Predator Press Unveils ‘LieMaster’ Just in Time for Belated Christmas Gift Rush

Predator Press

[LOBO]

-Just put this between your lips, and tell a good solid with every contraction:

• “But honey -if I go to church with you guys, how will the lawn get done?”

[rep]

• “I tried to do the lawn. But there was a … fire!”

[rep]

• “Our insurance already replaced everything with exact replicas.”

[rep]

• “Heck yeah that’s a miracle. It’s a good thing I was here instead of church ... you know, handling the crisis. Maybe Jesus is trying to tell me I should stay home on Sundays. I mean why else would that be when all the good NFL games are on?”

[rep]

• “I know football season is over. But the Vikings are looking for a new QB. I should stay by the phone in case I am needed.”

[rep]

• "Two words: Brett Favre."

[rep]

• “Lawns shouldn’t look too manicured you know. A distressed and weathered look is very chic nowadays.”

[rep]

• “I’m sure the birdbath is still out there. Somewhere. Look, I was right about the shed. Why wouldn‘t I be right about the birdbath?”

[rep]

• “I don't have to sit here and listen to all this accusation and innuendo.  Just look how clean all those damn birds are.”

[rep]

• “I know where we could borrow some hungry cows and giraffes.”

[rep]

• “Seriously. The landlord recommended I tear out the lawn and replace it with green linoleum. That way I can efficiently hose off all my used lottery tickets in, like, 5 minutes.”

[rep]

• “There might be an endangered species in there. Do you want Mother Nature‘s blood on your hands? Do you?”

*Warning: LieMaster cause unwanted nose growth.

If ingested, induce vomiting immediately.

After Kicking the Shit out of Four Navy Seals at a Bar in Tucson, I am being Tried for Multiple Counts of Murder

Predator Press

[LOBO]

What? You fell for that title?

Really?

Well Ha-ha. O Holy crap -if you knew what I looked like, the Navy Seals would beat your ass! LOL. Shit. I don't know where the country 'Tucson' even is.

Yeah, it's been months since I've written. Or pissed off an entire branch of the US military.  Whatever.  Who knew you millions of people were so codependant?

The truth is there hasn't been much going on ... the Earth has been a bit boring really; there's finally peace in the Middle East, and I got this nifty paddle-ball game.  But while the rubber ball and the string were broken off and lost long ago, the paddle still remains as a deadly mortal threat: what if some weirdo finds it and tries to use it to make my eyes collide?

Holy shit -it was made in China!

In the hands of a true ninja, .05 of an ounce of balsa can be considerably deadly.  And you can bet your ass I, LOBO, will be back as soon as I can get this paddleball situation mitigated and the heat is off from the Goddless Yellow Hoard.

But where the fuck are your hoity-toity Navy Seals on this?

Hm?

Bringing the Giant Down

Predator Press

Nurse Garrison pulls the curtain back with a well-practiced snap, and in my mind’s eye I can clearly see her, clipboard in hand, taking her seat. Doctor Nyarlathotep’s unmistakable tall, thin frame is silhouetted in full view.

“Why are you still in your leisure suit?” says Nurse Garrison with clearly insincere cheer. “We need you to put on the hospital gown as requested.”

“I’m sorry miss,” the man replies. “If I were anything other than polyester, I break out in hives.”

Nurse Garrison audibly scrawls on her clipboard. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well,” the man pauses, choosing his words. “You know how those Viagra commercials tell you to seek medical attention if you have an erection for more than four hours?”

“Ah,“ says Doctor Nyrlathotep in a thick accent. “When did your erection start?”

“October.”

“Really?”

“October 1991, actually.”

-I hear Nurse Garrison’s pencil tumbling on the linoleum.

“Why would you wait all this time to seek medical help?” asks the doctor.

“Because of my occupation.”

Nurse Garrison flips some pages. “It says here you are a … cruise ship captain?”

“It’s kind of a long story. You know those cruises for single senior citizens?”

“Like Seniors Meet?“ Nurse Garrison offered.

“Precisely,” the man confirmed. “I snuck aboard one -the Sea Nile to be exact- in an effort to find love and happiness.”

“Love and happiness?” says Nurse Garrison. “It says here you’re only in your forties.”

“Yep. I would seek out the most unhealthy and oldest women possible. Triple bypasses, cancer, whatever. Then I would wine them and dine them until properly seduced. Then I would have the ship captain marry us.” I could see the shadow of his hands folding behind his head. “Once geezed up on booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex, they rarely survived the honeymoon.”

