Saturday

All Blogs Go to Heaven

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Getting back into the blogging “groove,” I’ve done some visiting to old friends’ blogs -and found many of them are either dormant of gone entirely.

In possession of an unprecedented and staggering intellect -the equivalent of a hundred men or five or six women- I am forced to conclude that, in addition to Twitter and Facebook watering down our numbers, we are up against a battle for relevance.

The choice is clear: to rise once again to former glory, we bloggers must either focus ourselves on topics of social significance or start doing pornography. And because my beloved wife stubbornly won’t let me do porn, my current options appear fairly narrow.

Undeterred, I have decided that Predator Press will have to be a blog of Social Conscience, thus the pacecar for the generations of blogs to come. And it is in pursuit of these lofty goals that I announce -without equivocation- that Predator Press has solved two of the greatest problems ever to face humankind simultaneously: that of 1) forever being free of Middle East oil, and B) the elimination of abortion.

What am I specifically speaking of? The single most overlooked, most economic, and most renewable energy source the United States has ever had: orphans.

First of all, unless they are in a musical, nobody really likes orphans. They are grubby and smelly, often terrible at shoplifting, and do nothing but complain. As CEO of the most profitable orphanage in New Jersey, I can‘t tell you how sick I am hearing that same ol‘ singsong bullshit all day and night, “O I wish I had a mom and dad,” or “I’m so hungy!” Orphans, left to their own devices, are nothing but inexhaustible whiners.

-But we can change all that. Why have big ugly windmills blocking your skyline when you can lay them down and have orphans spin those now-inconspicuous blades for you? And with some advance planning, we don’t have to give up our kewl cars either: 20 buried orphans will, in a few years, completely replace the much-maligned dinosaur and the fuel it produces. And c’mon … what the fuck have dinosaurs ever done to you? Has a dinosaur ever abandoned mopping the floor to break into some annoying weepy song and/or monologue, thus exposing you to potential slip-and-fall lawsuits from your dinner guests?

Crash test dummies can cost thousands of dollars. Impact-absorbent NASCAR walls can run into the millions. And forget the delight of simply punching one; have you ever tasted orphan meat? It’s like tofu: it takes on whatever flavoring you add. Why eat, say, endangered bald eagles when there are thousands of these little bastards … and they are virtually everywhere?

I say the potential untapped technologies based on an ample and replenishable orphan supply have been ignored for far too long, and it seems to me Humanity owes it to the Mother Earth to give it a shot.

Wednesday

Stainless Steal

Predator Press


[LOBO]

I’m alarmed that Donald Trump, evasively squaring up for a Presidential run, is saying things I like -hell, need to hear!



AMERICA KICKS ASS

(-And we’re tired of taking your shit!)
 
Indulging in that logic is almost sinful delight. But if we’re honest with ourselves, other countries didn’t water down our schools and jobs … we did.

So sure. Kick the shit out of another country. Then what?

Wait -that’s your plan?

Today's America is suffering from a crippling sense of entitlement. And before all you “Greatest Generation” Baby-Boomer assholes start high-fiving, I would like to point out that in 1968 America was every inch as rife with self-overthrowing sentiment as it was in 1776; but in 1969 -admittedly after a decade of effort- we put a man on the moon, and it’s been pretty smooth sailing ever since.


We.Americans.Did.That.Together.
 
 
But what will be this American generation’s ‘Man on the Moon’ moment?
 
And what happens if we don’t get one?

Tuesday

I Feel My Pain

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don’t know if you people know what an “MRI” is, but I had one today. An MRI is a test where they stick you in a white tube, ask you not to move, and blast you with Pink Floyd noises.

Well apparently holding up your lighter and yelling “Freebird!” counts as moving. The doc conducting the test eventually freaked out, and I won. So I passed the test, right?

-Just to be a mean-spirited asshole, Witchdoctor Quack M.D. further implied I needed a “Blood Panel” too. A “Blood Panel” is when a dark-skinned chick with letters tattooed on her knuckles stabs you in the arm with a rusty icepick until she has gathered three tubes and illegibly scrawls them with black marker.  The scrawls are almost certainly cryptographic symbols for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner  (but I cannot back that up: the only tube labels I had time to make out said "Date Night" and "Not Cat").

Still, my agonized and noble shrieks and screams apparently warned others, and the clinic became surrounded by numerous loud car door slams and squealing tires. Finding my car in the parking lot will be easier now, right? I mean I’ve certainly passed this MRI bullish at this point!

