Tuesday

The Legend of Testicles

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Sure we’ve all heard the fantastic adventures of Hercules. But Predator Press scienticians have unearthed archeological evidence that Hercules had an evil twin brother, Testicles.

Testicles wasn’t as quite as large as his legendary sibling Hercules –and frankly he wasn’t all that bright either. But in their youth, Testicles often ran the show.

Hercules and Testicles eventually became bitter rivals, and Hercules often beat Testicles severely.

One day finally Hercules beat Testicles so badly, Testicles shrank off into obscurity forever.

Monday

The Don

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When not teaching crippled orphans how to shoplift, posing for Muscle and Fitness magazine or developing cures for exotic and complex strains of hepatitis that don’t exist yet, I occasionally fight evil.

-I don’t really know why I fight evil. Evil has really never done anything to me personally. I guess it’s just a trendy thing to do to pass the time. Everybody at work is all, “What did you do over the weekend?” and the replies are totally boring like, “I watched football” or “I had a barbeque.”

That’s when I drop the bomb: “What did I do? I fought evil.”

End of conversation.

But since Doctor Tobaggans has gone into semi-retirement there has been considerably less evil in the world to fight.

-Or so I thought.

It turns out that Don Lewis’ brand of evil is far more eviler than any evil I’ve ever seen. When you mention Don Lewis in front of evil, evil goes, “Don Lewis? Man that guy is really freaking evil!

You can even spell evil if you scramble his last name:


Levvis = Evil (+ 1 "V" and an "S")


Isn't that positively frightening?

So soon I’ll be traveling out to Idaho to check up on Don.

I don’t really like leaving the country.

-But I cannot in good conscience stand by and do nothing.


Sunday

Deterrence

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“We don’t need Full Coverage,” I insist.

“Yes we do,” replies Terri, speaking more to the agent than to me.

“It costs twice as much!”

“Full Coverage,” Terri assures the agent.

“Don’t listen to her,” I says. “She orders avocado and spinach dip at restaurants. The nachos throw themselves off of the table attempting suicide.”

Terri turns to me. “Do you remember when you wrecked your last car? If you had Full Coverage, they would have cut us a check for the full value. We could have bought a new one.”

I turn to the agent. “Really?”

“Yes,” nods the agent.

“So you’re saying if I crash the car again, I’m covered.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m parked on a ferry in the middle of Loch Ness, and a 747 falls out of the sky and smashes into it sending my car spiraling into the murky depths.”

“Covered.”

“Let’s say I’m driving down by Lake Michigan, and a 450 pound shark jumps out and-“

“You’re covered,” she says.

“-I’m not done,” I says. “A 450 fifty pound shark jumps out. Smashes my car. And smashes a nearby bulletproof Secret Service limousine full of foreign dignitaries.”

The woman goes to speak, and I hold up a finger warningly.

“-But the dignitaries,” I continue, “aren’t alone in the limo: it turns out to be full of cocaine and underage hookers. And dynamite. Yeah. But when Dan Rather shows up to cover the story, Walter Cronkite calls him a 'punk-ass-bitch' and punches Dan right in the face for trying to steal his story. Tempers flare, pandemonium ensues, and after a raging gun battle Chicago is ultimately burned to rubble, occupied only by a handful of radioactive mutant survivors.”

She examines the forms closely. “Does the dynamite go off?”

“Yes,” I confess. “During the gun battle.”

“You’re covered.”

“Baby,” I says to Terri. “I think we should go with the full coverage.”

“Good idea honey,” says Terri.

The agent puts on her glasses. “Do you want roadside coverage?”

“Have you seen these roads?”

Terri interjects. “She means the insurance for tow truck service, flat tires, …”

“They fix flat tires too?” Standing, I reach for my pocketknife.

“Easy baby,” says Terri. “We haven’t signed yet.”

Disappointed, I sit. “Well those tires aren’t getting any less bald.”

Endless signatures later, the agent was sliding a card to each of us.

“What’s this?” I says.

“It’s your Bond Card. If you get a ticket, this prevents the police from confiscating your license.”

“Yeah,” I says smiling at Terri. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to drive by some cops and flash this baby. 'Fuck you, pigs! Hahahahah! Lookie here ... !'"