“And you would inherit their fortunes,” Nurse Garrison finished.

“That’s disgusting,” remarked the doctor.

“Well the captain apparently thought so too,” the man continued. “And during the subsequent investigation he found out I was a stowaway.”

Nurse Garrison snorted. “So you were thrown in the brig I would hope.”

“Nah. Seniors -somewhat skittish by nature- tend to be touchy about security issues. The crew of the Sea Nile found the whole situation embarrassing. I was forced to work in the galley to earn my fare until we reached the next port, where I would presumably face charges.”

The doctor seemed incredulous. “So what happened then?”

“Damndest thing,” the man replied. “The whole crew came down with food poisoning.”

“Really,” Nurse Garrison breathed. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Me too. Oddly, as in naval tradition, when a captain is knocked out of commission he is replaced by the first mate. And if the first mate is knocked out …”

“Yes,” Doctor Nyarlathotep nodded. “The succession of command at sea.”

“Well at some point, as the last official member of the crew not afflicted, eventually that succession came all the way down to me.”

I could see the shadow of Doctor Nyarlathotep’s head shaking. “So as the only unpoisoned member of the crew, you became captain.”

“Well, acting captain I suppose. But I did get me one of those cool hats.”

“You were never caught?”

“I assigned a passenger task force of little old ladies to solve the crimes, but they all turned up dead.”

“What did they die of?” the nurse asked.

“Booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex. It was all very mysterious. My First Mate -Noodlecakes- was concerned-

"Noodlecakes?"

"He is a Yorkshire Terrier, I think.  But anyway, Noodlecakes was concerned the seniors might mutiny.  We decided to, uh, distract them somehow.”

Sensing an uncomfortable pause, the doctor prompted the man. “What did you do then?”

“I started marrying the passengers to each other. Randomly at first, then alphabetically. Soon I had the system pretty refined based on size, race, religion …”

“Oh my God,” Nurse Garrison moaned.

“But it was going really smoothly,” the man insisted. “Except when the already married couples were married to other people. They kept going back to their original spouses! I don’t run a ship of debauched sinners, and have a very strict policy when it comes to adultery on my watch.”

Doctor Nyarlathotep, rubbing his temples, turned to Nurse Garrison and articulated exactly what I was thinking.

“Doesn’t this all sound strangely familiar?”

I could resist no longer. Leaping up from my own hospital bed, I threw the curtain wide on the startled three that I may lay eyes on this singular man, this patient who could be no other than-

“Dad!” I cried.

BRB

Predator Press

[LOBO]

What?

-Why is everybody staring at me like that?

On Ice

Predator Press

[LOBO]

S
ANTA IS

A
BASTA
RD!!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Twas the night before Christmas
and I’m wide awake,
arraying the chimney
with bear traps and snakes;
the booby-trapped stockings
set with infinite care,
in hopes that the fat man’ll
blow his hand off in there.

There arose such a clatter
up on my roof,
-and I’m sick of cleaning up
piles of froze reindeer poop!
I let loose a war cry
-a blood curdling scream-
and empty the contents
of my AR-15.

One, two, three, four,
five six seven, eight nine
thumps from above tell me
I missed one this time.
“Oh Dasher, Oh Dancer”
cries a loud booming voice,
“LOBO this tears it.
You give me no choice!”

I empty a blast
at the source of the sound
-and another at a spot
I think he might bound
-but the fat man is spry
for all that it’s worth-
he evaded hot lead,
belying his girth.

Not a creature was stirring
as I reloaded my shells,
“I don’t want any trouble!”
I finally yells.
“Just leave all the toys,
and get the hell out
I don't want to send cops
on that long North Pole route!”

The back door exploded
in splinters and slag
and a blood-splattered Santa
in smoldering rags
was removing his coat
and rolling his sleeves
“This time,” says Santa,
“Only one of us leaves.”

We circle each other,
and I’m very alarmed.
I can’t believe
the size of his arms!
“Hey what gives?" I says stunned.
"You’ve been working out!
Where’s the ‘bowl full of jelly’
you trespassing lout?”

With a wink of an eye
and a twist of his head,
I know within moments
I will likely be dead.
Santa flicks his nose,
“You dumb blogging hack!
I’ve lost two hundred pounds
on my Nordic Track.”

