Predator Press

Thursday

Borne Leader

[LOBO]

"I regret to inform you," sighs Barbarossa, "That you have been nominated as Union Steward."

My attention snaps from the computer screen. "What?"

"The People like your plan to bring back sexual harassment. Restoring the two martini lunch would be cool too." He scratches his chin. "Even piss testing us is a violation of the HIPPA law."

My eyebrows furrow. "I can't be a corporate lickspittle and a Union Steward. And have you looked around? SFIC is a soiree of Asperger's Disease and, well, ugly. You want drugs too? This place would be a seething cesspool of literally toxic DNA."

"We want the American workplace to be restored back to the glory days of 1960."

"Barbarossa, what year were you born?"

"1961," he replies.

"I rest my case."

Tuesday

Sexual Harassment at the Workplace

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Thank you all for coming,” booms the suited guy at the podium in surround sound. “To the Annual Seminar on Sexual Harassment at the Workplace.”

I stand. “It’s about damn time!”

-And it was as if I had somehow removed all oxygen from the auditorium a half-second too early: the thirty-seven rows of people ahead all stared backwards at me, jaws agape. A woman six rows behind me audibly gasped and fainted.

The suited guy at the podium points at me sympathetically. “Have you been a victim of sexual harassment sir?” he booms in surround sound.

“Not yet,” I yell back. “And I'm getting depressed.”

Sunday

Happy Mother's Day! :)

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Wednesday

Space Rape

Predator Press

[LOBO]

This morning I flipped a cardboard box into the "Recycling" dumpster.

And in the brief span of time I saw triangular sun-illuminated dumpster contents, I saw like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining. And then the lid, as designed, shut by virtue of gravity.

"What the fuck?" I thought. "Jesus, that just looked like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining." Popping the dumpster back open, I thought "What the hell did I really see?"

It was at that exact moment that nine million pissed off bees attacked me.

But as you longtime Predator Press readers know, I am an honorary white-belt Master of the long-lost martial art form of Peking Duck: four or five bees stung my shirt, but I deftly locked myself in the trunk of my '74 Toyota Camry without a single sting to my actual flesh.

Still, I think all my neighbors are dead by now.

Monday

Rejection Coverage 2012

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Staring down the barrel of one of the most depressing, disproportionately-charged presidential elections in decades, I suppose some rare political commentary is warranted.

From Romney’s poor categorization of Russian foreign policy to Obama’s flabbergasting ignorance(?) of the role of the Supreme Court, I have seen enough historic distortion and political boobery to be genuinely concerned over the fate of a country LOBOnia shares deep and mutually-beneficial diplomatic ties with.

The United States of America.

My issue with Obama is simply that if he held off the announcement of Osama Bin Laden’s [OBL] death at least for a few weeks, we could have used the intelligence we gathered at his compound and snuffed out Al Qaeda entirely. My issue with Romney is kinda less-specified, but one only has to listen to Rush Limbaugh for five minutes to cement distrust for the Republican Party .

Under the much-ballyhooed Ronald Reagan, my life was never worse. I bussed tables at a “Duff’s” smorgasbord, and worked as a pizza cook in an effort to feed my family –all for four dollars and twenty-five cents an hour. And I was “lucky” to have it, as there was always five or six job applications from people just as desperate for the jobs I had.

There’s no point to this post, other than the sheer creeping horror I’m dealing with.

I always took it on Faith that the people in charge would be better than me. Smarter.

-I am officially concerned.

Tuesday

Chicago “Occupied” as Octomom to be “Preoccupied”

Predator Press

[LOBO]

See technically, I know Everything.

-But that means I know things that aren't necessarily true.

I am as hard-wired to news as one can be I think. And every brief debacle of my slothful and indolent consciousness on Earth is soaking up salacious gossip from any “information” source at my immediate disposal. Even at work, in the dizzying depths of my hoary hamster cage, AM radio (Right-Wing punditry disguised as news) has some frail signal.

So I knew that Nadya “Octomom” Suleman would ultimately collapse under the weight of a debased, schadenfreude-wrapt nation before you did. Honestly I knew this would happen years ago: inevitably she would have no choice. But she is paying for her desire for fame, no?

More importantly, I know that every Anarchist’s anathema, other Anarchists, are making Anarchists in general look like total assholes.

Random acts of violence and chaos are just plain evil.

These pipsqueaks are just sociopaths. "Terrorists" in the truest sense.

(More to follow. I'm feeling "heady.")

Monday

"Loki" or "Voodoo?"

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Razed Right

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Currently embroiled in my third divorce, I now feel I feel I am qualified to lecture comprehensively on the subject.

-The first strangely invigorating, thoroughly rude sensation, is that initial shower blast.

Hanging from the showerhead, the 80’s songs you propped yourself up with last night thunder in your skull. You fumble for the hairy bar of soap as a weird mix of “Safari” perfume, WD-40, glitter, and some bent tricycle spokes cyclone helplessly down the drain.

Toweling off, you curse whoever made you this coffee. They fucked it up entirely- it’s either too strong or too weak.

In an impotent rage, you realize you made this coffee yourself.

It Gets Better.