Where There's Smoke, There's ART

Predator Press

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One of the most intriguing sites I've found tooling around on the web is PaperKraft.net.

It claims that you can take this:



And make it into this:



Unfortunately, I can't confirm the veracity of the site because I always end up with this:


and occasionally this:

-It always seems to come apart during the flight stick assembly.




***

Woe to thee PaperKraft.net -if in fact that is your real name: you have cost me 17 hours of life, eighty pounds of construction paper, four gallons of Elmer's glue, and caused countless paper cuts resulting in $1,457 in self-inflicted hospital bills my insurance will no longer cover.

For this I'm directing the full and mighty vengeful force of Predator Press to inflict swift, lethal payback by beating you at your own game.

Jerks.

Tune in next week, 'O Loyal Reader. For then Predator Press will launch our own series of fantastical origami art tutorials.

We will teach you to take this:



And make stuff like this:

Star Wars Deleted Scenes

Predator Press

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Keeping the Romance Aflame

Predator Press

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I have recently made the observation that the most significant appliance in my marriage is a medium-sized cast iron skillet.

See, upon occasion I lose my sense of decorum and post about, um, fisting androids and random loose allusions about pornography.

!!!WHANGGG!!!

-In a fraction of a second the "message" is delivered loud 'an clear.

Once I'm out of the hospital, several days of apologetic groveling must ensue: this typically includes flowers, chocolates, window serenades, jewelry, luxury cars -whatever it takes to trick her into thinking I have deeply-rooted “feelings” and warrant forgiveness.

Conversely, if I’m mad, she uses this exact same skillet to make my favorite food: pork chops. Pork chops -minus the time to defrost them- take maybe an hour and max out cost-wise at around $15.

This versatile utensil is truly remarkable, and when factoring in the innate marriage-saving properties it must be regarded with a certain awe … an awe that could bring an entrepreneurial blogger such as myself an assload of cash.

-Cash that can be used for the afore mentioned apologetic groveling.

As many of you longtime readers know, Predator Press has always been a blog dedicated exclusively to successful relationships and personal fulfillment. It is in this spirit I’ve contacted DuPont and –with Doctor Phil onboard as a consultant- have developed the official Predator Press Skillet of Love.

No couple that takes itself seriously should be without it.

Retailing at around $1,249.93 (plus S&H), the Predator Press Skillet of Love is constructed of contoured space age polymers and alloys making it extremely lightweight, balanced, and aerodynamic for hurling ease and accuracy -while the virtually impervious coating provides a non-stick surface that rarely requires cleaning, seasoning, or even heat.


Detachable laser targeting scope (pictured) is optional and sold separately.

New Mars Rover Convertible, Has Cup Holders

Predator Press

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"AM radio?  Dammit Houston, the antennae is fucked up again."

Middle-aged men buy exotic sports cars in an effort to be more alluring to women.

It occurs that NASA, trying to find life on Mars, should adopt this same logic: perhaps they should build a rover that would be more alluring to aliens.

-You know.  Fill it up with rednecks not wearing pants and carrying crappy cameras.

People Say "Book Burning" like it's a BAD Thing

It was a one night stand
... stop calling me!

 Predator Press

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Now working for a book distributor, I'm developing an increased awareness of how many of you nerds weren't left smashed on the schoolyard good 'n proper.

Books were things teachers made us endure because they hated and liked to punish us.  And yeah I sell them.  I sell them for the same reason everyone else does.

Miss Addington, have you met Elmo?

-Spite!

But every day I see perfectly good, normal-seeming adults flipping them open and watching these 'books' for hours on end, just like it's a football game or something.  I'll sneek a peek over a shoulder every now and then just to make sure I'm not being tricked -you know, like maybe they're watching American Idol on a concealed iPad or cellphone?

But no, it's usually just another one of those bookwatchin' cult weirdos starin at squiggly lines.  Sometimes there will be a picture, but they don't move or anything.

No Kim Kardashian, no "Situation," no cartoons ... yet these bookwatching freaks just sit there, hour after hour.  I'm squeamish, too: Christ, watching people do this to themselves is the equivalent of cutting the top of my skull off, and pouring in salt and broken glass.

What has America come to?

This is just plain depressing.

*** BONUS CUT ***

Just in case you guys doubted these books exist, I decided to link the pics to places they are being sold.

But Amazon.com made me shoot coffee through my nose when I saw this:

Quotes from Amazon page:


"Share your own images"

"Gift wrap available"

"23 used from $0.41"

"Want it delivered Monday, November 28 ... ?"

Internet Swag

Predator Press

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Report: Many U.S. Parents Outsourcing Child Care Overseas

What if our Alien Visitors are Delicious?

Predator Press

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Oh, come on ... you're all thinking it. I'm the only one that has the cajones to come right out and say it.

And I can already hear you bleeding heart liberals complaining, 'But LOBO, aliens capable of interstellar travel would be super-intelligent!' blah blah.

Oh please ... ridden a bus lately? What if these are celestial losers tryin to get a picture of themselves next to the intergalactic equivalent of the 'World's Biggest Ball of Yarn?"