"Old Mrs. Clause
must thing you're a riot"
I says, "and that Stetson cologne?
I'll bet she don't buy it."
"I wear nothing but Polo," he says.
"Don't even try it.
Now I'll pound you to pulp,
and then leave here real quiet.”

"If you think that's Polo,
age is taking it's toll,"
-that's when I did
a slick ninja-like roll,
and from under the sugar-plums
grab the control,
“Bring a knife to a gunfight?”
I says laughing. “How droll!”

Missile TOW missiles launched
from tubes placed discretely,
but Santa danced deftly
–they missed him completely!
One of them arched
so high and so true
It blew the poor neighbor’s place
clear out of view.

“LOBO let’s stop this.
You’ve blown up the Burkes!”
“To Hell with you Santa!
Those people were jerks!”
“I don’t understand
why this is unpleasant,”
Santa opens his arms.
“Especially since I brought you a present.”

“Really?” I says,
resisting suspicion.
I lower my bazooka.
“That was your mission?”
“Why sure!” says Santa.
“It’s from your mother.”
And when I looked in that hand,
he punched me with the other.

Electric pain flashes
all through my cap,
My nose must be broken,
completely smashed flat.
I stagger backwards.
“Santa, you’re dead!”
… But Rudolph, behind me,
clean kicked off my head.

It landed on a spike
three blocks away
and I could see where my body
dropped and lifelessly lay.
Up on the rooftop,
the reindeer all raised
to resume the mantle
of pulling The Sleigh.

As I lay dying
I heard Santa fly off
-and I spat blood and teeth
in my last final cough.
“On Dasher on Dancer,
and to Mrs. Clause praise!
-We need bulletproof vests
for the reindeer these days.”

Santa, still climbing,
resumed his long flight
-his sleigh silhouetted
against the cold lunar light-
and as it grew distant
and faded from sight,
I heard "Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good ... "

... I dunno ... I couldn't make out the rest.

Christmas? AGAIN!?!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I told Terri we shouldn't take last year's Christmas tree down -and just like I predicted, pow, they're havin another one already.

[*sigh*]

... Our lives would be so much easier if she just listened to me once in a while.

1001 Ways for Santa to DIE

Predator Press

[LOBO]

As I have already intimated on facebook, I think -to get over my holiday blues- I'm going to encourage you all to set Santa's beard on fire again.

1)  There's nothing more funner than stealin all the Christmas crap by punching the frantic elves in the back of the head while they try and extinguish the fat bastard with egg nog.

The elves fall for it every time!

HAW!

B)  Some places have really good smoke detectors: for mall Santas, while sitting in his lap, chain the 'Up' escalator to his belt buckle: hilarity ensues.

3) One time I superglued a laxative-laden White Castle hamburger to his greasy Pabst-smelling beard: the next day he had crapped himself completely inside-out.

-All they found was a skeleton on a toilet full of bloodied white beard tufts in an alternate universe.

N) This one is a bit elaborate: I call it the ‘Reversed Wolverine.’ Instead of adamantium, we replace Santa’s skeleton with glass.

Then we take him to the opera.

Conspiracy Theory

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I’ve been a fan of Jesse Ventura for as long as I can remember.

He broke ground in wrestling –it seems to me- by being a likable and flamboyant bad guy. The only thing better than seeing my friends’ wrestling heroes getting pounded to a pulp for their altruism was having it done by a guy wearing a feather boa and pink tights; I delighted in their horror at every opportunity.

But he was unlike most of your standard-issue wrestlers in other ways. In the late 1990s, America began its preoccupation with electing the cast of Predator. And during the traditional mud-slinging process it would come out that Jesse had an unexpected integrity throughout his dubious celebrity; rather than drinking drugging and whoring in his free time as was common amongst the hard-touring wrestling “athletes,” he would spend countless hours on the hotel phone with his wife. Uncharacteristically outspoken for politics, aided by a military background and a peculiar state of moral unassailability, Jesse would eventually be elected as the Governor of Minnesota.

Now I told you all this to set the stage for a commentary on Jesse’s new television series Conspiracy Theory -a show I’ve only seen once so far, but a show I regard as “must see.” And not because it’s good … to the contrary, you will spend every second of watching this show white-knuckled and thinking “This guy got how close to being president?”

