LOBO -Predator Press
The irony of watching plumes of smoke along the coast from the deck of the Honeypot isn't lost on me.
"You look like you would rather be there," Fish giggles, pouring wine.
"Nah," I says, taking a glass. "Protesters, counter-protesters, insurgents ... this is fighting police on police terms."
"So you're admitting it comes down to law?"
I shrug. "Nobody was listening. This had to happen."
Fish and I are coworkers labelled "essential," so we started sort of quarantining together a few months ago to blow off steam. We're an odd pairing. Her house in Malibu burned down several years ago, and local ordinances forbade her rebuilding. In the transition, she moved to the Honeypot to consider her options.
"You understand," she says soberly, "if the business folds, you lose the house."
"Ya," I reply. "Maybe the car too, unless I can pull something out of my keyster. Gina, Rachel and Jiaying are already looking for something else."
They will probably have to take Phil II with them.
"You and Wendy could stay here for a while."
"Thank you," I smile. "But I doubt Guillermo wouldn't stand for that."
Guillermo Del Taco, Fishs' ex husband, is perhaps one of the most intimidating men I've ever met. He lost Honeypot in their bitter divorce. Bad mojo. Plus this is a bit of a trap. Fish isn't good at hiding her romantic intent. For instance, I came aboard under the auspice of 'having dinner.' Where is the food?
When I first met Fish, she was beautiful. But after her divorce, she started getting frequent plastic surgeries. She got the nickname "Fish" when someone unkindly remarked she was starting to look like a Wallace and Gromit love interest. My penis and I have intuited some sort of self-mutilation in process. She's unrecognizable now, and a weird metaphor; like America, I'm not sure I ever knew what she was. Over time, all the cosmetics and polish are observable as a very thin veneer.
This version of 'beauty' must stop. It's not healthy.
"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I muse out loud, and a salty waft of smoke blows by. "And I don't know how to help it."
Sunday
Wednesday
Choking the Skeleton

[LOBO]
As the worlds' most beloved Anarchist, millions and millions of people are always asking me every day "LOBO! What should we do?"
Look. I'm on a yacht in International Waters surrounded by half-dressed Instagram "Influncers," trying to recover from edibles/wine/various. Frankly, I, this ship, and everyone aboard need to be boiled. STOP BEING A PEST.
I've witnessed and experienced cop abuse … thankfully I haven't been murdered yet, but I do have a nice tan going and the day is young. Our relationship with police needs to be reinvented, and I WILL NOT PAY for bodycams that can be turned off conveniently, more weapons, et cetera; fuck "copaganda" … they decimate lives and communities maintaining an already brutal economic status quo. I'll buy them a dictionary so they understand the words "Protect" and "Serve."
It is our duty to resist authority.
Incremental defunding makes sense. All the "reforms" proposed currently are common sense things police were supposed to be doing in the first place. Harvey Weinstein is getting a trial, and a guy trying to pass a bogus $20 bill is dead. After almost a century, the cops ain't 'learnin SHIT. So fuck 'em.
There ARE good cops. Let's make the dick-wagging bad ones accountable. And then maybe I can stop being an Anarchist, and take up Sudoku or knitting or something.
Tuesday
Mista BLICK

I haven't had much time to delve into the VR world. And, until recently, I regarded it merely as "nifty."
But then I got a copy of something that changed my opinion. There is software on the way that will let you make "handwritten" notes and a really cool 3-D archive system. Anyone that knows me knows that I have notes EVERYWHERE, and my current organizational skills have me finishing this post February 2027.
Just saving the paper excites me.
"Man you really like that," Barbarossa observes. "Can I try it?"
It was about 6 minutes before he was hurling the writing tools, hoping for explosions.
Friday
Outercepted
LOBO -Predator Press
"Hello?"
"Hi Rachel."
"What do you want?"
"Would you bring me up a bottle of water?" The air in my room is so delightfully cold, I am breathing steam.
"Are you serious?
"I haven't been home for six months," I explain into the phone through the hole in the blankets I am getting oxygen through. "My bed feels like a warm marshmallow."
"You are serious. You just can't come downstairs?"
"I'll let you sleep with me."
"Gina would skin you alive for even saying that."
"I'll let her sleep with me instead."
Suddenly, I hear two loud knocks. My bedroom door opens a few inches and then slams, but there is a bottle of cold water on the floor.
It glitters and sweats in the light from the crack under the door.
Fifteen feet away.
I curse at merciless God, "So am I Job now?"
… and then I remember the drone remote control is on the nightstand.
"Hello?"
"Hi Rachel."
"What do you want?"
"Would you bring me up a bottle of water?" The air in my room is so delightfully cold, I am breathing steam.
"Are you serious?
"I haven't been home for six months," I explain into the phone through the hole in the blankets I am getting oxygen through. "My bed feels like a warm marshmallow."
"You are serious. You just can't come downstairs?"
"I'll let you sleep with me."
"Gina would skin you alive for even saying that."
"I'll let her sleep with me instead."
Suddenly, I hear two loud knocks. My bedroom door opens a few inches and then slams, but there is a bottle of cold water on the floor.
It glitters and sweats in the light from the crack under the door.
Fifteen feet away.
I curse at merciless God, "So am I Job now?"
… and then I remember the drone remote control is on the nightstand.
Cruelinary Skill
LOBO -Predator Press
Hostess "Limited Edition" Wintermint Ding Dongs were so horrifyingly bad, I had to eat a second one just to confirm they tasted like toothpaste.
Weeks -okay months later, still in my freezer, I thought "Oh come on. They couldn't have been that bad."
Yep. Two more.
At this rate, I might hate them enough to buy again next year.
Monday
So You've Contracted the Coronavirus

