Tuesday

Knox

LOBO -Predator Press

First I need to apologize to Stephanie Barr, who actually commented on the post "Sisyphus" --a post I promptly deleted. Long story short, about ten days ago I heard from my dad for the first time in a decade, and by osmosis got some contact from other lost relatives and siblings.

I've sort of inferred dad's health is in decline, but I'm not sure anybody was aware of the fact that dad found me. What ensued became quickly toxic, as I was accused of conveniently showing up by people already dividing his estate. Worse, most of this was spilling out on my Facebook account. I keep my "real" life off of Facebook. I consider Facebook and Twitter more of a playground. Worse than even that? Remember how I said it had been a decade? My mom helped me track these people down that time, and what I found was a viper pit. Don't get me wrong, family is family, but they all just stopped answering communication efforts ten years ago. See, I'm dad's only kid from a different mom. By not picking sides in the frequent feuds, inevitably, I became my own side.

I guess I thought dad's new pack would mellow with age, but it's full-on Game of Thrones shit at the moment. So this time I preemptively purged everybody. For posterity, I would like to leave two final thoughts for them:


#1) Congratulations!

If you all had not foiled my diabolical plan, a year from now I would be driving a Fisker at 35 miles per hour wearing goggles, scarf, and driving gloves, and smoking a cigarette with a filter like four feet long sticking out the window because fuck oncoming traffic.


#2) Thanks For My Sense Of Humor, Dad


-Michael

Sunday

TurtleGate


LOBO -Predator Press

"Moriarty didn't commit suicide, you moron" Rachel explains.  "Morry is a tortoise.  Tortises live on land."

"Well you're certainly not making me feel any better about this whole fiasco," I says, pushing on Morry's chest rhythmically.  "This is a consequence of God's spurious equivocation when it comes to Creation."

"You're blaming God for drowning Morry?"

"I mean it's not like we see fish walking around downtown," I says, slamming my fist into the inverted carapace.  "I figured this would be a major upgrade for him."

Morry suddenly hacks, and ... starts breathing.

"Whew," I exclaim, wiping my forehead.  "We were really close to you giving him mouth-to-mouth."

"What's with the sunken hamster wheel?"

"It's called a spa, Rachel.  Jesus Christ.  Maybe you should think before you open your mouth sometimes."

"And the underwater radio?"

"Who doesn't like music?"

"And the mozzarella sticks?"

"Stop making me repeat myself.  Can't you see I'm under a lot of stress right now?"

Rachel stares into my eyes.  "Why are your pupils so dilated?  Did you eat those McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwiches that sat out unrefrigerated on the counter all night?"

"Maybe," I reply evasively.  "Or maybe Morry was committing suicide.  How else do you explain this suicide note?"

"That's the gas bill," she says.

Suddenly I'm stricken with paranoia.  "Well, we have to clean all this up before the cops get here.  They're going to have a lot of questions."

"How about you just lie down for a bit?"

"I still have half a sandwich left," I explain.  "Do we have any gasoline?"

The Shart Begins

LOBO -Predator Press

"Why does Bruce Wayne keep all this cool Batman memorabilia down in this cave?" I ask.  "Won't it get moldy or something?"

Stephanie Barr, at the Batputer, rolls her eyes.  Pulling up BatGoogle, she has Banksy's BatWikipedia profile in seconds.  "Why," she counters, "Are you so ardent about finding this artist?"

"Bruce Wayne made me a cool costume," I says.  "It makes me look like I have pectorals."

Nose-to-nose with an amazing Batsuit, I whistle involuntarily.

"Man this Wayne guy must be the shit at Comic Con."

Saturday

THE SHART LIVES

LOBO -Predator Press

"I'm not exactly certain why I'm here," I admit to Mr. Wayne.  "Shit I didn't even know this room existed before now.  You Human Resources people really go 'all out.'"

Wayne eyes me over a stack of documents.  "You and Lois Lane flew to Gotham last month as company representatives," he says.

O shit.

Wayne leans back in his chair.  "Would you care to explain to me what happened?"

I pour a glass of water from the pitcher to give myself time to think carefully.  Living in quiet dread of this conversation, one might expect me to be more prepared for this.

"Well," I start, clearing my throat.  "In fairness, I should point out that Miss Lane was going through some, eh, 'relationship' problems-"

"Just tell us what happened," Kent interrupts.

"She just started fucking everybody."

"What?"

"Yeah," I says, tugging at my collar.  "I mean that chick is a freak.  Her ankles need separate visas.  She fucked everyone on the airplane, two taxi drivers, three dudes she picked up at Starbucks, and the guy that takes orders at the Burger King drive thru."

Kent removes his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, and I am distracted by the thought that I have seen this man before.

"She didn't even get out of the car for the Burger King guy," I continue.  "It costed me a fortune to get that security footage and upload it to the internet. Jesus Christ, that vagina is so polluted the government tattooed the zip code of Love Canal on it."

Kent puts his glasses back on, and I realize I was mistaken.  Nope.  Never seen this guy before.

"Did you hear about the goat thing?" I offer helpfully.

"We know all about the goat thing!" Kent replies angrily.

"Kent, I've seen flies come out of it."

"We also know that you have been secretly moonlighting as a crime fighter," says Wayne.  "What do you want to tell us about The Shart?"

"You mean beyond the tee shirt I'm wearing that says 'I am The Shart?'"