Picture your grandfather. Okay? Now picture your grandfather at 6’4”, 270 lbs, wild-eyed and armed with a budget, SUVs, helicopters, the works ... and cameras following him 24/7, to capture every thought he deigns to utter aloud.

Jesse: What is this?

Tiny Guard: This is the HAARP facility.

Jesse: Let me see it.

Tiny Guard: This site is 'Classified.'

Jesse: What is the fence for?

Tiny Guard: To keep out unauthorized personnel.

Jesse: Well, a place with a fence around it suggests to me that you guys are doing stuff in there you don’t want the public to know about.

Tiny Guard: Hence the 'Classified' designation.

Jesse: Why is it 'Classified?'

Tiny Guard: Sir, you do understand the definition of the word ‘Classified.' Right?

Jesse: Hey buddy. I’ve been in the military and I’ve been Governor. I know all about ‘Classified’ stuff. It means you don't want people to know what is in there.

Tiny Guard: Good.

Jesse: So what’s in there?

Tiny Guard: Can't tell you. But it's very cool.

Jesse: Aw c'mon.

Tiny Guard: Do you have authorization?

Jesse: I certainly do. It's from the American public, pal. How do I know you are legit? Let me see some identification.

Tiny Guard: You don't need to see my identification.

Jesse: I don't need to see your identification.

Tiny Guard: This isn't the HAARP facility you're looking for.

Jesse: This isn't the HAARP facility we're looking for.

Tiny Guard: You can go about your business.

Jesse: Oh well then. I guess we better be going about our business.

Tiny Guard: Move along.

Jesse: Sorry we bothered you-

Tiny Guard: Nah. I'm kidding. This is the HAARP facility. I've just always wanted to try that. This job gets pretty boring.

Jesse: Dammit I hate when people do that to me! Are you stonewalling?

Tiny Guard: Yep.

Jesse: Why?

Tiny Guard: Can't tell you.

Jesse: Can't tell me why you are stonewalling?

Tiny Guard: Oh, that? I already told you. This job gets pretty boring. I'm a security guard at the remotest site in Alaska the government could find ... the highlight of my day is picking which tree I'm going to pee on. Sometimes I'll shoot the tree afterwards, you know, so there aren't any witnesses. Or sometimes I'll shoot the tree next to the tree I'm peeing on, and scream Don't make me shoot another one! Man the trees hate that. And then I gotta file paperwork at the office to report why I used all my ammunition on my shift again ... on paper! Isn't that ironic?

Jesse: I think it's ironic we're even still using paper. The environmentalists are right to point out what a waste that is ...we should breed animals to write on. That way, your grocery list actually follows you around so you can't lose it. And the skin grows back for new messages for free for as long as the animal lives.

Tiny Guard: Huh. I could make a whole calendar for trees I want to pee on and shoot that would follow me around? That's a real timesaver. You know, environmentalism only makes good sense if you think about it.

Jesse [to camera]: I’ll tell you what is really strange about this place. Ever since we got here, I’ve felt the oddest sensation that I need to get something.

Camera Man: Really?

Jesse: Yeah. It’s like they are using some kind of mind control device to get us off this site.

Camera Man: What is it you feel the need to get?

Jesse: I need, ah [rubbing temples, concentrating] that thing you put in your mouth. And chew.

Camera Man: Ah ... food?

Jesse: That’s it! [to Tiny Guard] Can I get 'a food' here?

Tiny Guard: No.

Jesse: Did you point some diabolical mind control device at me, making me want 'a food' so I would leave?

Tiny Guard: No.

Jesse: [glowering] Then I guess you know, I gotta do what I gotta do.

Tiny Guard: Yep.

[Smash-cut to Jesse driving away in black SUV]

Jesse [narrative voiceover]: “While my investigation of the HAARP facility has been thwarted by an unexplainable and irresistible need to acquire and consume 'a food,' obvious proof of the deep government conspiracy to construct a weather-controlling weapon …”

[montage of Katrina devastation, tornados, tsunamis]

Jesse [voiceover continues]: ... I got an important clue from the gang of militant thugs I had to overpower at the gates ...

[Smash-cut to Tiny Guard, waving as he recedes in the distance]

Tiny Guard: Bye Jesse! Come back next month. We're having an Open House!

Jesse [voiceover continues]: “... so I’m not done with this investigation yet. These people clearly have no idea who they are dealing with.”

[Smash-cut to Jesse rolling down SUV window]

Squawky voice over radio box: Can I help you sir?