[LOBO]
The Predator Press Center For Disease Control has issued the following recommendations so you do not transmit this disease to me:
1) Boil yourself at a minimum temperature of 165 degrees Fahrenheit prior to contact in a one half bleach, one half Lysol, and one half holy water solution.

3) Be tidy. Without remaining hosts to be transmitted to, most pandemics will burn themselves out in a few months: the only thing worse than me wandering around mid-July roasting in a hazmat suit would be doing so knee-deep in a bunch of stinky skeletons. Please have some consideration. Cremation also 100% eliminates the possibility of you returning as zombies.
In conclusion, you all being dead will be a terrible thing for me to endure: I thank you in advance for easing my painful experience through your efforts.
Wednesday
The Gentlemanly Thing to Do
LOBO -Predator Press
All this time I could have been writing, I've been thinking about my Twitter crap. And why Star Wars stormtroopers usually offer the "good guys" a chance to surrender, but are generally killed on sight by everyone else.
A derivative of my Twitter handle in use is by an ex, and we didn't agree on much. Politics, philosophy, shampoo and other hair products … but her Twitter BLOWED UP when last I checked. She had like 73,000,000 followers -which is like the entire population of Earth getting split ends and dry scalp.
Well fuck "Earth" I says. Fuck those stormtroopers too.
I am changing my Twitter ID.
@MistaBlick
All this time I could have been writing, I've been thinking about my Twitter crap. And why Star Wars stormtroopers usually offer the "good guys" a chance to surrender, but are generally killed on sight by everyone else.
A derivative of my Twitter handle in use is by an ex, and we didn't agree on much. Politics, philosophy, shampoo and other hair products … but her Twitter BLOWED UP when last I checked. She had like 73,000,000 followers -which is like the entire population of Earth getting split ends and dry scalp.
Well fuck "Earth" I says. Fuck those stormtroopers too.
I am changing my Twitter ID.
Thursday
Nyx

As I slowly wake up, how and why Barbarossa is driving me home from Vegas is growing clearer.
"Man," he says as I slap his hands away from the radio. "These office parties just aren't the same with out Maddy."
"How far away are we from food?" I demand, scanning billboards. "And who is 'Maddy?'"
"Mads!" he blurts in disbelief, like that clears it up. "The crazy girl with all the tattoos?"
Vaguely remembering, I ask "How is she doing? Hey take this exit, or I'm going to pee in my own car."
"Dude, it only has 16,000 miles on it" he concedes, eyes wide as he decelerates. "She got married in October. Husband disappeared four days later. The cops finally issued a warrant to have her questioned, but she violated probation … " He does a flourish with his free hand. "Poof."
"Huh," I says. "So Maddy is single?"
"She asks about you all the time."
Wednesday
Bucephalus

Even before the door shrapnel settled, The Fish demanded "What the Hell is going on in here?"
Several timid musicians lowered their instruments in confusion.
"We were trying," explains one, adjusting his cello. "To recreate the 'Ex Shriek'."
"The what?"
"LOBO doesn't know how to write music. He does it on a laptop. So he gave us a list of the sounds he uses, and when to use them." Pulling the papers from his stand, he shows her.
"Whale fart, whale fart, … choking cat, ex shriek, ex shriek, whale fart, repeat …"
Then they started playing it.
"Oh my god," said The Fish, tearing up. "That is beautiful."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
LOBO - Predator Press "I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me ," Wendy growled....
-
Predator Press [LOBO] Yes it's totally true. There is now, in fact, a $14.95 Bionic Ear . And I'm not even going to g...