Pthbttt!

The capability of travel doesn't impress me. In fact non-intelligent beings travel every day (see photo, right).

And frankly, these rude and unannounced tourists being 'intelligent' only makes the idea more attractive: what could be better than a meal that preheats the oven, sets the timer, lathers itself in a fine mornay sauce and is fully cooked to a succulent golden-brown before you even get home?

As far as I'm concerned, the only question is whether to serve them with a white wine or a red.

Raiders of the Lost Crusader meme Trailer

Predator Press

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To place blame, please see Don Lewis.

Let Me Never Be Complete

Predator Press

The Barbary Coast

Predator Press

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I’m not sure who Barbarossa’s “real” parole officer is, but once we get that sorted out I’ll bet he and Barbarossa will both be eternally grateful to me.

But until then -with no guarantee of financial compensation- I oversee his attempt at reformation almost exclusively when Barbarossa and I can both benefit from it.  And that is most often when I am in an evil, spiteful mood, and need to kick someone around for a few hours.

-The first fifteen minutes of which he has been sitting across the desk from me as I stare, arms folded, wordless and stern.

“So no job yet, hm?” I says, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Didn’t you just get a job a few days ago?” he replies.

“I’m not the one on parole, am I?”

Barbarossa fidgets anxiously.

“No sir.”

“Ah,” I says. Deliberately, I let my eyes fall to the giant Red Button on the desk between us. It’s not hooked up to anything and we never discuss it, but Barbarossa is terrified of it. Shaking my head, I shrug and sigh, and slowly lean forward to reach for it …

“Please!” pleads Barbarossa. “I have been applying for jobs like crazy!”

“How do I know you have been applying for jobs at all?”

“I have an application in my pocket.” Standing, he procures and frantically unfolds it. “Look.” Setting it before me (at a wide berth of the Red Button), he pats the document twice, flattening it. His nervous smile reveals all of maybe six teeth total.

“Red Lobster,” he beams.

Reading, I scowl into it. “You filled it out in gibberish.”

“That’s Spanish,” he explains.

I roll my eyes. "Oh Christ that’s even worse. Nobody is going to hire a Spaniard. You people are all pirates!"

A single bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

“They wanted someone bilingual.”

Eyebrows furrowed, I bite my lower lip in thought. “Why would they want someone with an, eh, ‘alternative lifestyle’? What the hell are they doing to the lobsters? Jesus I don’t think I’m going to eat there anymore.”

“That would be a shame.”

“You didn’t circle ‘M,’” I point out.

“Excuse me?”

“Under sex. You didn’t circle ‘M’ for ‘Male.’ You wrote something in.”

“I wrote ‘raras veces.’ That is Spanish for ‘seldom,’” he explains. “I am married.”

Could Jesus Take Mike Tyson?

Predator Press

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Once again, at no small expense to you, we here at Predator Press have set out to settle an age-old question burning in everyone’s mind: Could Jesus take Mike Tyson?





Records:

“Iron” Mike Tyson: First heavyweight boxer to simultaneously hold (and only Heavyweight to individually unify) the WBA, WBC and IBF titles.





Jesus Christ: Messiah, King of Kings, Lamb of God.




Advantage: Jesus

Weight:

We’re going to make the assumption that both competitors are in their prime. This means that Tyson, a heavyweight at 220 pounds, might have an edge on our rock-ribbed Messiah who is oft depicted as being on the lighter end of the weight class spectrum and could walk on water. Minus definitive height information, we’re going to call JC a welterweight.

But larger size comes at the expense of energy and speed. JC’s leaner build makes him more efficient. If JC could avoid any serious blows in the first few rounds, Tyson would likely have expended himself physically fairly early on. Couple this strategy with JC consistently working the body, and over a long enough timeline Tyson’s condition would diminish, making him vulnerable in later rounds.

Advantage: Jesus


Speed:

There’s no real need to mince about on this one. Tyson won his first 19 fights by knockout, and 14 of those were knockouts in the first round. However according to the Bible, Jesus moonlights from his Messiah gig as a prophet; thus, no matter how fast Tyson is, JC is going to be way ahead, anticipating where and when to block, dodge, and counterpunch.

Advantage: Jesus

Intangibles:

While there’s technically nothing in official boxing rules regarding torrents of frogs and plagues of locusts, one must factor in potential supernatural activities including interference by JC’s Dad.  God, while often taking a “hands off” approach to parenting, has also historically demonstrated Himself to be ill-tempered [see Sodom, Gomorrah]. In fact if the fight is to occur in Las Vegas, we are simply going to watch it on Pay-Per-View.

Other troublesome considerations are JC’s pacifist nature and tendency to “turn the other cheek,” something Tyson would most certainly exploit. Countering this, however, is JC’s ability to heal: JC was often cited for curing disease, blindness, et cetera.  But it is unclear whether he could use this ability on himself.  Would boxing gloves create an insulation rendering the “Laying on Hands” impossible? Or worse, what if Tyson is being healed by every blow, or sheer or proximity?

Advantage: Jesus