Jesse: I think you can. And I would appreciate a little cooperation for a change.

Squawky voice over radio box: I would be happy to assist.

Jesse: I would like, ah [scratching chin], a Big Mac, large fry, and a medium Coke.

Squawky voice over radio box: Your total is $6.74. Please pull up to the second window.

Jesse: Second window? You know what? That was a little too easy. First HAARP makes me need 'a food,' and lo and behold, you have 'a food.' What’s waiting at that second window? Government sleeper agents? Ninjas?

Squawky voice over radio box: No sir. We will have your food-

Jesse: Ah ha! So you admit to having 'a food' here, eh? What do you know about the HAARP project?

Squawky voice over radio box: Sir, this is a McDonalds.

Jesse: So you say. What’s going on in there really?

Squawky voice over radio box: Cooking, sir.

Jesse: I’m coming in!

Squawky voice over radio box: Customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen sir.

Jesse: Says who?

Squawky voice over radio box: Our corporate offices.

Jesse [peeling out of drive thru, voiceover]: Dammit! As I suspected, the government is in bed with the private sector on HAARP.

[montage of Vietnam, nuclear explosions]

Jesse [narrative voiceover]: "Guided by my instincts, I took my team from the HAARP site in Alaska 3,500 miles away to where the real conspiracy lies, right here on this opulent campus in Oak Brook, Illinois."

Secretary: Can I help you sir?

Jesse: Well for starters, you can tell me everything you know about the HAARP project.

Secretary: Sir, this is Hamburger University … training facility for McDonalds managers.

Jesse: A training camp for raiders on American liberty!

Secretary: No sir. Strictly food.

Jesse: Ah ha! Then how do you explain me going to HAARP and needing 'a food,' and when I went to get 'a food,' I was nearly assassinated by one of your sleeper agents with a radio purchased by you? [Jesse throws receipts onto the desk]. Betcha didn't know Radio Shack keeps good records.

Secretary: This is a receipt from Walgreens. One box of laxatives, and a bottle of Viagra.

Jesse: Don’t try your fancy corporate double-speak on me. What’s going on here really?

Secretary: Training for McDonalds managers.

Jesse: Okay fine, Lady McDeath. Then get me a Big Mac and a large fry-

Secretary: Sir, we don’t actually make food here …

Jesse: So you are admitting on camera that this whole McDonalds franchise is a sham, created to cover up the development of a weather-controlling weapon for the United States government?

Secretary: Yeah sure. Whatever. Hey, am I going to be on television?

Jesse [narrative voiceover as credits roll]: "And there you have it -another conspiracy confirmed. Next week we’ll uncover explore the John F. Kennedy assassination, and how Britney Spears stood to make mountains of cash as a result of his death. I'm Jesse Ventura, and thank you for watching this week’s edition of Conspiracy Theory. Jesus Christ this theme music it too loud. And it’s cold in here. And do we really need all these lights on? Who pays this electric bill … ?"

FREE

Predator Press

NASA photo, or L.A. taxi windshield?
Either way, the universe is a dump.

[LOBO]

Hundreds of years ago -back before many of our parents were even born- clouds of hydrogen succumbed to the intrinsic gravitational forces they exerted on each other, drifted together, combined, and eventually collapsed.  This increased the core temperatures.

Some of these clouds would become so hot and dense they would ignite and become stars. These stars would burn all the available hydrogen, and thus transform what was left into more complex elements in the process.

Hydrogen, in essence, is the first and simplest step toward everything we know in the physical universe. Earthquakes? Hydrogen. Asparagus? Hydrogen. Colon Cancer? Hydrogen. Matthew McConaughey’s acting chops? Hydrogen.

-Hydrogen has been trying to kill us since the beginning of fucking time.

I dunno what this movie was about, but I'm sure it
was chocked full of Oscar-worthy performances

So why has Nature afflicted us with this hydrogen scourge? And more importantly, why has Nature afflicted me with this hydrogen scourge? If you want to know the truth, Nature doesn’t give two shits and a fart about us. Remember that environmentalist guy who was on the high seas trying to protect some dolphins, and a bear jumped out of his closet and killed him? That’s how much Nature ‘cares’ about us. And do you know how much hydrogen it takes to make a bear that will stowaway onboard a ship in a closet to kill a man? This was no accident, Sherlock … this was a Homicide by Natural Causes.

