Thursday

The Dogged Pound

Predator Press

[The Author]

Told I was getting MEMED for blogging tips, I wrote this a few months ago. But the MEME fell through once it was discovered that I was actually a terrible writer, blogger, et cetera.

Still, upon occasion I’ll get an email asking for traffic-building tips, writer’s block cures, or just a plain old 'where the **** do you come up with this stuff?'

I thought it was best covered (albeit slightly sarcastically) in the post How to Blog -with particular deference to the links at the bottom. These are some of my favorite authors telling you their stuff, and totally worth reading. I couldn’t do a better job of that than they did.

But ...

There are tips and there are techniques. None of them, for instance, said ‘Well I get the idea, and then I make a flow chart while waving a dead chicken over my computer.’ The “physical” behaviors were seemingly left out for the more metaphorical and conceptual rules and values.

Also perhaps worthy of note is that at the time Predator Press wasn't even in the top 30 at what is far and away the best site on the internet for laughs: Humor-Blogs. Diesel's creation has "turned me on" to 99% of my favorite authors, and it's a flat-out honor to be among them.

Anyways, this is not a particularly funny piece, but if you’re curious about how a Predator Press post is born, tortured, and finally left writhing on this blog until it dies, read on. :)


***


About six months ago, Terri and I arrived at a compromise.

She works a little later than I, so the deal was for me to try and be “finished” blogging by the time she got home. This worked out to be a little over an hour a day.

Now an hour a day will create one of two responses:

The first would be practical.

“My god that’s 7-10 hours a week. That’s a part-time job!"

The second response would be far closer to mine:

“Now how the heck am I supposed to do this in one-tenth the time!?”

So fine. At first I was posting every two or three days, putting the unfinished work down punctually due to this artificial and self-imposed “deadline”.

This caused me a lot of anxiety. I like getting things out while there’s some passion for it; all too often I would return to the same piece and have lost my enthusiasm for it entirely. (Guys like Chris Cameron of Angry Seafood will tell you he plans things out months in advance; while secretly envious of that quality, I think that’s God’s way of protecting me: if I had months worth of good ideas all at one time I would totally explode.)

Over time, an undetected transition into getting the entire post down in under an hour started to happen.

Now keep in mind that this hour is “face time” –actually sitting in front of the computer. Longer posts often took three days, required complex outlines, multiple drafts, blah blah blah. A post you start off intending to finish in one hour will have to be simple, small, potent and tight, and come in at rarely over a few paragraphs.

And a routine developed too: after work, I was "against the clock" so to speak: out of the car, boot up, and get busy.

After time, the difference was amazing.

Now don't get me wrong. I look for blog-fodder 24/7. I’ve always felt that people suffering from writer’s block are introverting too much and not paying close enough attention to their surroundings. Little “seeds” come from just about anything: workplace scenarios, kids arguing, cranky cashiers … Screechy –my five year old- is not only great for titles like “Buyer Seaware,” and “Clash of the Titanics” but he fits ‘LOBO’s’ overall adolescent outlook nicely for occasional inspiration like Spooky. Terri will attest to me waking up from dreams with posting material (Roller Coaster, for instance, was actually a fairly detailed dream that was completed in about 30 minutes after waking). Practice looking for them, and pretty soon you’ll have a notebook full of scribbled story ideas.

(It also helps if you can read your own penmanship ... )

Anyways, most Predator Press stories and blurbs have at least two major plotlines woven in (I’ll spend half the post making you forget where we started, and then twist you back violently once this is accomplished) so there’s a bit more to work out on my end. But once the overall concepts are found, then I’ll start to wrestle with the framework such as “Who/What is the vehicle for my intended destination?” and “What kind of images should I use?” et cetera.

All this is more-or-less worked out before I even touch the computer; when that hour starts, I’ve got a very full agenda already and it’s pretty carefully planned.

If there are images to find and/or doctor, that will eat my writing time. Pics -occasionally necessary BTW- are totally unpredictable: for No Mammograms Were Conducted During the Making of this Post, I spent three times the time Googling the perfect "Seedy-Looking Van with an Airbrushed Naked Chick Riding a Panther on it” than I did writing -and ended up settling on doctoring one I wasn’t 100% happy with. The Astronaut Whisperer took fifteen minutes to write, and two full “sessions” to complete the pic editing (and the final result were terrible pics, but I so badly wanted to move on!).

And I’m certainly not making any claims that these post are of the “highest quality” … in fact to the contrary, I almost have to make it a point not to go through my older stuff ‘cuz I’m always thinking “I wish I had done that differently.”

-But I’m not here to create “fine art” either. If I can get it close enough to convey the idea, that’s close enough.

I guess, in conclusion, blogging and writing are always based on life.

So don't skimp on the 'living' part.

You need it.

:)

Wednesday

A CERN Talking Through

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don’t get the fuss over the CERN Large Hadron Collider experiment.

Some mad scientists build a measly 17 mile long black hole generator, and here go all the whiny Liberals, “Boo Hoo! It could destroy the universe? Wah!

