Russia Invades Georgia!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

After being without electricity for nine hours, imagine my surprise to find out Russia has boldly moved into Georgia with tanks and militia!

While I will most certainly miss the World's Largest Peanut Monument and the Replica of the Statue of Liberty, you have to tip your hat to the tactical brilliance of the Ruskies here: they have put themselves in a good position to strike at Alabama and South Carolina, and effectively cutoff Florida and Key West altogether.

I would like to be the first to express a whole-hearted welcome to our Soviet conquerors, and how much I always liked those big fuzzy hats. And who is really going to miss Georgia anyway? I mean they put a peach on their commemorative quarter for god’s sake! There can’t be much going on down there.

As Chancellor of LOBOnia -a tiny territory consisting of a mobile 10' circle around myself- I assure you the diplomatic relationship with the capitalist pig-dogs is cordial but very loosely maintained. And Predator Press -in keeping with our long-standing tradition of being one of the most progressive independent publications on the internet- is all about embracing change whenever completely necessary.

In honor of our glorious and valiant new comrades, tomorrow at noon Predator Press will be conducting the first “LIVE LOBO” completely in Russian.

The topic shall be, “So How Cool is that Kremlin?”

The Power of Cripes Compels You

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Sir," says Natalie, scowling into her computer screen. "This is the sixteenth time you've called."

"I'm hoping for an update."

"Nothing has changed in the last eight minutes."

"A lot can happen in eight minutes. I can make eight completely different batches of rice in eight minutes."

"I understand that sir-"

"Miss, I don't think you do understand. I have no electricity, and millions and millions of readers are waiting anxiously for me to post today. Do you want to be responsible for what could happen if I don't?"

Natalie leans back in her chair exasperated. "Sir, there were three confirmed tornado touchdowns in your area."

[audible sigh] "Of the thousands of electric company customer service representatives, how do I happen to get the one that isn't a Predator Press reader? I debunked tornados weeks ago!"

"Sir-"

"Maybe next you can tell me the story of how Bigfoot and the Tooth Fairy are to blame!"

"We've got 200,000 other people out of power as well," she says twirling the phone cord in her fingers absently. "And you are accounting for half our phone traffic."

"Well this is important. In my absence, who will protect my readers from internet marketers, Forex associates, alien invaders, SEO optimization, shark attacks, Olestra, scams from Nauru, mad cow disease, zombie uprisings and tofu? Who?"

"Brent Diggs maybe?"

"Hiatus."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Is it because his power got shut off? I can switch the grid and have him back up in five minutes."

"I knew it! How come you can't do that for me?"

"Sir, your problems are far more serious."

"It's sweltering hot in here, and my refrigerator doesn't work," I add. "And what the hell am I supposed to do with all this rice?"

She plucks at the keyboard. "Our technicians are working around the clock to restore your power. The current esimated time of repair is ..."

"Yes?"

"Huh," says Natalie, leaning into her screen. "That's strange. I'm showing your power was only out for twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes? It's been nine hours."

"Did you flip your breaker switch?"

"Yes. I tried that right when it went out."

"Did you flip it back?"

"Of course I did."

Over the phone there's an audible click, followed by the sounds of a blaring stereo, three televisions on different stations, an air conditioner, two blenders and a microwave.

"Is there anything else I can do for you today sir?"

"Do you know how iPods work?"

Rental Hygiene

Predator Press

[LOBO]

There’s been a lot of controversy surrounding the use of cellphones while driving recently.

Now I get that, but I’m also very laid-back about it personally. If you can multi-task while driving, that’s great. I suppose I trust you. Ethan, for instance, uses an electric shaver on his way to work.

I, for one, “self-police” in this regard: I can barely drive when that’s all I’m doing; if the phone rings while I’m driving, I’ll let it go to voicemail and return the call later.

But this morning in traffic, I saw a woman flossing.

To me, handling any two-handed activity while simultaneously driving with your elbows is impressive.

But flossing?

How can you see with big chunks of food obscuring your windshield?

Predator Press Reviews The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

Predator Press

[LOBO]


From the moment lights dim, suddenly the action begins.

First Jet Li does some stuff, and then Brendan Fraser does some stuff.

But the stuff that Brendan Fraser does really pisses off Jet Li, and then they start karate-chopping each other.

