I Live Today

Predator Press

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Millions and millions of you longtime readers may have noticed a few rerun postings on Predator Press, and the inevitable subsequent glaring absence of sanity, intelligence, wisdom and reason across the globe.

Stop immolating yourselves. Stop jumping from tall buildings. Stop immolating yourselves and then jumping from tall buildings: I’m going to level with you. It has been a tough year for your irascible-yet-lovable Chancellor of the vast LOBOnian nation.

And you have only yourselves to blame.

(Resume immolating and jumping now.)

I’m sure we can all agree a chiseled physical phenomena such as myself would and should be utterly devoid of mortal woe. But my body apparently wasn’t notified of these details, and after the epic clash of titans I endured in June –where Big Cereal's crimes against our mighty nation and Humanity required swift, lethal and benevolent payback (and a short jail term)- half of 2011 has been dedicated to recovery and rehabilitation.

I have no doubt that you all are working frantically on technologies that will make me even more immortal and indestructible. But as of yet I got diddly, and your utter failure in this regard is simply impossible to ignore: the LOBOnian Nation has no place for this level of incompetence. Don’t make me revoke your visas!



LOBOnian slackers will be de-meated, and their bones will be exiled!

Couple this ineptitude with my ongoing treatments for Tri Polar Disorder and Cryohydrotachophobia (the fear of rogue icebergs), a lot of travel, football season, various temporary restraining orders and lawsuits, a hangnail and a new job, and it should be clear why I haven’t been following up on this lack of progress with appropriate, eh, “motivation.”

The new job in particular is a pain in the ass. Every day I have to get up, go to it, clock in and stay there doing stuff for like fifty hours, and then clock out and do it all over again the next day. I don’t know how I got tricked into it frankly.

The perpetrator of all this criminal exploitation is a book distributor. And I know what you’re thinking. “Books? Let’s see. There’s The Bible, Batman, Archie and Veronica, and Penthouse ... Ptthbt! How hard could that be?” Well it turns out there’s books on everything from computers to babies to photography to history, all stacked on pallets as far as the eye can see. Jesus Christ, there’s like a hundred of them!

Steinbeck, Camus, Hemingway ...

... Man you people read a lot of schlock.

Nights of the Round Fable

Predator Press

[LOBO]

After the release of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Indy’s faithful and adorable sidekick “Short Round” just seems to vanish from the face of the Earth.

"Well that's impossible," you say. "This could never happen."

Well it turns out that about 8% of Predator Press readers are right 22% of the time: this tragic and shocking true story has been kept under wraps for over 20 years -and it might never been known if not for the dogged and relentless investigative skill of yours truly.

While Indiana’s life -filled with hot chicks, explosions and danger- has thrilled and exhilarated movie audiences for decades, it was found to be ill-suited for raising children; before long Short Round was seized from Indy by Child Protective Custody and placed into foster care.

Heartbroken and psychologically damaged permanently by Indy’s cavalier and lax parenting, Short Round subsequently ran away and seemingly faded into a mysterious shroud of obscurity.

It was no small effort to track his whereabouts from that day forward. But during a chance examination of the MIT Archives we discovered ancient correspondence with Short Round: it seems that soon thereafter it was discovered that he was woefully poor at math, and due this hideous handicap even MIT rejected him.

His last and lowliest of hopes and dreams were horribly crushed against the jagged rapids of cruel Hollywood fate.

Out of options, he spent a few years with the Harlem Globetrotters to make ends meet ... but nothing seemed to sate his emotional void; during a Vicodin and PCP-fueled rage, he punched a cheerleader and called Curly Joe a “punk-ass bitch” –acts that led to his permanent expulsion from the league.

It might seem true that life hasn't been very kind to Short Round. But shortly after serving his jail time and rehab, he met his true love in a strip bar. Connecting instantly during a conversation about their mutual obsession with snakes, the 'sparks flew' so to speak: now Short and Sassy Round live happily in a Des Moines subdivision with their eight beautiful children.

-The oldest of which begins at MIT this August.