Exclusive: Wikipedia Search Casts Doubt on Bin Laden Assassination

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[LOBO]

Q 1: How could a seal possibly have pulled the trigger?

Fact: Seals don’t have opposable thumbs. And perhaps more importantly, they don’t have shoulders. Am I supposed to believe a “navy” seal swam to Pakistan carrying an AK-47 in its flippers the whole way?

Those guns have straps for a reason.

Q 2: What the hell is a "navy" seal doing in the dessert anyway?

Fact: Osama bin Laden [ObL] wasn’t holed out on some parfait. That’s a dessert. A desert, it turns out, is a place like the beach except there is explicitly no ocean by definition. So where did the “navy” park all their boats an crap without somebody seeing them do it?

Remember this isn’t attacking a dessert -you can’t just throw sprinkles on your aircraft carrier and hope for the best ... Pakistan would have hit you broadside with a strawberry in a second.

Q 3: Why does President Obama’s Birth Certificate make no mention of the effort?

Fact: Obama’s Birth Certificate was created by ancients like fifteen or twenty years ago, and it could not have known about the events that transpired on 9/11.

-Or could it? Obama's Birth Certificate contains a wealth of knowledge about Obama such as where and when he was born, his parents' names, and the fact that he was once black.

The Birth Certificate, therefore, has demonstrated repeated culpability and motive in the entire presidency from infancy -maybe even from inception.

So how can we ever know that the afore-mentioned Birth Certificate itself didn’t hide Mother Obama’s birth control on that fateful, romantic night in Syria or Iran?

-Or that the fate of America‘s 2008 president wasn't SEALED [eh?] that night on a blue EPT stick by Hitler himself?

Hm?

The History of the World

 Predator Press  

[LOBO]

Occasionally, I am reminded that a lot of things had to happen for me to happen. And as the final culmination of all that galactic effort, I feel we should take a moment to reflect and appreciate the things that made me possible.


ne day, God and Jesus were in the garage working on Jesus' Pinewood Derby car. Both were frustrated, because Jesus' healing powers kept making the blocks of wood turn back into trees. They tried everything: gloves, robots, dinosaurs ... but nothing worked, and soon the garage was stuffed with pine trees. This, coupled with the annoying habit Jesus had of making slurpy sounds with his straw, frustrated God to the point that He created the dump we all know as Earth.

Inevitably Jesus, bored, snuck into the garage alone. And there was the Earth, sitting in God's vice grips, getting ready for it's last application of water sealant. Jesus, a mischievous lil scamp, paused from making slurpy sounds long enough to take a piece of ice out of his Pepsi, and dropped it on the hapless planet.

"Look out Noah!" he cried. "I'm killing the dinosaurs!"

Noah floated all over the place, and finally discovered America. And because he had all the animals, Noah quickly cornered the market on fast food franchises -crushing the vegetarian competition. This depressed the vegetarian Steve Jobs so much, he started working on computers. Steve Jobs would subsequently invent the iPod, and thusly made space exploration possible. And a lot less boring. His company, Apple, would go on to defeat the Pharaoh buy dropping frogs on him via helicopter. While perhaps not the most effective method of warfare, it is certainly by far the funniest: after a few years that Pharaoh was freaking out. "Why are all these frogs falling on me?" he would demand from the Jews. The Jews, tired of cleaning frog guts off of the pyramids, formed a tax-free consortium and bought up 51% of Egypt in a hostile takeover bid.

The Pharaoh was summarily fired from the Board of Directors, and the Jews lived happily ever after.

Internet Swag

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Internet Swag (Rise Up! Gather 'Round ... !

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Internet Swag

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Detroit Lions to Place Calvin “Megatron” Johnson on Waivers

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[LOBO]

“This is not a reflection on Calvin’s football skills,” insists Offensive Coordinator Scott Linehan. “He’s just too big.”

Complaints about Johnson –an unabashed armrest hog- aren’t limited to airline travel.

“He farts a lot," says Matthew Stafford, quarterback. "And every time he sees a Volkswagen, he punches me and giggles ‘Slugbug.’ Don’t ask me what a ‘PT Bruiser’ is. It’s just ugly all-around.”

“I should be worried about football,” remarks Lions Defensive Coordinator Gunther Cunningham. “But most of the season I’m completely preoccupied with making sure Calvin and Rex Ryan aren’t at the same continental breakfast.”

Ask LOBO

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[LOBO]

Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, why can’t I get Predator Press merchandise?"

Well I’m glad you asked me that.

You can all stop setting yourselves on fire demanding it. You can all stop jumping off of buildings demanding it. You can all stop setting yourselves on fire and then jumping off of buildings demanding it!

They are here:




Now I’ve noticed a slight problem with the first 150,000 I had made, and this brings me to my first disclaimer: Predator Press t-shirts do not come with Spellcheck installed.

These were intended to be $9.99. But I had to send them back and get them corrected:




Now, correctly stenciled, they came in at $26.99 apiece.

But that looks kinda weird, right? So I had them sent back a third time. And for the low-low price of $69.50, I give you the Official Predator Press T-Shirt:


Click on it to enlarge!


It’s 100% polyester. That's four times the ester!

Pondering

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[LOBO]

So I'm just hanging around the lily pad, minding my own fucking business, right?  And along comes this gigantic human princess.

She's stompin' around, pickin up my buddies -BOOM BOOM SPLASH BOOM *smooch*, BOOM SPLASH BOOM BOOM BOOM *smooch*- I mean she is sexually harassing everyone in the pond.

Deeply offended, I blink my left eye. This isn't 'that' sort of pond ... this is a family pond.  And this lady is really risking numerous lawsuits.

-Or if nothing else, a very long series of angry letters.

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

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[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."