Saturday

Jaw Droppings

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“You’re not going to believe this,” says Terri. “You know how I’ve been getting those ads on my cellphone?”

“Yep,” I says, finishing the last knot in my new sneakers. Standing, I pose athletically. “What do you think?”

“Those are nice,” says Terri. “But darling, they just charged $100 to my credit card!”

“Did you call the bank?”

“Yes,” she says flipping open her laptop. “It turns out it’s some new kind of scam. The bank is going to email me the company’s name so I can report them for fraud.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?” I says.

”What?”

“I mean the banks are Federally insured. You’ll get your money back, and so will the bank. And this enterprising go-getter gets to redistribute the wealth. This sounds like a modern-day Robin Hood if you ask me.”

"Well the fairy tale is all over for this company," she growls into the computer screen. "They've messed with the wrong person today."

I was fully a block and a half away when I heard the shriek:

“LOBO Enterprises!?!


Friday

Points

Predator Press

[LOBO]

There comes a time in every man's life when he must kiss the children goodnight, abandon his most deeply-held holistic and peaceful beliefs, and just kick the crap out of the opposing Fantasy Football team.

Rickey -author of one of LOBO's favorite blogs Riding With Rickey- is unfortunately on the receiving end of LOBO's team's Payback Run for the humiliating defeat LOBO suffered at the hands of the Washington Crooks -coached by the writer of The Army of Epiphenomenon.

-A blog LOBO now detests entirely.

It saddens LOBO to need to destroy Rickey's team The Menschwarmers, but LOBO needs to make a bloodthirsty, crippling example of Rickey lest other Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football League members think LOBO is soft.

I hope Rickey will not take it personally when LOBO's fake cops pull his players over on the way to the game and one by one use Howitzers via helicopter to dismember them. Or when LOBO puts their remains in a wood chipper, grinds it all into goo, bakes the remains until dry, and then torches them in napalm. Or when LOBO shoots the ashes into a gigantic black hole located near the center of our galaxy

-Despite the years of friendship.

Leigh of Leigh Online -coach of the "Fantasy Virgins"- has further proposed a tempting player trade: LaDanian Tomlinson for two guys that LOBO thinks were co-workers at a Wendy's franchise just south of Des Moines.

Mmmm boy LOBO does love a good Frosty. Especially in the Summer. But unfortunately it is now officially Fall, and Predator Press Scienticians have already dissected LaDanian for his DNA (which will be used to create LaDainian clones bred to look like all the other players on LOBO's team who have thus far proven to be losers).

Besides. LOBO lives two blocks from a Wendy's; sure they screw up LOBO's drive-thru orders every once in a while, but Des Moines is a long way to go for decent fries.

But fear not Leigh! Whatever remains of LaDanian will soon be available in eBay.

(LOBO needs a new car)


Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!


Thursday

The Dogged Pound

Predator Press

[The Author]

Told I was getting MEMED for blogging tips, I wrote this a few months ago. But the MEME fell through once it was discovered that I was actually a terrible writer, blogger, et cetera.

Still, upon occasion I’ll get an email asking for traffic-building tips, writer’s block cures, or just a plain old 'where the **** do you come up with this stuff?'

I thought it was best covered (albeit slightly sarcastically) in the post How to Blog -with particular deference to the links at the bottom. These are some of my favorite authors telling you their stuff, and totally worth reading. I couldn’t do a better job of that than they did.

But ...

There are tips and there are techniques. None of them, for instance, said ‘Well I get the idea, and then I make a flow chart while waving a dead chicken over my computer.’ The “physical” behaviors were seemingly left out for the more metaphorical and conceptual rules and values.

Also perhaps worthy of note is that at the time Predator Press wasn't even in the top 30 at what is far and away the best site on the internet for laughs: Humor-Blogs. Diesel's creation has "turned me on" to 99% of my favorite authors, and it's a flat-out honor to be among them.

Anyways, this is not a particularly funny piece, but if you’re curious about how a Predator Press post is born, tortured, and finally left writhing on this blog until it dies, read on. :)


***


About six months ago, Terri and I arrived at a compromise.

She works a little later than I, so the deal was for me to try and be “finished” blogging by the time she got home. This worked out to be a little over an hour a day.

Now an hour a day will create one of two responses:

The first would be practical.

“My god that’s 7-10 hours a week. That’s a part-time job!"

