Predator Press
[LOBO]
It was only vaguely sunny, but comfortable. The guy that works on his kit cars was working an Aston Martin, and, as per usual, the promising husk was blocking about a third of the two lane subdivision’s road.
I never really minded swinging by him. In fact to the contrary, I had a quiet admiration for his work. A few months ago -weather permitting- he was building a fucking hot Boss 429 Mustang. But having not come down this road for some time, I never really saw the project anywhere near completion.
Still, the Aston Martin looks pretty cool already.
The fact this obtrusive hobbyist was blind wasn’t much of a secret; it was obvious by his seemingly cavalier attitude toward roadside traffic. Even now, his legs, surrounded by tools, stuck out from the skeletal underside as autumn leaves swirled in skittish somersaults across the faded concrete -a scant five feet from the center divide.
If constructing cars wasn’t enough, it was rumored Hal worked for NASA. I swear to god. Not working on rockets and such, but something to do with the concession machines; he got in on some kind of handicap program. Single and without children, his income provided an enviable house, and an even more enviable hobby.
Little of this registers to me consciously as I swing by wide in the light traffic.
The security key would doubtlessly be changed by the second shift, and the locks would be reconfigured.
While not particularly rushed, it would be of no value in a matter of hours.
A serious thief would feel more pressed for time; I regard myself as more of a passing opportunist.
An explorer if you will.
Malls, most people don’t know, have separate entrances for their employees; concrete catacombs providing unrestricted access –I learned this from my first job, hawking smoothies at one. Sure they’re monitored by video cameras, but I look a lot like my brother, and I’m wearing his uniform. He’ll be mad if he finds out, but if he finds out I’m fucked anyway –I’m using his car.
And fuck his car, I’ve got his badge and his gun too.
But the plan is only to “explore.” A short pop in and out, copping my brother’s look if you’ll pardon the pun -acting like this unwieldy utility belt is second nature
Like I’m doing something boring yet somehow relevant.
Should a bicycle or a pair of sneakers appear in my car, well, what can I do? It’s not like I could return them. Those people would then prosecute, and the need to go through prosecuting people is a big pain in the ass.
Nobody wants that. I’ll just keep them.
My mildly amused grin goes away fast when I realize the key isn’t working. And even as my mind locks into the unexpected issue, I hear the interface pop.
“Stay there Mallory,” squawked the durable-looking gray cube. ”We’re coming out.”
Fuck, I thought.
I started sweating immediately –probably even before I began the brisk trot to the car. My hand seemed to instinctively hold the pistol grip despite the unfamiliarity as I ran, and from what seemed a million miles away I wondered optimistically if they would think my brother was suddenly dispatched on a call.
My mind raced as I started the roaring engine, while simultaneously slamming the door.
Should I have bluffed it out and stayed?
Thinking ahead, I had tactically parked for a fast exit: the tires screamed into the pavement hard, and I fishtailed slightly in the unexpected thrust.
When I saw the flashing lights in the rearview, and all hope of my brother not finding out melted. I was, for lack of a better word, fucked in Fuckville at fuck o’clock.
Still, maybe if I got the car back on our property they wouldn’t tow impound it.
Maybe if I tell him “I’m sorry,” my brother will forgive me sooner.
-And panic stricken, I forgot about poor ol Hal.
Tuesday
Friday
A Gift Certificate From 'Best Buy' Could Probably Fix This
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Dad,” whines Screechy. “They wont let me watch Dora!”
On the one hand, the teenagers are quietly watching television.
-But on the other, being unemployed and bored has made me an increasingly dark and deeply-conflicted individual: the five-year old and both teenagers are available for my potential amusement.
“What!?” I’ll say, feigning shock. “Well, you tell them I said ‘hoop-boobli-flip flang!’”
-And dutifully, Screechy runs down the stairs, back into the living room, and announces with distant-yet-undeniable authority, “Dad said … !”
I have to hide my laughter as the rapid footsteps return.
“They didn’t listen!” he complains. “They just, well, stared at me!”
I scowl menacingly. “Oh really? Well you tell them I said, “Quit spoinking and flizz-flazzle!” But just as he begins to run back, I grab his shoulder and look him in the eye real serious-like. “Don’t forget to tell them ‘pttttthbt’ first.” Holding my thumb to my nose, I wiggle my fingers and wince crossed eyes for effect. “Remember. Pttthbt! -or it won’t work!”
He practices the hand motion. "Spoinking the flizz-flazzle!"
“Perfect,” I smile parentally.
-This is followed by running footsteps down the stairs, muffled cursing teenagers (possibly throwing objects), and then running footsteps up the stairs.
"It's not working," he points out, breathing heavily. "You have to put on Dora."
"Did you remember the 'pttthbt' thing?"
"Yes."
"-And the fingers?"
He demonstrates. "Uh huh!"
"You did it wrong. You have to use your other hand ..."