Predator Press gives The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor sixty-nine thumbs up: between the explosions, swords clanging, audience gasping and the thunderous soundtrack, I don't think I got eight consecutive minutes of sleep during that whole two hours.

How to Break Up With Gods

Predator Press

Dear Medusa,

I can't do this anymore.

It's not really about the obsession with sculpture, the bloody dandruff, or the thick scales stuck in the soap bar; I just really think we should start hissing and spitting at other people.

I will always remember the good times -like that time we tickled Sisyphus until he dropped his rock and he hadda start History all over- but we've grown in different directions, and I want my half of the direction our music collection had taken. And all my Dean Koontz paperbacks.

We're just too different. I think we should just be friends. And I'm not good enough for you . . . you need to find someone who will treat you like you deserve being treated for.

It's not you; it's me.

Don't come by unexpectedly; I'm now married, and my wife runs a business breeding blindfolded mongooses.

Your Friend Always,

LOBO

Talk This Way

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Today at noon was the first semi-operational “LIVE LOBO”.

I’m considering it a partial success because at one point we had 19 people here. I’m also considering it a catastrophic failure as only six of us seemed able to participate.

A few complained that all they got was a grayed-out box. I’m still not certain why that was … but I suspect it had to do with what browser you use. If anyone knows for sure, please enlighten me as I would like to do this at noon(ish) every Saturday (it beats the crap out of lawn care).

Operating models of the "Shoutmix" can be viewed at It's a Funny Thing; if you can see it there, you should be able to see it here.

Even though the Shoutmix interface itself is so totally simple even Don Lewis could figure it out, just in case there’s any confusion over the controls I put together this image:


(You can click on it to enlarge)

Also, despite my rampant narcissism, I’m not sure “LIVE LOBO” is the best name for it. I’ll try and come up with something else this week.

Ethan, Terri and I had a ball meeting some of you!

:)~

(Thanks Don and Sue for appearing on LIVE LOBO SATURDAY!!)

LIVE LOBO SATURDAY!!! (Browser Sensitive)

Predator Press

[LOBO]



Thanks Terri, Ethan, Don and Sue!

See you next week!

:)

Tomorrow I Will Briefly Stop Killing People

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The only thing better than lazily basking in Saturdayness -the most hallowed of all holidays- is lazily basking in Saturdayness while wiping out the entire human race.

Pandemic II (the most recent in an increasingly long series of events that are preventing me from mowing the lawn) is a great little Flash game. In it you play The Disease, and continuously evolve and mutate while staying one step ahead of humankind’s efforts to thwart your swelling and deadly ranks. After a 10-minute tutorial, you too will be multiplying your virulent and lethal pestilence worldwide!

But for a few hours this Saturday, I’m going to briefly set aside my desire to have you all killed and try another round of “Live LOBO”.

Maybe noonish.

Brett Favre Offered $20M Not to Play Football

Predator Press

[LOBO]

In an effort to keep Brett Favre from playing for an opposing team, the Green Bay Packers have offered him $20,000,000 to “stay retired”.

Packers President and Chief Executive Officer Mark Murphy has failed to return my calls on how much he will pay me not to play, but I have offered to not do it for half that amount.

Mars Rovers Found at Hawking Summer Home

Predator Press

[LOBO]

A search for drugs and pornography at Stephen Hawking's summer home in Casa de Rio turned up more than was bargained for: both $350M Mars Rovers -supposedly on Mars since 2004- have actually been sending photos from the beach, and fetching drinks for scantily-clad supermodels.

"Oh come on people!" says noted physicist Hawking as he is handcuffed and escorted away. "Microbes? On Mars? Please. I coulda sent you guys pictures of turkeys an you would've bought it."

Space: The Final Dumpster

Predator Press

[LOBO]

As I see it, the biggest problem in the United States -besides Shia LaBeouf's unlawful incarceration- is all the money we are paying those so-called "engineers" at NASA for space exploration.

I mean come on already! This is 2008. We're supposed to have this:




-but instead we have this?




I'll bet those NASA rubes are pulling down like $9 or $10 an hour. And rather than developing cool-looking planet-smashing war machines and evil alien empires to have wars with, we're in a garage hammering the dings out of a two-toned spaceship so dumpy looking the mere site of it would only encourage a deadly hoard of would-be space overlords!

