Brett Favre Offered $20M Not to Play Football

Predator Press

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In an effort to keep Brett Favre from playing for an opposing team, the Green Bay Packers have offered him $20,000,000 to “stay retired”.

Packers President and Chief Executive Officer Mark Murphy has failed to return my calls on how much he will pay me not to play, but I have offered to not do it for half that amount.

Mars Rovers Found at Hawking Summer Home

Predator Press

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A search for drugs and pornography at Stephen Hawking's summer home in Casa de Rio turned up more than was bargained for: both $350M Mars Rovers -supposedly on Mars since 2004- have actually been sending photos from the beach, and fetching drinks for scantily-clad supermodels.

"Oh come on people!" says noted physicist Hawking as he is handcuffed and escorted away. "Microbes? On Mars? Please. I coulda sent you guys pictures of turkeys an you would've bought it."

Space: The Final Dumpster

Predator Press

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As I see it, the biggest problem in the United States -besides Shia LaBeouf's unlawful incarceration- is all the money we are paying those so-called "engineers" at NASA for space exploration.

I mean come on already! This is 2008. We're supposed to have this:




-but instead we have this?




I'll bet those NASA rubes are pulling down like $9 or $10 an hour. And rather than developing cool-looking planet-smashing war machines and evil alien empires to have wars with, we're in a garage hammering the dings out of a two-toned spaceship so dumpy looking the mere site of it would only encourage a deadly hoard of would-be space overlords!

I wouldn't scrounge that thing for parts. I mean it doesn't even have a lousy Death Ray. Not one! Shouldn't we at least get Congress to pass a Bill to pay for gluing some fake ones on? Heck, Pfizer would do it for free if you stuck on some Viagra stickers!

And for that matter, how many hundreds of our tax dollars are being spent every year on this stuff without finding any would-be space overlords? Heck at least wash the damn thing ... the would-be space overlords are probably laughin at us right now!

I hate those guys, all smug and hiding out there behind a phony shroud of tranquility while obviously plotting the demise of the Human Race in secrecy. Those guys should get their asses kicked! We need to find them, exterminate their military with extreme prejudice, and then occupy all of their home worlds while making the survivors do forced labor before the inevitable sneak attack and subsequent invasion.

The way I see it, the only way to bring them Freedom is by ruling the primitive war-like inhabitants of the galaxy under Enlightened, iron-fisted Human Benevolence; not taking the initiative here will most assuredly invite cosmic despotic tyranny.

I, for one, won’t stand for that.

Slightly Off the Mark

Predator Press

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Jazzed by having received my copy of The Amadeus Net by Mark A. Rayner in the mail today, I started to think, “You know, why should I prevent my own radiant brainiosity from being studied and enjoyed by generations upon generations in the annals of future history?”

I've been trying to root out my own book deal, but that's a difficult thing to accomplish when I haven't actually written the book yet.

Or the draft.

Or the outline.

Or have a clear idea of what it will be about.

... But I do like the title.

7

Predator Press

[LOBO]

My Social Security number is “7”.

And I swear upon various gods that’s a fact.

Before you ask, no, I do not know who 1-6 are; they are obviously shrouded in some really kickass secret way-cool lucrative conspiracy that they are not telling me about.

I hate those jerks.

ANTNM

Predator Press

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You would be hard-pressed to find a single American who hasn't at least heard of America's Next Top Model: a glamorous leggy reality show hosted by Tyra Banks.

But few remember the vast number of prototypes attempted previous to it's highly successful format.

Before ANTM, we didn't know that America wanted to watch pretentious and callow stressed-out 80-pound chicks clawing each other's eyes out; all we really knew was that as long as we kept putting crap on television, America would watch with tightly-gripped interest.

Forever lost in the vast archives of failed television -somewhere next to the reels of XFL Football and the Gieco Cavemen show- all the episodes of America's Next Top Not Model [ANTNM] gather the dusty neglect of failed hopes and dreams.

Perhaps only I still remember the most exciting and fantastic week of my life.

But that's okay.

I still remember.


***

From the moment the Greyhound bus dropped me off in front of Château le Scone, it was a first-class act all the way. I had never been to Biloxi, the high-powered world center and apex of international beauty before; it actually teemed with energy and life.