“Dad,” whines Screechy. “They wont let me watch Dora!”
On the one hand, the teenagers are quietly watching television.
-But on the other, being unemployed and bored has made me an increasingly dark and deeply-conflicted individual: the five-year old and both teenagers are available for my potential amusement.
“What!?” I’ll say, feigning shock. “Well, you tell them I said ‘hoop-boobli-flip flang!’”
-And dutifully, Screechy runs down the stairs, back into the living room, and announces with distant-yet-undeniable authority, “Dad said … !”
I have to hide my laughter as the rapid footsteps return.
“They didn’t listen!” he complains. “They just, well, stared at me!”
I scowl menacingly. “Oh really? Well you tell them I said, “Quit spoinking and flizz-flazzle!” But just as he begins to run back, I grab his shoulder and look him in the eye real serious-like. “Don’t forget to tell them ‘pttttthbt’ first.” Holding my thumb to my nose, I wiggle my fingers and wince crossed eyes for effect. “Remember. Pttthbt! -or it won’t work!”
He practices the hand motion. "Spoinking the flizz-flazzle!"
“Perfect,” I smile parentally.
-This is followed by running footsteps down the stairs, muffled cursing teenagers (possibly throwing objects), and then running footsteps up the stairs.

"Did you remember the 'pttthbt' thing?"
"Yes."
"-And the fingers?"
He demonstrates. "Uh huh!"
"You did it wrong. You have to use your other hand ..."
Thursday
How to Handle Cambridge Cops

[LOBO]
Now I wasn’t there, so let me have said up front I don’t know the facts surrounding the arrest of Henry Louis Gates Jr. But I do know firsthand that cops –on occasion- lie.
Still, I’m not here to judge -I’m simply weighing in with some helpful tips so we can avoid these circumstances in the future.
#1) Don’t Be Black and in Cambridge: I’m not saying you can’t be black or in Cambridge ... I’m just saying you shouldn’t be both at the same time.
#2) If You Can’t Avoid Being Simultaneously Black and in Cambridge, Work a Career-Oriented Lie: You know, like tell the cops you’re really a white chimney sweep on your way home from work. (An Asian chimney sweep is also acceptable, but be prepared to answer a lot of rapid-fire algebra questions.)

-With sensitivity, a heightened awareness and a little planning, we can continue in the racial harmony we've grown accustomed to over the past several hundred years.
Tuesday
In a Nutshell

[LOBO]
Being a smoldering highly-desired ripped physical specimen such as myself has drawbacks, and people tend to assume I’m, you know, all brawn and no brains.
I can hardly fault them: an Adonis-like physique such as mine might suggest I spend far more time in the gym than “cracking the books.” This misconception has plagued me my entire life, and all throughout the 80's and 90’s I’ve had to beat up Billy Zabka, like, fifty times.
Well I’m tired of beating up Billy Zabka. And at this point I’m unable to guarantee Bily Zabka’s safety the next time he screws with me in the locker room -or tries to mess up my wife Terri’s mind with his twisted macho crap. (Do you hear me Billy Zabka? If I hear one more cheap knockoff of Kenny Loggins' “Danger Zone,” you’re a dead man.)

“Honey,” I argued. “It’s for us.”
“Us?” she demanded.
“Well excuse me. I think $1,100 of your hard-earned money is well worth our continued marital bliss.”
“But these things are rip offs!” she screamed.
“This one isn’t. I specifically asked the woman on the phone if it was a rip off. She said it wasn't."
As her eyes roll, I snort.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't order a Nordic Track."
Monday
Sunday
Coming Up for Air

[LOBO]
CNN is ablaze with stories regarding the Nomura Jellyfish, a 450 pound six foot long creature poised to invade the Sea of Japan.
And what made the Japanese -the ferocious Kamikaze crazies- become so fearful they wont even stick a big toe in their own ocean?
I, speaking for all of us, blame the Republicans.
The Republicans are always getting in the way of scientific progress. “We shouldn’t clone,” they whimper and sob into their cognac sifters. “Cloning is the equivalent of playing God.”