I wouldn't scrounge that thing for parts. I mean it doesn't even have a lousy Death Ray. Not one! Shouldn't we at least get Congress to pass a Bill to pay for gluing some fake ones on? Heck, Pfizer would do it for free if you stuck on some Viagra stickers!

And for that matter, how many hundreds of our tax dollars are being spent every year on this stuff without finding any would-be space overlords? Heck at least wash the damn thing ... the would-be space overlords are probably laughin at us right now!

I hate those guys, all smug and hiding out there behind a phony shroud of tranquility while obviously plotting the demise of the Human Race in secrecy. Those guys should get their asses kicked! We need to find them, exterminate their military with extreme prejudice, and then occupy all of their home worlds while making the survivors do forced labor before the inevitable sneak attack and subsequent invasion.

The way I see it, the only way to bring them Freedom is by ruling the primitive war-like inhabitants of the galaxy under Enlightened, iron-fisted Human Benevolence; not taking the initiative here will most assuredly invite cosmic despotic tyranny.

I, for one, won’t stand for that.

Slightly Off the Mark

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Jazzed by having received my copy of The Amadeus Net by Mark A. Rayner in the mail today, I started to think, “You know, why should I prevent my own radiant brainiosity from being studied and enjoyed by generations upon generations in the annals of future history?”

I've been trying to root out my own book deal, but that's a difficult thing to accomplish when I haven't actually written the book yet.

Or the draft.

Or the outline.

Or have a clear idea of what it will be about.

... But I do like the title.

7

Predator Press

[LOBO]

My Social Security number is “7”.

And I swear upon various gods that’s a fact.

Before you ask, no, I do not know who 1-6 are; they are obviously shrouded in some really kickass secret way-cool lucrative conspiracy that they are not telling me about.

I hate those jerks.

ANTNM

Predator Press

[LOBO]

You would be hard-pressed to find a single American who hasn't at least heard of America's Next Top Model: a glamorous leggy reality show hosted by Tyra Banks.

But few remember the vast number of prototypes attempted previous to it's highly successful format.

Before ANTM, we didn't know that America wanted to watch pretentious and callow stressed-out 80-pound chicks clawing each other's eyes out; all we really knew was that as long as we kept putting crap on television, America would watch with tightly-gripped interest.

Forever lost in the vast archives of failed television -somewhere next to the reels of XFL Football and the Gieco Cavemen show- all the episodes of America's Next Top Not Model [ANTNM] gather the dusty neglect of failed hopes and dreams.

Perhaps only I still remember the most exciting and fantastic week of my life.

But that's okay.

I still remember.


***

From the moment the Greyhound bus dropped me off in front of Château le Scone, it was a first-class act all the way. I had never been to Biloxi, the high-powered world center and apex of international beauty before; it actually teemed with energy and life.

Once adequately armed against said teeming energy and life with our complimentary guitar-shaped flyswatters and mosquito nets, we were introduced to the other contestants by the pool. My heart sank as I saw the mammoth caliber of my competition: George "The Animal" Steel was getting his back waxed, and Gilbert Gottfried his eyebrows. Paul Reubens was snoring loudly with cucumbers over his eyes, and Chris Farley snapped his Speedo at anyone who failed to resist his obvious predanatural gifts.

Without severe discipline and hard work, I didn't have a prayer.


***

The only "original" member of the cast that survived to the show's current bastardized permutation America's Next Top Model is Jay Alexander. I remember him fondly; once he essentially stopped eating to control the nausea, he himself gave me the regimented routines that would prove to be my only chance for survival. Tips like not shaving or bathing and consuming nothing but Blue Beaver Beer, pizza, Twinkies and nachos 24/7 proved invaluable as the final weeks progressed.

And then that prick Paul Reubens ruined everything.

He started sneaking vegetables on my pizzas, and switching my beer to Blue Beaver Lite. He doused me constantly with Aqua Velva under the guise that it was fly repellant.

That prick stole and burned all my turtleneck shirts and parachute pants.

When I saw the footage of what he did to my favorite plaid leisure suit, I wept.

And I was voted off that very week.


***

Once my arteries cleared up, I left the hospital and decided to write my story as a warning. And I'm sure you already know that being overly-possessed with how you look is not healthy, and rampant vanity can be a fast track to full renal failure.