Once adequately armed against said teeming energy and life with our complimentary guitar-shaped flyswatters and mosquito nets, we were introduced to the other contestants by the pool. My heart sank as I saw the mammoth caliber of my competition: George "The Animal" Steel was getting his back waxed, and Gilbert Gottfried his eyebrows. Paul Reubens was snoring loudly with cucumbers over his eyes, and Chris Farley snapped his Speedo at anyone who failed to resist his obvious predanatural gifts.

Without severe discipline and hard work, I didn't have a prayer.


***

The only "original" member of the cast that survived to the show's current bastardized permutation America's Next Top Model is Jay Alexander. I remember him fondly; once he essentially stopped eating to control the nausea, he himself gave me the regimented routines that would prove to be my only chance for survival. Tips like not shaving or bathing and consuming nothing but Blue Beaver Beer, pizza, Twinkies and nachos 24/7 proved invaluable as the final weeks progressed.

And then that prick Paul Reubens ruined everything.

He started sneaking vegetables on my pizzas, and switching my beer to Blue Beaver Lite. He doused me constantly with Aqua Velva under the guise that it was fly repellant.

That prick stole and burned all my turtleneck shirts and parachute pants.

When I saw the footage of what he did to my favorite plaid leisure suit, I wept.

And I was voted off that very week.


***

Once my arteries cleared up, I left the hospital and decided to write my story as a warning. And I'm sure you already know that being overly-possessed with how you look is not healthy, and rampant vanity can be a fast track to full renal failure.

But this is a warning to Paul Reubens.

That suit was polyester.

We'll meet again, Paul.

Oh yes.

We shall meet again.

Cabals N Bits

Predator Press

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I have no idea what this image is supposed to be, but the alternative to wasting an hour on it was wasting an hour mowing the lawn. Let’s just call it a homage to Rickey and move on. Okay?

What I wanted to specifically address was the startling number of recent comments. I would like to reply to all of them individually, but between the last two posts I’ve got almost forty.

Forty!

-That’s more than I got all last year.

What the heck are you people doing!? When I go to your sites, Do I lay this kind of guilt on you? No. I’m far too busy scrawling all your funny ideas on a notepad so I can plagiarize them later.

Forty comments on Predator Press is the blogging equivalent of the last episode of M*A*S*H.

(*spoiler alert* In the last episode of M*A*S*H, Henry dies and Winchester doesn't.)

(... Oooooo I hate that snooty Winchester!)

How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs.com

Predator Press

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Now that I have verifiably been #1 on Humor-Blogs, I feel I am qualified to lecture comprehensively on the subject.

And for the low, low price of $679 I totally will!*

With my 64 DVD series of lectures, you will learn top #1 Humor-Blogger secrets like:

Tip #4: "Cook 'Minute Rice' for 2 minutes and 54 seconds: it resets 'Humor-Blogs' to zero. But be sure your fire extinguisher is fully charged, and keep a list of phone numbers including the Fire Department and restaurants that deliver handy," and

Tip #454: “CDs 51-64 are actually blank. Use them to record your favorite music and drown out the family bitching about your blogging,” and

Tip #73: "Switching your feed tube and catheter bucket is a great timesaver, but can eventually cause anemia. Eat a banana every few days to avoid Rickets."

Act now, and I'll not only provide free shipping, but I'll throw in a free tube of antibiotic ointment guaranteed to cure butt bedsores 1.6 times faster than exercise!*

But wait*! There's More*! The first 100 buyers will receive a copy of Diesel's Antisocial Commentary: The Secret Files of the Mattress Police at a discounted price of $156! *

* This is a limited-time offer.

* "How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs" may cause nausea, temporary blindness, and explosive discharge of the left kidney.

* No assembly is required.

* 16 animals were beaten into a chalky paste during the making of this post. But it was in order to perfect my #1 on Humor-Blogs.com Barbeque Sauce so I'm cool with it.

Glitch, Smitch! The People Have Spoken!

Predator Press

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Yes, it’s true ‘o Loyal Reader. All my hard work and dedication has finally paid off.

For I am #1 at Humor-Blogs.

