- but as for spawning it on, you'll just have to trust that anything linked on my site is worth checking out.

1) I'm Anesthetically Inclined: In my brief career as a truck driver, I once covered 4,500 miles in 90 hours. That's the equivalent of New Jersey to Los Angeles, and halfway back.

Exhausted, I accidentally brushed my teeth with a handy tube of Neosporin. Despite the horrifying taste, I was so tired and in a hurry I said screw it. I mean, it's kind of a paste ... and it's also some kinda sterile germicide, right?

-I drooled and couldn't talk for about 300 miles.

2) I Stopped the "Music": While now merely a terrible writer, I was once a terrible musician too. After the 80s-ish Cheap Thrills and the 90s-ish Destructive Criticism, I started mixing equally terrible stuff on a label called The Spanish Fly Industrial Complex.

The proposed CD jacket -a giant chromed fly in a hangar bay- was the inspiration for the character 'Templeton' in my older stories.

I still own the rights to the label.

Want them?

3) I Unsuccessfully Tried Charity Work: I own the url "www.ilikevagina.com".

-The original idea was to sell "Yes! I like Vagina!" T-Shirts to fundraise for ovarian cancer prevention.

4) Lands End: There are nuggets of truth that inspired Walk This Plank, Talk This Plank; on the way to the vet, I wrecked a vehicle into a large body of water and had to rescue my cat from it.

5) Numb and Number: I am wholly and utterly unaffiliated uninspired and disloyal politically, and shamelessly so: all I want is an alternative energy source so we can starve other countries of the money they use to kill us with.

Otherwise, I couldn't give a crap.

-S.S.D.D.

6) The Speedo Torpedo: I can't remember which book, but Kurt Vonnegut once gave some measurements and wrote that "as far as he knew, his 'endowment' was a World Record".

-I considered writing a letter to correct him.

7) My Academic Accolades: In my first semester of college, my English teacher singled me out in front of the class. After reading one of my badly-butchered paragraphs aloud, she continued on to say how much she "resented having to deal with remedial students here at the college level".

One year later, I became the Editor-In-Chief of the school newspaper.

I posed nude in the first issue.

8) Rubbing Elbows the Wrong Way: As a teenager, I met Dave Mustaine at a Holiday Inn.

At the time, I had no idea who he was.

I didn't own the album he as touring on.

In fact, I didn't own any of them: I disliked Megadeth music in general.

He thought that was refreshing.

We had a great time.

9) *BONUS* Love Synchs, Yeah Yeah The character "LOBO" evolved out of an online dating profile I filled out as a gag. All the other profiles were blasé clones citing a love for 'long walks on the beach' and 'sunsets'.

You know. Horsecrap.

I wondered What would one of these things look like if you were too stupid to lie?"

The questionnaire, filled out honestly, was hilarious. There's a reasonable facsimile of the Q & A -republished in story form- here.

But this single vicious act of wanton and savage sarcasm gave me more than my nom de plume; it's also how I met my wife LadyTerri.

On top of dealing with my battle-scarred psyche and general goobery, Predator Press probably wouldn't be here without her; while I spend countless hours trying to pound out things that make people laugh, she spends all that same time keeping me "freed up".

Heart and soul I love her, and my whole world revolves around her.


Swift and lethal tagging/meme payback is owed to Dead Rooster

Buff

Predator Press

[LOBO]

During a recent meme, I was asked to list "8 truthful things about myself".

LadyTerri stopped me at "freakishly muscular".

"Muscular?" she asked. "Where?"

"You can't see them. They're like ant muscles. And ants can lift the equivalent of a bus."

"Uh huh."

"And I can lift like ten ant-sized busses."


I was disqualified after testing positive for neOnbubble.

And That's How I Rescued Diesel (Bring on the Ewoks!)

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I must admit, I expected the triumphant and long-awaited return of Predator Press to Humor-Blogs to look as pictured left.

Which may indeed occur -I'm mean it's entirely possible that Diesel has hidden the crowds and fireworks in his office.

But currently, it looks like this:

"Where's Diesel?" I demand firmly.

"Well, he ain't here," says Ed Harris, kicking me in the ribs even more firmly. "What do you want from him?"

[blonde on lobby television: "It's the monster!"]

"Well for starters," I wheeze, "I want you to stop kicking me."

"No dice," says Ed, pulling a note out of his pocket. Holding it in front of my swelling face, he reads it aloud:




[blonde on lobby television: "I had better put on my stiletto heels so I can escape it down the middle of the highway!"]