But no. Nonetheless, this Third Trial was where I truly shined: my non-tiger blood came back as A+, clearly demonstrating its intellectual superiority over lesser, stupider bloods -and the same blood type I discovered my wife had the week before I suddenly proposed.

Take that, Charlie Sheen!

Monday

How Complex Cassandra

Predator Press

[LOBO]

It occurs that, without having written in a few months, I might be “out of touch” with The People.

-So I did what anybody does when out of touch with The People: I watched Lifetime Movies to get up to speed.

“Unsolved Mysteries“ scared the shit out of me yesterday, and that was supposed to be my new Predator Press topic. But today Unsolved Mysteries had a whole ’nother episode ... And it turns out there's a brand new one tomorrow!

Fuck all this "Mystery" crap.

-Without me, you people are goddamn lazy.

Sunday

Executive Disorder

Predator Press

[LOBO]

How can you expect me to blog right now when Charlie Sheen has hijacked the entire Predator Press Charter?

”Tiger Blood?” … “Adonis?”

Oh please.

-The funny part is Charlie Sheen thinks Predator Press readers have fallen for the obvious diabolic geniosity we share!

But where will it end, Charlie?

Hm?

Tuesday

Predator Press Interviews: Satan

Predator Press
One may think that finding the Devil would be fraught with challenges.  But I found him where everyone else does: on TruTV -right smack in the middle of an episode of ‘Operation Repo.’

LOBO: You’re not foolin anybody Beelzebub. No television show this bad stays on the air without your direct influence.

Satan: Okay. You got me. I’ve been pretty bored since Tim Allen retired.

LOBO: I must say -in regard to the music industry- I’m a huge fan of your work.

Satan: Thank you.

LOBO: Do you really make deals with people for their souls? I mean, like, you could get my band famous?

Satan: You mean 'Vaginal Slide?'

LOBO:  Hypothetically of course.

Satan: LOBO I would love to help -but there are just some things that even evil can’t do.

LOBO: Really?

Satan: The triangle player is in an asylum. The entire didgeridoo ensemble hasn’t been heard from since they crossed the Mexican border in 2006. Oh, and the tuba player is dead.

LOBO: You pick now to have a problem with zombies?  That tuba player was a prima donna anyway. And yeah, those didgeridoo guys hadd some pretty good chemistry, but that triangle player was a talentless hack. Who plays triangle for Van Halen? Maybe we could audition him.

Satan: LOBO even I am not so evil as to make you a superstar. How about a Wii instead?

LOBO: How many controllers are we talking about? Hypothetically.

Satan: One.

LOBO: One? Really? I think I should get four controllers.

Satan: See, I don’t know. Four? With the economy like it is? And let’s face it: yours isn’t the soul of, say, a Mother Theresa. Heck …. Mother Theresa had WAY more potential of getting that rock star deal than you do.

LOBO: Well I don’t know what people have against evil frankly. I mean what has evil ever done to them?

Satan: LOBO, I’ll give you two controllers, but the second is only because I like you.

LOBO: Do you have a pen?

Satan: You have to sign these contracts in blood.

LOBO: That seems rather barbaric -and unsanitary. How do we do it without getting your squirty blood everywhere? And when is the last time you were tested for HIV-?

Satan: No. I mean your blood.

LOBO: My blood? Hah! Fuck all that.  I'm not into that whole 'pain' and 'suffering' thing.

Satan: It only hurts for a second. LOBO, I’m the devil. I wouldn’t lie to you. I don’t need to lie to you -I could incinerate you into rumor at the simple whim.

LOBO: Well lah-de-dah. Maybe I don’t want to work for you at all then. I would require an Incineration-Free clause, weekends off, numerous paid vacations, and a hip-looking posse that refers to me as ’Dog.’ And four Wii controllers.

Satan: Two.

LOBO: How about if I throw in occasional weekend work?

Satan: LOBO, Wii controllers cost $20 apiece even at Walmart. Two controllers. Period.

LOBO: Well how about if you sweeten the pot on my end? Let’s say maybe I never have acne again. Or I can fly.

Satan: I can’t make you fly because that would be too obvious. And the reason you have acne because God is punishing you for all that masturbation.

LOBO: Let’s talk about this some other time then. ‘Operation Repo’ is almost over.

Satan: Really? Tanya Harding is coming on! Hubba-hubba.