Doubtlessly by virtue of this dialog I have incurred Nature’s wrath: even as we speak, She is vengefully destroying some unpronounceable place on the other side of the Earth, bathing a hapless indigenous people in the full fury of Her terrible lightning, insatiable fires, crippling diseases, howling cold winds, and decades of subsequent famine and strife. Ooooo. I’m so scared! You know what Nature? Is that all you got? Fuck you! Take this craptastic maggot farm and shove it up your ass! I am so sick to death of taking your ill-tempered bullshit, I'm making up profanity -words like 'clitch' and 'slunt!'  It’s high time we showed you once and for all who is in charge, bitch!

Another sandstorm.  Really.  [*yawn*]  How original.

As most of you already know, I, like Mother Theresa, have dedicated my life to easing the suffering of others by marketing a line of products guaranteed to improve otherwise decimated lives. Luckily, seeking out said otherwise decimated lives turned out to be easy.

The Greyhound station was perfect for many other reasons as well. First, it’s a small audience … perhaps thirty people at a time, and all thirty “attendants’ would essentially have recycled themselves on an hourly basis. That means every hour, my message of salvation would race across the country in fleet brick-shaped economic cans of Truth and Justice, stuffed with people spreading The Word of a Hydrogenless Utopia at an exponential rate.

Alas, Nature had beaten me there. I swear every other passenger was carrying a bottle of water –every last one just oozing in hydronic pestilence!  These people were unwittingly spreading Nature’s evil like a disease, and if I didn’t do something fast, hydrogen would be all over the United States within, like, eighty-seven days.

See? This proves it. With science.

All I really remember is smacking an Aquafina out of someone’s lips so hard, it cracked against the wall audibly. ”Don’t be Nature’s whore!” I demanded. “Is that what you want? To be Nature’s filthy slut?” Stunned, the little girl started crying –it would appear being nature’s whore and slut can be a little overwhelming to children. But I didn’t have much time to ponder this, as before the teddy bear she dropped even hit the floor a couple of largish guys started circling me.

Deducing I had already lost the crowd somehow, I dove at a public water fountain against the wall. “Don’t come any closer!” I growled, fingering the fountain lever menacingly. “I’ll fucking do it!”

“My god man!” gasped a security guard. "Don't!" he begged.

Then, I don’t know -somebody flinched. Turning the faucet on, I stared into the stream as it worked its way past pieces of gum in the drain ... and an instant later I was tasting the ice-cold spearmint-flavored death. A woman screamed, and a tough-looking ex military type guy rolled his eyes and just fainted dead away. I hear the closing footsteps and whirl, revealing my cheeks bulging with Greyhound public fountain water, a trickle of hydrogen-laden venom seeping from the corner of one lip.

"We're peeing with you, not at you."

Everyone in the station threw themselves to the floor and put their hands behind their heads.

"We don't want any trouble son," soothed the security guard into the well-scuffed, toxic-looking linoleum.  "Now calm down-"

***
Long story short, without that helicopter they never would have caught me. And they don’t let me into the Greyhound station anymore. But I did learn a lot from it all.  First, maybe selfless and charitable works aren’t my “thing,” right? I mean don’t remember anybody tazering Mother Theresa. I think I will have to market a line of products guaranteed to improve their otherwise decimated lives for profit from here on out.  Burn cream isn't cheap, you know?

Every case of FREE comes with a cart -I mean
what is more environmentally-friendly than that?

Second, I learned environmentalists are dumb. See, I’ve been working on a few other things to save the planet from the hydrogen scourge: one is a diet bottled water -I call it "FREE"- that is one hundred-percent hydrogen free.  But I’m having a little trouble finding a packaging method: environmentalists are already upset about my proposal to make the bottles out of half inch thick steel.

True it’s a few pounds heavier than a full bottle of hydrogen-contaminated water … but there would be a huge uptick in these jobs, and thus a much-needed boost to the American economy.  What the hell do these hippies have against America?  And think about it: isn’t the best environment one completely devoid of Nature? We spend a lot of money separating ourselves from Nature. Do you environmentalists live in a tent or something? If so, do you know what a tent is for? It’s to keep out Nature, dumbass!

Come on.  Is opening a closet without fear of being mauled by a bear in the sanctity of my own home too much to ask?

Hm?

Predator Press Unveils 'SeniorsMeet.com' Media Blitz

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!