But this is a warning to Paul Reubens.

That suit was polyester.

We'll meet again, Paul.

Oh yes.

We shall meet again.

Cabals N Bits

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I have no idea what this image is supposed to be, but the alternative to wasting an hour on it was wasting an hour mowing the lawn. Let’s just call it a homage to Rickey and move on. Okay?

What I wanted to specifically address was the startling number of recent comments. I would like to reply to all of them individually, but between the last two posts I’ve got almost forty.

Forty!

-That’s more than I got all last year.

What the heck are you people doing!? When I go to your sites, Do I lay this kind of guilt on you? No. I’m far too busy scrawling all your funny ideas on a notepad so I can plagiarize them later.

Forty comments on Predator Press is the blogging equivalent of the last episode of M*A*S*H.

(*spoiler alert* In the last episode of M*A*S*H, Henry dies and Winchester doesn't.)

(... Oooooo I hate that snooty Winchester!)

How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs.com

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Now that I have verifiably been #1 on Humor-Blogs, I feel I am qualified to lecture comprehensively on the subject.

And for the low, low price of $679 I totally will!*

With my 64 DVD series of lectures, you will learn top #1 Humor-Blogger secrets like:

Tip #4: "Cook 'Minute Rice' for 2 minutes and 54 seconds: it resets 'Humor-Blogs' to zero. But be sure your fire extinguisher is fully charged, and keep a list of phone numbers including the Fire Department and restaurants that deliver handy," and

Tip #454: “CDs 51-64 are actually blank. Use them to record your favorite music and drown out the family bitching about your blogging,” and

Tip #73: "Switching your feed tube and catheter bucket is a great timesaver, but can eventually cause anemia. Eat a banana every few days to avoid Rickets."

Act now, and I'll not only provide free shipping, but I'll throw in a free tube of antibiotic ointment guaranteed to cure butt bedsores 1.6 times faster than exercise!*

But wait*! There's More*! The first 100 buyers will receive a copy of Diesel's Antisocial Commentary: The Secret Files of the Mattress Police at a discounted price of $156! *

* This is a limited-time offer.

* "How to be #1 on Humor-Blogs" may cause nausea, temporary blindness, and explosive discharge of the left kidney.

* No assembly is required.

* 16 animals were beaten into a chalky paste during the making of this post. But it was in order to perfect my #1 on Humor-Blogs.com Barbeque Sauce so I'm cool with it.

Glitch, Smitch! The People Have Spoken!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Yes, it’s true ‘o Loyal Reader. All my hard work and dedication has finally paid off.

For I am #1 at Humor-Blogs.

Due to the inalienable rights bestowed upon Me by Virtue of Democracy (and Diesel’s glitchy software), the triumph of an Enlightened reign under my Iron Fists of Galvanized Wisdom shall bring happiness to the Blogosphere for generations upon generations to come.



And like any intrepid and courageous hero endowed by the Virtue of Democracy (and Diesel’s glitchy software) leading the huddled masses into a bold new future, I’ve got a list of 82,952 blogs that piss me off because they are funnier than mine.

-Sites that have no place in the annals of a future history that I shall intend to forge with my own two mighty hands!

I want guys like Don, Kevin, Brent and Mark handled with "utmost discretion."

And extreme violence.

Leperball

Predator Press

[LOBO]

People are always asking me, "LOBO, with basketball season over and football not yet in full swing, how does a legendary athlete such as yourself spend your leisure time?”

Well I’m glad you asked me that.

I’ve always believed that people as gifted and successful as myself should spend a lot of time giving back to the community; encouraging the "less fortunate" that they too might become a chiseled physical phenomena such as myself is exactly the false hope today’s kids need to keep them from dealing drugs, stealing my car, or other things 'the community' generally frowns upon.

With Shark Boxing still tied up in pre-production due to a quagmire of insurance hassles, I generally spend my weekends coaching a pee-wee football team called the Starfishes: a spirited and rugged little squad of ‘can do’ type kids –all afflicted with advanced stages of leprosy.

This is my third year -the first of which I am Federally mandated to because of the “Anti-Discrimination Act” that Little Timmy's dad used to sue me when I puked at the post-game pizza party and tried to resign.