"But I'm trying to save Humor-Blogs!" I protest. "Hey, you work for Thomas Kinkade now, don't you?

"Mr. Kinkade has asked me not to respond to questions. Now would you roll over please? These ribs are all broken, and this side is too soft and spongy already."

[blonde on lobby television: click click click click POK "Dammit! I broke a heel! ...]

"Think about it Ed," I says, turning onto my stomach. "You don't want to work for -oof!- some artist that looks suspiciously like -ughn!- Eddie Izzard! This revolution could usher in a whole new era of comedy. Just look at this spiff new banner I made by ripping off Don Lewis!"





"Would you mind moving over by the couch?", says Ed. "My foot is getting tired."

[blonde on lobby television: ... click pok click pok POK "Dammit!"]

Next Episode:
D HUNDRED

Speedcat Hollydale is my bodyguard.

I Knew Humor Blogs Would Crack the Whole Time

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I moderate comments for the sole reason to be sure I've read them all.

So I was at lunch today -checking email and releasing them- and I came across one by Karl Wolfbrooks Ager, author of Faking Smart! In Corporate America.

I was initially puzzled, but within moments I was gripped with a growing, mortified sense of horror:


There was a typo on the Predator Press.

Now I'm explicitly forbidden to fiddle with Predator Press at my day job.

And as a natural consequence, I'm likely prohibited to murder Karl Wolfbrooks Ager as well.

There was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

So I faked a massive heart attack.


***

Now don't go on judging me already: within 25 minutes I had commandeered an ambulance, and -sirens blaring- screeched up into my driveway 16 miles away.

I was editing HTML before the picket fences and tricycles had even fallen off the radiator grill.

But just as I finished correcting the hideous blemish on America's favorite blog and dispatching the lethal ninjas on "Karl" -if in fact that's his real name- I got an email from Diesel himself.

Hah! I thought. I knew Humor-Blogs would totally collapse under the mighty weight of our boycott!

It was time to forcibly negotiate a better, more leveraged position on the website that wholly depends on me alone for traffic.

But when I arrived at the massive Minneapolis Humor-Blogs headquarters, Diesel was nowhere to be found. Instead, negotiations are being held by my old pal Ed Harris.

And I, for one, am glad there was an ambulance close by.


Whenever I'm in an ambulance, I blame Bee's Musings.

Black in Back

Predator Press

[LOBO]

According to Wikipedia, there are 6.65 billion people on earth.

And Chelle B. -the Offended Blogger- wants to eliminate around 97% of them.

Now I'm no calculatron, but that doesn't leave very many: the number that would survive -give or take a few hundred thousand- is "5".

(Well, the actual answer comes up as "watery soup", which unintentionally proves Don's Malthusian theories on Global Eating -but don't tell him; if he ever found out he was right about anything, he'd be twice as unbearable.)

So the bad news is not many of you will live.

But the good news is I've made the rest of us banners!






<a href=" http://www.offendedblogger.com/"><img alt="Offended?" src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQiK8Wo7bAgo4tIn_b_NAwvQBVNAvau6drowv-Pg5vcg7I0fHZclK0IFChEFjv5dsIOZVzzKTDggKoFkBP0_B5GdZhzApHchVNVmTRL8lXoHzUWwM8SiRGZgJAE92vS-Zxb7wg4A/s400/OOC.jpg"/></a>

***

For my last post, I tried disguising Predator Press as .45 Caliber Headspace in order to hide from the scurrilous cast of bloggers involved in The Comma Caper. But what started as a joke developed into what just might be a permanent "facelift".

So now I figure, Why stop there?.

I wanna redo everything, and the banner is the first thing to go.

This was my first banner effort:





<a href="http://www.predatorpress.blogspot.com/"><img alt="DON'T CLICK THIS" src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OXFCYms8BYSqRyC58fIl5whmX3XDo8Off2cwY-6SatM9118M2S84je4DsSBTDK9e2Z790mJMrqlzl8iy9Prysjmu1OY2oHslF1v9xQgZxjioykeFNP2j_wMqdHYx9mEPOdV1/s400/rsz_LOD.jpg"/></a>

Meh.

If you're ever bored enough, you can read the fantastic epic saga of how I came up with my original banner here.

Please don't ever be that bored.

Suicide is always an option.

I mean it's straightforward enough, but it lacked drama. "Zazz" if you will. It's just not something that leaps out at you, you know?