With slight little tweaks of DNA, we could counter the onslaught of Nomura Jellyfish with wave after wave of Peanut Butterfish and tenacious Whitebread Octopi. Get some already-existing Swordfish to cut the diagonal, and pow we're done: like WWII, America has once again rescued Japan from certain destruction.
-We could even develop an arthropod that takes the crusts off!
Saturday
Revolting
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In May of 2007, Paris Hilton was sentenced to 45 days in jail only to be released after serving 50 hours. After much public outcry and drama, she was returned –ultimately serving a total of 23 days.
And admittedly I’d already been a Paris hater for years. It started with “The Simple Life” -a FOX Network reality show starring her and some other similarly vapid frosted flake I can’t remember, explicitly engineered to ridicule and humiliate the American working class.
That said, let’s skip ahead to a week ago. I had to renew my expiring driver’s license –including a CDL which cost me a month of intensive training and roughly $4,500.
While relieved it wasn’t the four hour ordeal I’ve grown to expect from the DMV it was all for nothing anyway: despite having no criminal record at all, my still-valid license, birth certificate copy, SS card, apartment lease, car title, marriage license -and my legally-verifyable wife Terri standing right beside me- the California DMV "could not help."
-My Birth Certificate wasn’t certified. Born in Chicago, my certified Birth Certificate would have to be attained via Illinois ... Even if I spent a fortune it would take a week.
I was told “tough luck,” and subsequently have no legal identification or driver's license –and that $4,500 CDL potential source of income? Bye-bye. I have to take written tests, driving tests -everything all over again.
Well I apparently went to the wrong DMV altogether: according to TMV [story linked here], in Santa Monica it was prearranged for Paris Hilton -criminal record and Probation in tow- not to wait in any lines at all, take five photos, and all employees were ordered to turn their cellphones off so no other photos got leaked. All this was done during regular business hours, and right in front of clearly less-important people such as ourselves.
As far as DMVs go, Santa Monica appears so uncharacteristically accommodating I think maybe I’ll provide a few links to the relevant agencies. What a fine example! They should be contacted so their unique Customer Service insights be shared, and we can enjoy the same treatment at all DMVs across this Great Nation:
The Santa Monica Department of Motor Vehicles
2235 Colorado Avenue
Santa Monica, 90404
(800)777-0133
Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger
California State Capitol Building
Sacramento, CA 95814
Phone: 916-445-2841
Fax: 916-445-4633
email

In May of 2007, Paris Hilton was sentenced to 45 days in jail only to be released after serving 50 hours. After much public outcry and drama, she was returned –ultimately serving a total of 23 days.
And admittedly I’d already been a Paris hater for years. It started with “The Simple Life” -a FOX Network reality show starring her and some other similarly vapid frosted flake I can’t remember, explicitly engineered to ridicule and humiliate the American working class.
That said, let’s skip ahead to a week ago. I had to renew my expiring driver’s license –including a CDL which cost me a month of intensive training and roughly $4,500.
While relieved it wasn’t the four hour ordeal I’ve grown to expect from the DMV it was all for nothing anyway: despite having no criminal record at all, my still-valid license, birth certificate copy, SS card, apartment lease, car title, marriage license -and my legally-verifyable wife Terri standing right beside me- the California DMV "could not help."
-My Birth Certificate wasn’t certified. Born in Chicago, my certified Birth Certificate would have to be attained via Illinois ... Even if I spent a fortune it would take a week.
I was told “tough luck,” and subsequently have no legal identification or driver's license –and that $4,500 CDL potential source of income? Bye-bye. I have to take written tests, driving tests -everything all over again.

As far as DMVs go, Santa Monica appears so uncharacteristically accommodating I think maybe I’ll provide a few links to the relevant agencies. What a fine example! They should be contacted so their unique Customer Service insights be shared, and we can enjoy the same treatment at all DMVs across this Great Nation:
2235 Colorado Avenue
Santa Monica, 90404
(800)777-0133
Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger
California State Capitol Building
Sacramento, CA 95814
Phone: 916-445-2841
Fax: 916-445-4633
Friday
Madonna Stage Collapse Kills McMahon, Fawcett, Jackson, Mayes, McNair, Cronkite, Billings Couple
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Would you people stop dying for like five minutes
so I can get organized for Christ’s sake!?
[LOBO]

so I can get organized for Christ’s sake!?
Thursday
Sonia Sotomayor, Put Down the Chunky Monkey and Step Away from the Refrigerator

[LOBO]
Oh come on -you're all thinking it.
Picture: the Bailiff calls “All rise,” and here she comes in flip flops -the usual schlop schlop schlop sounds drowned out in the clicketty-clackitty of hippopotamus toenails spilling over to grip the marble floor (in case gravity spontaneously reversed itself).
Approaching “The Bench,” she pushes yesterday’s cellophane wrappers and donut boxes off of her desk -in a single swipe- at the bailiff.
"File those, asshole" she demands, and punches in an eight digit combination on her government-issued briefcase to procure the sole item enclosed: a George Foreman Grill.
Belching contentedly, she then skims a jelly-stained copy of a Row v. Wade deposition while picking her teeth with a still-smoking rib from yesterday's losing prosecuting attorney -a Pfizer rep that smelled vaguely of Old Spice and barbeque sauce.