The second response would be far closer to mine:

“Now how the heck am I supposed to do this in one-tenth the time!?”

So fine. At first I was posting every two or three days, putting the unfinished work down punctually due to this artificial and self-imposed “deadline”.

This caused me a lot of anxiety. I like getting things out while there’s some passion for it; all too often I would return to the same piece and have lost my enthusiasm for it entirely. (Guys like Chris Cameron of Angry Seafood will tell you he plans things out months in advance; while secretly envious of that quality, I think that’s God’s way of protecting me: if I had months worth of good ideas all at one time I would totally explode.)

Over time, an undetected transition into getting the entire post down in under an hour started to happen.

Now keep in mind that this hour is “face time” –actually sitting in front of the computer. Longer posts often took three days, required complex outlines, multiple drafts, blah blah blah. A post you start off intending to finish in one hour will have to be simple, small, potent and tight, and come in at rarely over a few paragraphs.

And a routine developed too: after work, I was "against the clock" so to speak: out of the car, boot up, and get busy.

After time, the difference was amazing.

Now don't get me wrong. I look for blog-fodder 24/7. I’ve always felt that people suffering from writer’s block are introverting too much and not paying close enough attention to their surroundings. Little “seeds” come from just about anything: workplace scenarios, kids arguing, cranky cashiers … Screechy –my five year old- is not only great for titles like “Buyer Seaware,” and “Clash of the Titanics” but he fits ‘LOBO’s’ overall adolescent outlook nicely for occasional inspiration like Spooky. Terri will attest to me waking up from dreams with posting material (Roller Coaster, for instance, was actually a fairly detailed dream that was completed in about 30 minutes after waking). Practice looking for them, and pretty soon you’ll have a notebook full of scribbled story ideas.

(It also helps if you can read your own penmanship ... )

Anyways, most Predator Press stories and blurbs have at least two major plotlines woven in (I’ll spend half the post making you forget where we started, and then twist you back violently once this is accomplished) so there’s a bit more to work out on my end. But once the overall concepts are found, then I’ll start to wrestle with the framework such as “Who/What is the vehicle for my intended destination?” and “What kind of images should I use?” et cetera.

All this is more-or-less worked out before I even touch the computer; when that hour starts, I’ve got a very full agenda already and it’s pretty carefully planned.

If there are images to find and/or doctor, that will eat my writing time. Pics -occasionally necessary BTW- are totally unpredictable: for No Mammograms Were Conducted During the Making of this Post, I spent three times the time Googling the perfect "Seedy-Looking Van with an Airbrushed Naked Chick Riding a Panther on it” than I did writing -and ended up settling on doctoring one I wasn’t 100% happy with. The Astronaut Whisperer took fifteen minutes to write, and two full “sessions” to complete the pic editing (and the final result were terrible pics, but I so badly wanted to move on!).

And I’m certainly not making any claims that these post are of the “highest quality” … in fact to the contrary, I almost have to make it a point not to go through my older stuff ‘cuz I’m always thinking “I wish I had done that differently.”

-But I’m not here to create “fine art” either. If I can get it close enough to convey the idea, that’s close enough.

I guess, in conclusion, blogging and writing are always based on life.

So don't skimp on the 'living' part.

You need it.

:)

Wednesday

A CERN Talking Through

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don’t get the fuss over the CERN Large Hadron Collider experiment.

Some mad scientists build a measly 17 mile long black hole generator, and here go all the whiny Liberals, “Boo Hoo! It could destroy the universe? Wah!

These selfish pricks should just shut up. I might like having my own personal black hole. In fact, I’ve already compiled a list of things I would like to try it out on:

  • Leftover Brussels Sprouts

  • Mail Labeled ‘Occupant’

  • Nuclear Waste

  • Tom Brady

  • Cable Bill

  • Cats

  • Prince

  • Don Lewis

  • SEO Optimizers

  • People Named 'Travis'

  • Puppy that Followed the Kids Home

  • The CERN Large Hadron Collider (now that be cool, eh? Eh?)

    And frankly, why bother fighting for this crap Universe? I'm not sure the complete destruction of this dump would be so bad anyway.

    Now Alpha Proxima?

    -That’s a Universe.


    Thank you Miss Moneypenny CPU!

  • Tuesday

    Fishbone

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Weird day.