Little Timmy is now quarterback.

His dad must be so proud.

Weasel Fuel

Predator Press

[LOBO]

AS Diesel often should when working on a new and brilliant project, he sought out my advice.

And I would have had a hard time turning him down for my radiant brainosity: he loaned me a nickel to scratch off my lottery tickets.

"LOBO," he says. "I want to upgrade Humor-Blogs to Humor-Blogs 3.0. It'll have a system you can vote on funny posts with."

"Cool," I says, blowing the silver dust off of a 'Pays to Play' loser.

"I wish you wouldn't do that in my car."

"Relax, D," I says, drawing out another from my shirt pocket. "I'll buy you a new car when I score with these babies. One with two clitorises."

Diesel glances in the rearview mirror to see the dry Nevada dust being whipped up like a comet's tail behind us. "How many voting categories should there be?"

"Scientifically?"

"Yes."

"In North America?

"Yes."

"And with enough simplicity and flexibility to carry the whole thing on with creative bloggers checking in for centuries to come?"

"Yes," he grins.

I scratch my chin with the nickel, thinking. "Fifty seven."

"Fifty seven," Diesel says.

"Don't be so incredulous," I says, scratching my Cardboard Wafer of Destiny. "Science doesn't lie."

"I was thinking three. You know, a 'thumbs up', a 'meh', and maybe a 'thumbs down'. But fifty seven?"

"And the most important thing will be what the buttons look like. They should match the vote."

I then presented the following example:




#57: Fantastic.

I soiled myself.






#26: Standard issue LOL cat







#21: Too much YouTube.





#6: This post stunk like if Kenny Rogers loaded up on peanut butter and sardine sandwiches, washed it down with buttermilk, and then puked deeply into a large bonfire after riding the Tilt-a-Whirl.


"Blech," says Diesel. "How about plain smiley faces?"

"Well sure, if you want to be boring."

"And maybe I'll just go only with 'thumbs up' and 'thumbs down-'"

"Without a 'meh' nobody will vote for my site."

"The Reasonable Ego is a great blog," says Diesel. "Lots of people will vote for you."

"I don't write for the The Reasonable Ego. That's Sinister Dan."

"Which blog do you write for?"

"Predator Press."

"You mean that blog with all the crayon doodles, crappy grammar and obviously fake images?"

"Yep. Hey, why are we slowing down?"

"Get out!" Diesel demands. "And gimmee back my damn nickel!"




There are, I suppose, worse things than blogging with my laptop from the middle of the desert next to a skeleton.

At least I got my 'meh' button snuck in there at Humor-Blogs.

And I almost feel bad for Diesel.

With my 'Pays to Play' scratch offs, I won $2 and two free ones ... !

The Astronaut Whisperer

Predator Press

[LOBO]

After being struck by a landing space shuttle, Air Traffic Controller Dirk Elway’s life is completely transformed; sunken into a bleak and menthol fog of Nyquil and Altoids addiction, even his goldfish have run away.

Similarly, one of the surviving astronauts on board that very same space shuttle goes crazy, buys a box of Depends, and rides across the country –ultimately killing everyone in Twentynine Palms California with a rake.

On a hunch, Clint Eastwood –a world-renown Astronaut Whisperer- gambles that Dirk and The Astronaut’s spree are somehow linked.

Armed with nothing but a 32 oz jar of Tang and a walkie-talkie, Clint manages to finally make contact, culling the rogue Astronaut and reuniting him with ailing Dirk … but soon thereafter Dirk is mysteriously killed by an overdose of rake to the back of the skull.

Can Clint teach him to laugh and love again? Will The Astronaut once again claim his coveted spot in the London Symphony Orchestra? And can his lowly new job testing 747 engines by tossing live seagulls into them let him rise once again to his once-lofty astronaut status?

-Only time and a ragtag group of Baptist church choir enthusiasts can tell.

We here at Predator Press give The Astronaut Whisperer, like, ten big thumbs up: this is the surprisingly engaging tale of an astronaut beset by tragedy and a love for gardening, and Clint's dogged and relentless efforts to repair his broken and battered spirit.

Scheduled for release this summer, it’s an uplifting, fun and romantic little film that’s a must-see for the whole family.

Nicolas Cage is not in this movie.