And I’m as “Progressive” and “Enlightened” as anybody regarding chicks wanting do a dude's work: as long as you only make 70% of the pay, hey, knock yourself out.
-But unlike American Idol, this isn't based on weight: the Senate isn't doing her any favors by mincing about the seemingly-taboo issue of her immense, galactic-scale girth. What if, for instance, she’s in Tokyo and innocuously wants to go to the beach?
Those panic-prone Japanese might call Mothra!
Saturday
Ask LOBO: How To Blog Part IV
Predator Press
[LOBO]
MILLIONS and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, ”LOBO, if I make a YouTube of me sticking my head in a deep fryer, will I get as many people to visit my blog as yours?”
Well I'm glad you asked me that.
The short answer is “Well, uh, yeah” -but the long answer is more of a philosophical and humanitarian discussion that doesn't smell very good at the conclusion.
In continued offensive olfactory irony, according to Google Analytics the most popular Predator Press post ever shockingly has nothing to do with farts either: Lee Majors Endorses $14.95 Bionic Ear -as a specific Google Search- has placed Number One since it's inception, and to this day has three times as many direct visitors than the distant second.
-On occasion people still comment on it.
But if you think I’ll let cold hard statistical fact I don't understand get in my way, you’re sadly mistaken: I think we should all be doing something entirely different.
As 'Bloggers,' I think we should start ending random sentences with “and then I started killing people.”
(I’m sensing some resistance here, but don’t puss out on me yet.)
I’m not sayin end every sentence with “and then I started killing people” ... just a light dusting will do. 'Less is More' in this case.
I submit this modified excerpt from an e e cummings poem for your consideration:
a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
-and then I
started killing people
Long Live the Robots!
See that?
-And I totally improvised the 'Long Live the Robots' thing.
For the entire Predator Press
"How to Blog" series, click here.
[LOBO]

Well I'm glad you asked me that.
The short answer is “Well, uh, yeah” -but the long answer is more of a philosophical and humanitarian discussion that doesn't smell very good at the conclusion.
In continued offensive olfactory irony, according to Google Analytics the most popular Predator Press post ever shockingly has nothing to do with farts either: Lee Majors Endorses $14.95 Bionic Ear -as a specific Google Search- has placed Number One since it's inception, and to this day has three times as many direct visitors than the distant second.
-On occasion people still comment on it.
But if you think I’ll let cold hard statistical fact I don't understand get in my way, you’re sadly mistaken: I think we should all be doing something entirely different.
As 'Bloggers,' I think we should start ending random sentences with “and then I started killing people.”
(I’m sensing some resistance here, but don’t puss out on me yet.)
I’m not sayin end every sentence with “and then I started killing people” ... just a light dusting will do. 'Less is More' in this case.
I submit this modified excerpt from an e e cummings poem for your consideration:

(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
-and then I
started killing people
Long Live the Robots!
See that?
-And I totally improvised the 'Long Live the Robots' thing.
"How to Blog" series, click here.
Thursday
Rebel Yell
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Between Terri and I, we have two boys and five girls -four of which girls are over eighteen.
Plus two 'Mother-In-Laws," four grand-daughters, and, like, nine sisters between us.
Not to mention Phil, the female household feline.
-For the two boys and I, it’s like dangling precariously over intermittently-whirling serrated sawblades sharpened in acid and salted gasoline.
And what exactly are we going to do about it?
I dunno.
A bake sale maybe.

Between Terri and I, we have two boys and five girls -four of which girls are over eighteen.
Plus two 'Mother-In-Laws," four grand-daughters, and, like, nine sisters between us.
Not to mention Phil, the female household feline.
-For the two boys and I, it’s like dangling precariously over intermittently-whirling serrated sawblades sharpened in acid and salted gasoline.
And what exactly are we going to do about it?
I dunno.
A bake sale maybe.
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LOBO - Predator Press "I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me ," Wendy growled....
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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 g...