Mahatma Gandalf

Okay. At some point, you're just bragging ...

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So how is the deportation from Saudi Arabia going?"

"Meh," I reply, staring at my cold fries with mild disinterest. "Hey, aren't you dead?"

Mister Insanity, still wolfing down food with a predatory fierceness, shrugs. "This blog has killed me numerous times."

I ponder this as he breathlessly slurps at his beer between bites.

"I wouldn't stand for that. That sucks," I offer sympathetically. "Someone should be punished."

He nods in agreement, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.  "So you read an article saying three guys got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too irresistible to women. And, thinking you could use the publicity, defected to Saudi Arabia to get deported?"

"What's with the sarcastic tone?" I ask, "This is probably the best idea I've ever had. It's just taking a little longer than I initially planned."

"Maybe they don't find you irresistible enough to deport."

"Hah," I guffaw. "No, that's not it. I think they want to keep me to learn how to be a better country from me complaining about them."

"It sure worked for America," Mister Insanity notes.

"Yes," I agree. "I can be their Gandalf."

"Pardon?"

"I can teach them nonviolent resistance and stuff."

"You mean Gandhi," he corrects. "Mahatma Gandhi."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank God," I says. "This beard itches like crazy."

"You realize I'm going to have to run all things LOBOnian while you're gone."

"But I'm standing right here," I point out.

"You have the emotional capacity of a five year old, you're wildly incompetent, and every heartbeat you have only increases the threat you will end the entire human race."

I blink. "I'm standing right here, you know," I remind him.

"And you're lucky I haven't called Immigration," he reminds me.

"Touché."

"So what's your plan?"

"I finally logged into my fantasy baseball team, you know, to reaffirm my patriotic American affiliation. I'm trying to pretend 'America's favorite pastime' is interesting." Smugly, I add "-I haven't watched any soccer at all."

"You don't like baseball?"

"I only played one game," I admit. "It was when I was an impressionable lad of maybe twenty-six years old. I went up to bat, and the coach told me to 'line drive between second and third base.' Knowing I would be lucky to hit the ball at all, I asked him for a map of where between second and third base is. He chuckled and said how much he like my spirit, and said 'go for it.'"

"So what happened?"

"I cracked that ball with everything I had," I says. "But while we were all taking off our sunglasses and searching for the ball in the sky, the ball rolled to a stop in front of the pitcher."

"That's rough," Mister Insanity admits.

"He had me 'out' at first base before I even got to my telescope."

Big Pimpin

Predator Press

The Return of Mister Insanity

Predator Press

[Mr. I]

"Our intelligence suggests that LOBO defected to the Saudi," explains Sapphire.

"Hmm," I says ponderously.  "You are aware that this blog has killed me off three or four times.  Are you going to offer the readers any explanation?"

Sapphire stares.

"Well okay then," I says.  "Has anyone thought of going on a manhunt to get LOBO back?"

Sapphire stares.

More.

"Well," says Barbarossa finally.  "I don't think we want the parade called off."

FUCK Monday

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The problem with working on Predator Press is that it has taken all the spice out of calling off of work ... thus, basking in my usual slothful indolence has lost a certain degree of debauched and ruthless zeal.

Still, I can offer up endless lame excuses all day long to you, o loyal reader.

Because I care.

So here goes:

"Dear Boss,

The reason I don't get around to blogging very often is that I occasionally moonlight as a double-secret agent. Last week I was in LOBOnia investigating MINDERBINDER, INC for the United States Government. (LOBOnia is a country a little south of Nigeria and a little north of, uh, Antarctica.) It was there that I was taken by surprise by a well-armed horde of time-traveling Space Mongols. I was subsequently held in a concentration camp for forty-four years, escaping with only the cunning use of my hair gel and a twig.

I’m now blogging via satellite, riding on the back of an elephant through Deepest Darkest Africa in search of the US Embassy. But satellites are really heavy, and my elephant is getting tired and cranky so I have to keep this short.

I have to warn the world of the coming Space Mongol invasion which would totally happen if you fired me. I also think I should not do anything resembling work tomorrow either … you know … in case anything weird happens. I need to conserve my energy.

The President, Myself, and the rest of the Free World all thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter, and I will blog some more as soon as I find a new elephant."

