Fishbone

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Weird day.

While not still sick, I hadn’t eaten since Saturday; I was a little pasty and shaky. But even feeling 85%, showing up would have been better than taking a second day off.

And there’s a meeting.

I was notified, but that was Friday: at that time more than two days in the future.

In the workplace, I don’t really plan anything beyond 24 hours besides "be available."

And -further fueling my disinterest- the meeting is about ISO Certification.

“ISO” is an abbreviation for the International Organization for Standardization or something. In short, ISO is not about FUBAR. I deal in FUBAR. My company would gladly pay me in FUBAR, but you cannot exchange FUBAR for goods and services anymore (the Bush Administration is in it's "lame duck" phase).

I had heard of the International Organization for Standardization or whatever through the company channels before. I thought, Okay, it’s an International Certification process that we’re going through. Totally normal, and probably desirable to do International Business, right? But we’re not going to trot out our centuries-old and carefully guarded secrets are we? Or the super cool advanced technologies we’re working on?

Within an hour, I was outlining spreadsheets of our centuries-old and carefully guarded secrets, with the SuperCool advanced technologies bulleted and itemized. 

Frankly, it felt a bit like corporate espionage.

There is a Very Simple Trinity to any business it seems to me:




a) Good
b) Fast, and
c) Cheap

Pick two.

-Is that so complex?

But I dunno. ISO felt weird. It felt like Scientology meets Corporate America on a series of PowerPoint slides, and each deeper layer seemed as wordy and impotent as the next. After a handful of corporate buzzwords, my brain shut off. Wanna see my narcolepsy in action? Just swing a laser pointer and say “Opportunity” three times in an animated manner.

BTW here’s a tip for you PowerPointers: every pie chart you show better have at least four pieces of amusing animation to counter the mind-numbing and hold my interest. In fact, you should consider using porn before of using a pie chart ... at least I wouldn't glaze over and miss all those cute animations.

Look. Just don’t use pie charts.  Did Van Halen use pie charts?

And okay fine ... maybe this "International Organization for Standardization" or whatever is precisely what is stopping greedy Americans from exporting lead-laden toys and poison pet food to other countries.

Thus -under vast and crushing International pressure- I will amend my list:



a) Good
b) Fast
c) Cheap, and
d) Porn

There.

Happy?

Feel free to discuss and ponder this among yourselves.  My presentation is next.

I have to go set up the flash pans.

Predator Press Fantasy Football Team Not Shaping Up

Predator Press

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I halfway woke up at about 2:30 am, clicked on the television, and collapsed on the couch inexplicably prepared to watch a Beverly Hillbillies marathon.

Terri shook my shoulder. “Honey, why are you sleeping out here?”

“Not sleeping,” I mumbled. “Beverly Hillbillies.”

Glancing at the screen -still haphazardly split between the TV guide and the obscure cable channel- I realized the Beverly Hillbillies weren’t on anymore.

Almost two hours had passed.

“You’re burning up,” says Terri.

I was pouring sweat.

Four Tylenols later, she waddled me back to bed.

-I’m holding Eli Manning personally responsible for this.


Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!

FEMA To New Orleans: Just Shut Up About It Already

Predator Press

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Fed up after years of criticism for badly botching the response to Hurricane Katrina, FEMA has issued a press release saying quote, “We’re sick of hearing it! All you Negative Nancys GET A LIFE!” immediately before slamming the door so hard the screen pane fell out.

This does not bode well for FEMA as FEMA owns a cat that is curious about going outside, and the neighborhood FEMA lives in is crawling with large and aggressive dogs that could easily jump their fences when sufficiently aggravated.

“See what you made us do?” yelled FEMA. “Now get the hell off of my property!”

New Orleans, shocked by this irrational and emotional display, released the following reply: “Screw you and that mangy cat. We have always hated that cat!”

Lee Majors Endorses $14.95 "Bionic Ear"

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 go into how pissed Steve Austin -astronaut- might have felt about being completely repaired for three easy payments of $39.95.

-I'm too jazzed to know I can now get cheap ears that can lift busses.

Hearts Are Cheap Worthless Crap

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Staggering out of a ten-hour white-knuckled shift at work can make fighting traffic on the way home a little, uh, tense ... I think I’ve sprained my middle finger, and that makes pulling the picket fence panels and lawn furniture out of my radiator grill very, very difficult.

And there’s nothing worse in this situation than screeching home to an empty, tranquil house -my heart is probably planning an attack out of the sheer annoyance of all this pulmonary regulation!

Luckily, I'm far too lazy for an all-out heart attack.

My heart would enter a couple of Sanctions. Tops maybe lobby for a trade tariff or two.

But that’s pretty much it.

Shaking the Cage: Part III

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I love it! Equate Actor Relief Lotion is just as good as any other lotion I’ve tried on my baby sensitive skin (and lotions tend to break me out). I've fooled myself into thinking that the more expensive the brand the better, but let me tell you Equate Actor Relief Lotion works like a charm! It’s sterile and hypoallergenic like most franchises, and it helps already normally hard-hitting scripts go totally soft on contact.

Rating: A+!!

(Also available in Matthew McConaughey and Gwyneth Paltrow)

Shaking the Cage: Part II

Predator Press

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Okay. I’ve spent half of the morning trying to figure out what triggered the recent infiltration of Nicolas Cage on Predator Press, and I think I’ve traced it back to seeing a commercial for Bangkok Dangerous.

It turns out Nicolas Cage is in it.

So then I spent the other half of the morning compiling a list of movies Nicolas Cage is not in: I got Steel Magnolias (1989), Stroker Ace (1983), The Blue Lagoon (1980) and The Ten Commandments (1956).