"Yes," says Wayne.

"Swift, lethal and tenacious -like the shark- I'm always one step ahead of the authorities because I'm smart," I stand heroically, hands on hips. "I am The Shart."

Wayne taps his fingertips together in thought.  "Metropolis is in need of a new superhero," he explains, "and we need this whole Lois Lane thing to go away quietly.  I am prepared to offer you full access to everything Batman uses."

"Like the Batmobile?"

Wayne sighs.  "Yes."

"And the Batphone?"

"Yes."

"If I start a softball league, can I use the Batbat?"

"Don't push your luck," says Wayne.  "Now you need to pick your arch enemy.  How about the Joker?"

"Too dangerous," I says.

"Lex Luthor?"

"Too stupid," I reply.  "I mean why doesn't Luthor just attach Kryptonite to that douchebag Superman pussy while he's flying?  Superman can't fly anymore, and he's mortal.  Splatto!"

"The Riddler?"

I offer a tissue to Kent.  "Does Kent always blubber like a sissy at these meetings?"

"You have to pick an arch enemy," says Wayne.

"Well slow down there, poncho," I says.  "I need a practice arch enemy first."

"At the bottom of the list, we have 'The Litterer,' 'The Jaywalker,' and 'The Guy That Never Tips at Outback Steakhouse.'"

"Jesus Christ," I says.  "Are you trying to get me killed?"

Wayne scrolls.  "The only one left is 'The Vandal.'"

"There we go," I says, smacking my right fist into my cupped left hand.  I will punch that guy's orbital socket until, um, it is really far away.

"Really?"  Wayne asks doubtfully.  "The Vandal?"

"Yes," I decide.  "Banksy turns a worthless brick wall into priceless art.  It's an insurance nightmare.  Fuck that guy."

Sunday

Here Be Dragons

LOBO -Predator Press

'Carpenter Pants.'

Ugh.

-The modern, durable version of 80's 'Parachute Pants.'  Minus the teal, and presumably more flame-retardant.

Presumably.

"There are too many options and pockets," I explain.  "I don't even know where my penis is."

Saturday

Lestrade

LOBO -Predator Press

Nicki Minaj was sitting two seats in front of me.

Nicki Minaj!

I tap her on the shoulder.  "Miss Minaj, I am a huge fan."  I beam, showing her my iPod Shuffle.  "I own all four of your songs."

The next thing I knew her entourage was "all up in my grill," wanting to throw me out.  This was complicated heavily by the fact that we were on an airplane.

[*sigh*]

I miss Lindsay Lohan.

Saturday

Falala Banana

LOBO -Predator Press

A little research unearthed all I needed to know about my regional manager, Falala Banana.  Miss Banana is feared company-wide, and mostly because she can rip Capri pants with her calves Hulk-style at will.  She is reputed to have killed underperforming employees with her toes.

But it turns out we have history.

Back in 2006, I met Mohamed "Chainsaw" Miller, a twenty-seven year old a six foot six behemoth, and a rabid football fan.

"Why aren't you in the NFL?" I asked.

He stared down at me for a second, thinking carefully.

"I never ate me no human pancreas before," he replied.

Glad to see we were on the same page, I instructed him to shave everything, and went on to forge his new birth certificate and enroll him into a junior high school to pursue a football scholarship.

Chainsaw Miller led the Ottawa Otters to five consecutive championships (yes, five -I recommended he flunk twice).  But what I didn't know was that he was secretly being scouted by the Oakland Raiders.  Chainsaw Miller wasn't ready for the "Big Leagues."  For one, he couldn't read: he promptly screwed up a play and was blown up rushing center by Tyvon Branch, LaMarr Woodley, three cheerleaders embroiled in paternity lawsuits with him, and Julio Fernandez.

Julio Fernandez isn't even a Raider -he was just getting gas at a nearby convenience store.

Thus, Falala Banana was born.

The Four Corners

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Disposing of my junk mail and shredded bills to prevent identity theft.

At great expense to me, I fly Destry Dentin, DDS, from London to Sydney, Australia to destroy most of it.  Those guys can butcher the hell out of our fine American language, and oddly understand each other.  I am confident all relevant information will be promptly lost.

But Albert Dente can be a little more complicated.

"Yes I threw the crap into Mordor."

"Wait," I says into the speakerphone.  "You were supposed to throw that stuff into Mount Doom."

"That fucking thing is really, really tall.  And I mean that shit is in Mordor now.  It's probably only a matter of time at this point."

"You just walked up to the border of Mordor, and chucked my mail?"

"Yep." [static] "... and ... have a crush on Cindy."

"Cindy and Rachel are lesbians."

"I have a crush on Rachel too."

Tuesday

Alchemy

-LOBO, Predator Press

Many immolated themselves. Many jumped from tall buildings. Many immolated themselves, then jumped from tall buildings.

-But I am having a hard time keeping up with life events.




In the meantime I will be occasionally appearing at the Humor Blogger Fantasy Football League.

I'll be back.  I promise.

Monday

Why Does Heaven Need Gates? Is It In a Bad Neighborhood?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So you raised four times as much as you need for the divorce?" Al asks, still browsing Tinder on my phone. "How about this one?"

O please Al. Shut the fuck up. For five minutes.

"How long until the divorce is final?" Albert Dente continued relentlessly.

"Who cares?" I reply. "I decided to let the lovebirds take the hit. I paid off my car instead."