Ahhhh ... that's better.

Foreign Policy

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When Terri pointed out the bizarre story that Saudi Arabia had deported three men for being "too irresistible to women" [linked here], the entire tiny yet robust nation of LOBOnia immediately seceded from the United States.

LOBOnia, as you know, is the invisible ten foot mobile sphere that surrounds me at all times.

-I figured getting kicked out of Saudi Arabia could be a real career boost.

Still, despite having cast off the shackles of American oppression, I fidget nervously.

"Has Saudi Arabia called about my deportation yet?"

Terri rolls her eyes.

"No," she sighs.

"Well I can't wait to get the back into the shackles of American oppression forever,"  I complain.  "I called the Saudi embassy, but the guy that answers the phone only speaks gibberish and eventually hangs up on me. What kind of lunatic country does that?"

"It sounds like you will fit right in," she replies.

-Uh oh.

"The Bible" for iPod Users:

Predator Press

Taste

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"... and that is why," I conclude, "Every time you blew on a rose petal, a dust of diamonds would float off."

"Wow, man," Barbarossa breathes.

"So okay, your turn. If you could bang a celebrity, who would you fuck?"

"Sonia Sotomayor," he replies. "She is sooooo hot."

"Who?"

"The Supreme Court Justice. I would bend her over the waffles,  and smack that hot booty ... "

-I will reply as soon as I can stop blinking.

Internet Swag

Predator Press

To Terri: I Love You. There, I Said it. Now About that Thing with the 'Lil Bo Peep' Outfit .. :)~

Predator Press

[*smooch*]

Downsizing

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Are you ready to give your presentation?” asks my boss.

I have no idea how to work the PowerPoint thingy.

“My presentation,” I reply coolly.

He leans on my file cabinet. “The one I assigned you last Tuesday. On how the company is moving toward full ISO compliance.”

I also haven't the slightest clue what the ‘International Organization for Standardization' or whatever is or does.

“Sure I am,” I says.

“Care to give me some highlights?”

“Well," I says, "I figure we have to retool the whole company for it.”

“Really? Can you give me an example?”

Standing and looking around I says, “How many do you need?”

"How about just one?"

"For starters," I reply, "take for instance ... these … cubicles.”

“What about the cubicles?”

“Why hire average and large-sized people? We could fit four times as many people in here if we started hiring midgets.”

I see the temple on the left side of his head swell.

“And,” I continue, “we could stack the cubicles three-high, thusly tripling that number.”

-The right side temple pops forth, and I can clearly see the heartbeat surging through it.

“The Fire Marshall,” he replies, (thup-thup, thup-thup) “would never allow us to stack midgets in cubicles due to the lack of access to the fire escapes.”

“That’s what the tornado slides are for.”

Bob White

Predator Press

@SnarquisdeSade

The murmuring stops suddenly as I enter the cafeteria.

Sapphire, clearly distressed, stands as she notices my entrance. "I'm sorry I couldn't get a conference room Mister -"

"And I'm sorry to have called this on such short notice," I says reassuringly. "This will do just fine. I didn't hire you because I thought you could put together last-minute meetings. I hired you because your resume says you can read Braille with your nipples. You never know when that might come in handy."

"Thank you," she replies.

Scanning the group of motley losers assembled, I watch them squirm under my gaze for a moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen and Bob," I says finally, "I have uncovered a deadly threat -one that could destroy the company with inefficiency, property damage, and injury lawsuits."

Barbarossa raises his hand. "Is it me?"

"Not this time," I reply.  "Now let's imagine we have an inept and dangerous driver. I'll make up a name and spell it backwards for this hypothetical situation. Eh, Bob. Yes. Bob-"

Bob White, coincidentally an inept and dangerous driver that could destroy the company with inefficiency, property damage, and injury lawsuits, snaps his pencil.

"Fuck you," he replies.

"So this guy, uh, Bob," I point the PowerPoint remote at the microwave. "Has been at this for a long time as you can see ... "

"You can't do a PowerPoint presentation on a microwave, dumbass," Bob White guffaws.

Feigning confusion, I open the microwave -revealing dozens and dozens of Dunkin Donuts.

Barbarossa stands.

"Death to Bob!"