But I can’t vouch for the veracity of this list. There’s a scene in Steel Magnolias where Clariee Belcher –played supposedly by Olympia Dukakis- is swaggerin around in cowboy boots and a receding hairline so I’m not 100% convinced.

So what is the reason for his glaring absence in these movies? I don’t know. I suspect before 1985 either a) he was too young, or 2) Hollywood was still seething with people that couldn’t act twice as good as Nicolas Cage.

Well that's all changed now.

And following this logic to it’s linear extreme, I’m forced to face the fact that there is an extremely high likelihood that when LOBO: the Motion Picture gets made, Nicolas Cage will be in it. In fact, now that I’ve gone on an unprecedented two-post rant about him he will have to be.

This means I have to scrub all the current posters and trailers which feature the tagline “Nicolas Cage is not in this movie” prominently.

–and/or numerous times.


Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!

Shaking the Cage

Predator Press

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First of all, I’m not really clear on why I’m so mad at Nicolas Cage.

I mean he did some great movies, right?

Right?

I mean there was Red Rock West and Con Air, and …

…um …

Wasn’t he in Armageddon?

No?

Alright. Then screw Nicolas Cage.

There isn’t enough room on this blog to complain at satisfactory levels about Nicholas Cage.

But this blog isn't about the proliferation of Nicolas Cage, nor the involuntary experience of seeing him everywhere.

Is it?

OMG Predator Press has just been infected by Nicolas Cage!

How the heck does he do that!?

-It's itchy!!!

Dynasty

Predator Press

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Having caved to the pressure to move west, Terri and I took the kids to O’Hare yesterday so’s they could stay with relatives while we put our affairs in order.

The house is quiet without Screechy pointlessly runnin back and forth bangin’ and breakin stuff. And now instead of uselessly arguing for weeks with Shiftless, the lawn is getting mowed promptly. The phone is quiet and fully-charged in it’s cradle, cold to the touch in the absence of the medium-sized one one -eh, Complainy.

[*sigh*]

Who would’ve thought I would miss them?

I don’t have anyone to blame stuff on anymore!

[*sniff*]

Running and Mating

Predator Press

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Alright.

I don't usually weigh in on political matters -well, on any sides anyways- but I must say the announcement of McCain's Vice Presidential running mate Sarah Palin surprised me.

-And not entirely in an unpleasant way, like how sick I got when Ethan bet I couldn't drink all the old windshield squeegee fluid at that Amoco in Buffalo, Wyoming. I was more surprised like when MIT announced they had discovered a way to quanitify fashion sense between the hyphae mycelium of various fungi in lab Petri dishes. You know, the kind of surprise you experience when Paul Reiser lands another sitcom? You go "Huh. I really liked that guy in One Night at McCool's," followed by something like, "Hey honey, did anyone feed the cat yesterday?"

And I don't care that Sarah Palin has only been Governor of Alaska for 18 months. Nor do I care she doesn't have much experience in foreign policy. All I need to know is that she has five kids.

Five!

Sarah, that's awesome. You really like to get your 'freak' on. A lot. But just what does it take to get you to try contraception!? How many dirty diapers? How many boogers? How much screeching?

Republicans and religious people in general are against birth control ... hey I get that. But if Jesus, on a carpenter's budget, was trying to pluck melted Gummi Bears from his station wagon's upholstery while his four screaming kids bitched about how they wanted Dairy Queen instead of nachos during the Laker's game, whatever he was turning that water into would have far more devious applications than you could imagine.


Check out the Humor-Blogs Fantasy Football Blog!

Pipeline

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ah, September.

And we all know what that means, don't we?

It's finally that special time of the year when all hearts and minds prepare for the biggest event of the year: The Santa Claus Blanket Party.

I can sense some of you starin' at this blog in utter disbelief. Oh, get over it. You're all thinking it ... at least I've got the stones to put it in print: that fat bastard has violated the sanctity of our homes for the last time. When he sneaks down the chimney 'an goes to greedily wolf down my milk 'an cookies this year, WHANG!, he's getting a snow shovel full of holiday cheer right upside the head.

Too chicken to help me with this? Fine, cowards! I'll keep all those Xbox 360s for myself then!

Look, it's not like I'm going to make Santa 'toss my salad' or anything weird; I just wanna rough the guy up a little. Maybe take the reindeer for a spin down to the Burger King drive-thru, that sort of thing. And can you imagine how much those little elves will pay in ransom for the safe return of their poorly dressed, fried food-scarfing king?

God, just the thought of that food-stained, grease-dripping beard gives me chills.

"But LOBO," I hear the mincing liberal pansies cry, "Why do you want a rusty, jagged, salted catheter put in Santa and the other end hooked up to a team of startled Clydesdales? Santa brings joy all over the world to often less-fortunate children!"

Yeah? Well screw them. I know all about being less-fortunate, thank you: one July when I was a kid I helped out the mailman by relieving him of the entire neighborhood's food stamps. But when the eighty-six pallets of Velveeta Pepper Jack arrived at my house, there wasn't anyplace to keep them except in the neighbor's empty swimming pool.

I would've pulled the whole thing off, but the dumb kid that lived there dove in and tried opening his eyes in the thick, spicy, bubbling murk. Screaming, he then attempted to wipe away the blistering sauce with fistfuls of my tortilla chips and somehow punctured one of his water wings in the process; this caused a potentially fatal clockwise downward spiral smack into the sour cream.

If that sour cream wasn't there, he most certainly would have drowned. But did the prosecuting attorney ever bother to point out my valorous consideration of the Coriolis Effect in this unfortunate incident? No. In fact, that jerk tried to my the whole thing look like it was my fault!

You just don't get any "less fortunate" than that: I'm a hero if you think about it.

This year, the fat man pays up.