Due to the inalienable rights bestowed upon Me by Virtue of Democracy (and Diesel’s glitchy software), the triumph of an Enlightened reign under my Iron Fists of Galvanized Wisdom shall bring happiness to the Blogosphere for generations upon generations to come.



And like any intrepid and courageous hero endowed by the Virtue of Democracy (and Diesel’s glitchy software) leading the huddled masses into a bold new future, I’ve got a list of 82,952 blogs that piss me off because they are funnier than mine.

-Sites that have no place in the annals of a future history that I shall intend to forge with my own two mighty hands!

I want guys like Don, Kevin, Brent and Mark handled with "utmost discretion."

And extreme violence.

Leperball

Predator Press

[LOBO]

People are always asking me, "LOBO, with basketball season over and football not yet in full swing, how does a legendary athlete such as yourself spend your leisure time?”

Well I’m glad you asked me that.

I’ve always believed that people as gifted and successful as myself should spend a lot of time giving back to the community; encouraging the "less fortunate" that they too might become a chiseled physical phenomena such as myself is exactly the false hope today’s kids need to keep them from dealing drugs, stealing my car, or other things 'the community' generally frowns upon.

With Shark Boxing still tied up in pre-production due to a quagmire of insurance hassles, I generally spend my weekends coaching a pee-wee football team called the Starfishes: a spirited and rugged little squad of ‘can do’ type kids –all afflicted with advanced stages of leprosy.

This is my third year -the first of which I am Federally mandated to because of the “Anti-Discrimination Act” that Little Timmy's dad used to sue me when I puked at the post-game pizza party and tried to resign.

Little Timmy is now quarterback.

His dad must be so proud.

Weasel Fuel

Predator Press

[LOBO]

AS Diesel often should when working on a new and brilliant project, he sought out my advice.

And I would have had a hard time turning him down for my radiant brainosity: he loaned me a nickel to scratch off my lottery tickets.

"LOBO," he says. "I want to upgrade Humor-Blogs to Humor-Blogs 3.0. It'll have a system you can vote on funny posts with."

"Cool," I says, blowing the silver dust off of a 'Pays to Play' loser.

"I wish you wouldn't do that in my car."

"Relax, D," I says, drawing out another from my shirt pocket. "I'll buy you a new car when I score with these babies. One with two clitorises."

Diesel glances in the rearview mirror to see the dry Nevada dust being whipped up like a comet's tail behind us. "How many voting categories should there be?"

"Scientifically?"

"Yes."

"In North America?

"Yes."

"And with enough simplicity and flexibility to carry the whole thing on with creative bloggers checking in for centuries to come?"

"Yes," he grins.

I scratch my chin with the nickel, thinking. "Fifty seven."

"Fifty seven," Diesel says.

"Don't be so incredulous," I says, scratching my Cardboard Wafer of Destiny. "Science doesn't lie."

"I was thinking three. You know, a 'thumbs up', a 'meh', and maybe a 'thumbs down'. But fifty seven?"

"And the most important thing will be what the buttons look like. They should match the vote."

I then presented the following example:




#57: Fantastic.

I soiled myself.






#26: Standard issue LOL cat







#21: Too much YouTube.





#6: This post stunk like if Kenny Rogers loaded up on peanut butter and sardine sandwiches, washed it down with buttermilk, and then puked deeply into a large bonfire after riding the Tilt-a-Whirl.


"Blech," says Diesel. "How about plain smiley faces?"

"Well sure, if you want to be boring."

"And maybe I'll just go only with 'thumbs up' and 'thumbs down-'"

"Without a 'meh' nobody will vote for my site."

"The Reasonable Ego is a great blog," says Diesel. "Lots of people will vote for you."

"I don't write for the The Reasonable Ego. That's Sinister Dan."

"Which blog do you write for?"

"Predator Press."

"You mean that blog with all the crayon doodles, crappy grammar and obviously fake images?"

"Yep. Hey, why are we slowing down?"

"Get out!" Diesel demands. "And gimmee back my damn nickel!"




There are, I suppose, worse things than blogging with my laptop from the middle of the desert next to a skeleton.

At least I got my 'meh' button snuck in there at Humor-Blogs.

And I almost feel bad for Diesel.

With my 'Pays to Play' scratch offs, I won $2 and two free ones ... !