    While not still sick, I hadn’t eaten since Saturday; I was a little pasty and shaky. But even feeling 85%, showing up would have been better than taking a second day off.

    And there’s a meeting.

    I was notified, but that was Friday: at that time more than two days in the future.

    In the workplace, I don’t really plan anything beyond 24 hours besides "be available."

    And -further fueling my disinterest- the meeting is about ISO Certification.

    “ISO” is an abbreviation for the International Organization for Standardization or something. In short, ISO is not about FUBAR. I deal in FUBAR. My company would gladly pay me in FUBAR, but you cannot exchange FUBAR for goods and services anymore (the Bush Administration is in it's "lame duck" phase).

    I had heard of the International Organization for Standardization or whatever through the company channels before. I thought, Okay, it’s an International Certification process that we’re going through. Totally normal, and probably desirable to do International Business, right? But we’re not going to trot out our centuries-old and carefully guarded secrets are we? Or the super cool advanced technologies we’re working on?

    Within an hour, I was outlining spreadsheets of our centuries-old and carefully guarded secrets, with the SuperCool advanced technologies bulleted and itemized. 

    Frankly, it felt a bit like corporate espionage.

    There is a Very Simple Trinity to any business it seems to me:




    a) Good
    b) Fast, and
    c) Cheap


    Pick two.

    -Is that so complex?

    But I dunno. ISO felt weird. It felt like Scientology meets Corporate America on a series of PowerPoint slides, and each deeper layer seemed as wordy and impotent as the next. After a handful of corporate buzzwords, my brain shut off. Wanna see my narcolepsy in action? Just swing a laser pointer and say “Opportunity” three times in an animated manner.

    BTW here’s a tip for you PowerPointers: every pie chart you show better have at least four pieces of amusing animation to counter the mind-numbing and hold my interest. In fact, you should consider using porn before of using a pie chart ... at least I wouldn't glaze over and miss all those cute animations.

    Look. Just don’t use pie charts.  Did Van Halen use pie charts?

    And okay fine ... maybe this "International Organization for Standardization" or whatever is precisely what is stopping greedy Americans from exporting lead-laden toys and poison pet food to other countries.

    Thus -under vast and crushing International pressure- I will amend my list:



    a) Good
    b) Fast
    c) Cheap, and
    d) Porn

    There.

    Happy?

    Feel free to discuss and ponder this among yourselves.  My presentation is next.

    I have to go set up the flash pans.

    Monday

    Predator Press Fantasy Football Team Not Shaping Up

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    I halfway woke up at about 2:30 am, clicked on the television, and collapsed on the couch inexplicably prepared to watch a Beverly Hillbillies marathon.

    Terri shook my shoulder. “Honey, why are you sleeping out here?”

    “Not sleeping,” I mumbled. “Beverly Hillbillies.”

    Glancing at the screen -still haphazardly split between the TV guide and the obscure cable channel- I realized the Beverly Hillbillies weren’t on anymore.

    Almost two hours had passed.

    “You’re burning up,” says Terri.

    I was pouring sweat.

    Four Tylenols later, she waddled me back to bed.

    -I’m holding Eli Manning personally responsible for this.


    Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!

    Sunday

    FEMA To New Orleans: Just Shut Up About It Already

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Fed up after years of criticism for badly botching the response to Hurricane Katrina, FEMA has issued a press release saying quote, “We’re sick of hearing it! All you Negative Nancys GET A LIFE!” immediately before slamming the door so hard the screen pane fell out.

    This does not bode well for FEMA as FEMA owns a cat that is curious about going outside, and the neighborhood FEMA lives in is crawling with large and aggressive dogs that could easily jump their fences when sufficiently aggravated.

    “See what you made us do?” yelled FEMA. “Now get the hell off of my property!”

    New Orleans, shocked by this irrational and emotional display, released the following reply: “Screw you and that mangy cat. We have always hated that cat!”

    Saturday

    Lee Majors Endorses $14.95 "Bionic Ear"

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Yes it's totally true.

    There is now, in fact, a $14.95 Bionic Ear.

    And I'm not even going to go into how pissed Steve Austin -astronaut- might have felt about being completely repaired for three easy payments of $39.95.

    -I'm too jazzed to know I can now get cheap ears that can lift busses.