These selfish pricks should just shut up. I might like having my own personal black hole. In fact, I’ve already compiled a list of things I would like to try it out on:

  • Leftover Brussels Sprouts

  • Mail Labeled ‘Occupant’

  • Nuclear Waste

  • Tom Brady

  • Cable Bill

  • Cats

  • Prince

  • Don Lewis

  • SEO Optimizers

  • People Named 'Travis'

  • Puppy that Followed the Kids Home

  • The CERN Large Hadron Collider (now that be cool, eh? Eh?)

    And frankly, why bother fighting for this crap Universe? I'm not sure the complete destruction of this dump would be so bad anyway.

    Now Alpha Proxima?

    -That’s a Universe.


    Thank you Miss Moneypenny CPU!

  • Tuesday

    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.

    Monday

    Predator Press Fantasy Football Team Not Shaping Up

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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!

    Sunday

    FEMA To New Orleans: Just Shut Up About It Already

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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!”

    Saturday

    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.

    Friday

    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.

    Wednesday

    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)



    Tuesday

    Shaking the Cage: Part II

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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!

    Monday

    Shaking the Cage

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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!!!


    Sunday

    Dynasty

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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*]

    Saturday

    Running and Mating

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    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!

    Friday

    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.

    Thursday

    I Don't Do Things So J. D. Has To

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Someday, when the ‘secrecy’ of what I do for a living is no longer important, my boss will probably tell you I’m terrible at relaxing. I spend my breaks and lunch hours poring over comparative spreadsheets, checking this, verifying that … it’s pretty much a textbook case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder on an epic scale.

    Blogging, it seems, is no different for me. Since Blogger has no download feature, I’ve been trying to get myself to take a few days off so I can backup these 900 and some-odd posts that the ever-important Predator Press files survive a catastrophic nuclear strike or whatever.

    Can't.

    I lie awake at night worried. Will my millions and millions of readers be okay without me? What if there’s a massive panic in my absence? In my mind, only thing worse than you guys immolating yourselves or jumping off of buildings would be you guys immolating yourselves, then jumping off of buildings.

    First I thought Terri, but she can't do it while I'm hoggin the PC. Then I considered Don Lewis, but he’s embroiled in his presidential campaign; I’m not sure he wouldn’t abuse the position for political gain. I mulled over Sinister Dan for a while too, but I’m pretty sure at some point he would have you guys immolating yourselves and jumping off of buildings just for his own personal amusement.

    There’s really only one other person I can think of that can lead the massive throngs of fans serene and safe through the rest of the week.

    And if I’m not doing it, she has to, right?

    So J.D., here’s a couple of things I would definitely not do in case your looking for ideas:

    I Don’t Compete in the Olympics Anymore. Sure it was fun setting all those records for a while, but I got tired of breaking the hearts of all those spirited young athletes. Finally one day, while looking into the eyes of yet another defeated would-be champion, I just handed him my gold medal.

    “Here kid," I says. "Just go up there and tell them you’re me.”

    “Wow!” he says, overjoyed. “Thanks LOBO!”

    I hear Carl Lewis is still doing pretty well for himself to this day.

    I Don’t Use Frank Lloyd Wright Architecture and Interior Design on Ant Farms. It’s not that I don’t like ‘Organic Design’, or that I don’t like ants. It’s just that I don’t like the name ‘Lloyd’. I mean what arrogant historical prick decided that one ‘L’ wasn’t enough? Larry –while not shy about the ‘R’s- decided one ‘L’ was enough. Lance decided that one ‘L’ would do. But Loyd? Oh hell no. Loyd hadda hog all the ‘L’s. Why’d you stop there, “Lloyd”? Why not Lllllllllloyd?

    -This kind of self-indulgent redundancy makes me want to puke.

    Anyways J.D., you get the picture. Have a good week, remain calm, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t … wait. Do do the things that … uh …

    (Great. Now I have a headache.)


    Tuesday

    Predator Press Interviews: Barack Obama

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Uncharacteristically prepared for this 07/02/08 interview, I am a little stunned at Obama’s well-groomed and relaxed demeanor. However, a seasoned journalist, I’ve learned to face these surprises with an icy cool that only comes with experience.

    We professionally shake hands, and the interview begins.

    -But armed with tedious 'facts' and stuff, I come out swinging.


    LOBO: So why’d you do it?

    Obama: Excuse me?

    LOBO: You know what you did.

    [Obama shrugs, bewildered]

    LOBO: You know, that whole "September 11th" thing.

    Obama: I think you are thinking of Osama.

    LOBO: Who?

    Obama: Osama Bin Laden.

    LOBO: Who are you?

    Obama: I’m Barack Obama.

    LOBO: No relation?

    Obama: No.

    LOBO: Ever think about attacking America with airplanes?

    Obama: No.

    LOBO: Ever been on an airplane?

    Obama: Yes.

    LOBO: But never thought of attacking America with it?

    Obama: No. I did, however, remove my seat belt before the light instructed me to.