So then I came up with this:






<a href="http://www.predatorpress.blogspot.com/"><img alt="DON'T CLICK THIS" src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpTfXQ9YYgBPGY4K5G2PJLNMFayfOA0MudPnTAQkUwkTC6fzkQFseOVWAiIHhnIotwm1PMay_izHf14JQW4KLBfNsMO57lS8t8CYSizwfP-KRF-ehQKOjSP4UGOYaDCf8-MRSMg/s400/LOD+III.jpg"/></a>

-but big words like "obtrusive" and "monstrosity" kept surfacing.

So then I made this:






<a href="http://www.predatorpress.blogspot.com/"><img alt="DON'T CLICK THIS" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39XBS3tLADi0MuXZcwERk9RzqTRDTMWhLYHh8OigZFI50hHMbDr_NNWdpO8woj-6TXuyRV5rbk8-V2nIx3yj9H8TqyQ4oX0Vn122vtErJI7uO6LxZhyGmaJhigg7rPHbkWolinQ/s400/GRAMMA.jpg"/></a>

But rather than getting new readers, I just got a bunch of nefarious job offers.

Ultimately, I decided on this:




<a href="http://www.predatorpress.blogspot.com/"><img border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168923798517701042" style="display:block;border:1px solid #000000;margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" alt="DON'T CLICK THIS" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-E9ac_fjqC-fUJ7V-_uBgBigtiL7ASmi6imtcRqeaieXh0-BL-mEkt6GVbLOpIPJA9HUk-faxfy5iEIYrN3O1RSxXXpoWO5Z7nbp6sj6ufE8HwAZeNm7z8j832Q9I6_tOPuMsg/s400/ppjc7.jpg" img/></a>

Wait.

What’s with that look?

-Why does everyone wince like that?


While hunting wayward grammas, I frequently
disguise myself as The Cult of Qelqoth.

Shh!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

In anticipation of widespread backlash for our previous Official Statement, we here at Predator Press have prepared the following Official Statement:


It was all Diesel’s fault.

Frankly, Predator Press is sick of hiding here in the dark, fearful of ill-reasoned retaliation. Has it gotten so a regular guy can’t break into another guy’s house, hack his password, and take a bath in his Jello and Cheese Wiz without the threat of criticism anymore?

What in God’s name is this country coming to?

I, for one, am shocked and appalled. And how am I supposed to finish reading Antisocial Commentary if every time I flip on the lights some crazy blogger takes potshots at the wholesome Wisdom, Purity, Hope and Truth which Predator Press strives only to promote? (Yes, I’m talking to you Don: I looked up all those big words you told me were compliments, and you were lying!)

Well Diesel, I’m onto you too buddy: I suppose it was an “accident” you developed your brilliant blog, spent years writing that kickass book, and created Humor Blogs all for the sole purpose of luring me into a close enough orbit to have me assailed. The conspiracy is all so obvious now … how could I have not seen through it?

Well, your elaborate-yet-transparent communist plans are not only ill-fated, they are un-American. And as a national treasure, I consider it my patriotic duty to crawl away on my belly while I still have my dignity.

... But for the duration, I’ve disguised myself as .45 Caliber Headspace.


***

This post is actually a simple commemoration of leaving "Humor-Blogs".

It's been great fun and I'll probably still pimp it to some degree: it absolutely seethes with talent, and I recommend it as a "must-browse".

But as the Predator Press primary author, I’ve got far too much pride to bear watching her sink slowly in rank due to my growing neglect.

Thanks Diesel, and good luck to all.

(And don’t be a stranger!)

:)

Entrecard Introduces New "Dammit, Can't I Afford ANYONE!?" Widget

Predator Press

[LOBO]

MORE BRIANS!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Having dedicated myself to becoming the world's foremost authority on the human brain, I decided I had better "Google" it.

One of the little-known secrets of my outrageous success is my speed reading technique: I can read about 600 pages an hour. So -at a blistering pace- within two hours I knew everything there is to know about Brain De Palma, Brain Wilson, and the loyal and erudite Family Guy dog, Brain Griffin.

I must admit I'm not 100% on how all this interconnects; I mean what do all those guys have in common with the control center of the central nervous system?

But see that's how science works. It's sneaky like that. Christopher Columbus didn't set out to find America. Stephen Hawking didn't set out to discover space. And who knew that while running a radioactive brothel, Madame Curie would come up with all those cures?

But now that I have dedicated my weekend to the pursuit of science, I need to take a breather from it lest I fall prey to her seductive powers; as a deeply religious man, I know how this goes: one minute you're studying some elegant geometry, and the next they are raiding your Texas compound and accusing you of polygamy -the pagan worship of polygons.

God hates science.