    LOBO: Now you’re being a smart ass.

    Obama: No. I’m completely serious. I lost myself in a moment of reckless abandon.

    LOBO: See? You’re mocking me.

    Obama: I also stole four bags of peanuts when the flight attendant wasn’t looking.

    LOBO: Really?

    Obama: No. Then I was mocking you.

    LOBO: So why are you here?

    Obama: For the interview.

    LOBO: Are you supposed to be interesting for some reason?

    Obama: Well, I’m running for President.

    LOBO: Well, so am I. Lah-dee-dah!

    Obama: Good luck to you.

    LOBO: What’s your platform?

    Obama: Making America a better place.

    LOBO: Oh god that is SO boring. We could’ve got Hillary to say that.

    Obama: Boring? What’s your platform?

    LOBO: I dunno. I haven’t really thought about it yet. Maybe making a gigantic space robot that’ll squish Al Queda with big-assed feet.

    Obama: Sounds expensive.

    LOBO: I’ll slash the budget, then.

    Obama: Where?

    LOBO: Anyplace that doesn’t contribute directly to the space robot, or the Brazilian Bikini-Wax Act.

    Obama: What about Welfare?

    LOBO: We’ll get plenty of welfare once we’ve got a bad-assed space robot in our corner. C’mon Obama, use your imagination here. It’ll build, like, entire schools in a matter of minutes. And it will fight crime.

    Obama: It will fight crime too?

    LOBO: I’m sensing some skepticism here.

    Obama: Will it deliver the mail?

    LOBO: Now you’re being silly.


    Monday

    Cube of Woe

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Man I was unbelievably pissed.

    "Sir," squawks the technician over my cellphone. "It would be a lot easier to help you if you calmed down."

    "Calm down?" I demand. "I'm going to die in this thing!"

    "I highly doubt that sir. You said you already called the fire department, right?"

    "Yes I did. I also called the police, the CIA, the FBI, FEMA and Interpol. How dare you unleash this poorly designed and untested -potentially lethal device- upon the unsuspecting public?"

    "It's called an elevator, sir."

    "It's a goddamned box of death, you quack! You people are the geometric equivalent of Comcast. Where'd you learn engineering, cosmetology school?"

    "Sir, I assure you our engineers and technicians are highly qualified. But I'm only a customer service rep for Otis Elevators."

    Inspecting the warning panel, I verify this: Otis Elevators is clearly marked right next to 'In Case of Emergency' and the 800 number I dialed.

    "Well, let me talk to Otis."

    "Excuse me?"

    "Otis," I demand coolly. "Put that fucker on."

    [muffled laughter]

    "Uh, sir, -"

    "I'm sorry. Did you say something? I can't hear you unless you're Otis!"

    "Um," says the guy. "I'm Otis sir."

    "Really?" I says.

    "Yes sir. Now you said you already called the fire department. Is there anything I can do for you?"

    "Well it's pretty boring in here. And the fire department won't be here for another half an hour."

    "You don't have a paperback or something?"

    "No," I says glumly. "I even called Mandy."

    "Mandy?"

    "Yeah. It's scratched in the glass here. 'For a good time call Mandy'. She's actually a pretty decent cello player, but it was eating up my minutes."

    "Sir, I've been running a satellite diagnostic on the elevator you're in and it's responding just fine. Which floor did you press?"

    "Floor?"

    "Yes sir. There are buttons you have to press with numbers that correspond with the floor you want to go to."

    "No shit?"

    "Yes sir. They should be right over the warning plaque."

    "I'll be damned. Otis, you're a genius!"

    "Thank you sir."

    "Wow. They even light up!"


    Sunday

    What Ever Happened to Quicksand?

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    Once again, Predator Press scienticians have stepped up, and -at no small expense to you- decided to settle the burning age-old question on everyone’s mind: What Ever Happened to Quicksand?

    You remember ... One could barely get through a half an hour of television without some poor slob stumbling upon his buddy's safari hat laying mysteriously on the ground. Then he or she goes to pick it up, and the horror ensues -it’s quicksand!

    I remember being taught about quicksand by no less than three teachers during the brief debacle of my adolescent education. They all conflicted with each other too. “Don’t struggle,” one said. “Lay flat and roll out,” said another. -Clearly even back then this enigmatic sedentary evil was barely understood. Of course, this was in the same day and age they taught us to curl up in a hallway in case of aerial bombings, and hide under our desks during nuclear blasts.

    I hate to say it, but the Predator Press scienticians really let me down this time. All they did was gorge Dominoes pizza, play World of Warcraft, and work on their MySpace pages until "Enlarge Your Penis" SPAM beguiled them into downloading crippling viruses via porn.

    Obviously the Great Mystery of Quicksand is beyond the feeble understanding of even the greatest minds of our time. Still, we here at Predator Press remain hopeful that perhaps one day Humanity will learn to communicate with this, the most misunderstood, secretive, and voracious of Nature’s killers.

    But until then, we’re hoping you all will start wearing big, buoyant hats.


    Saturday

    The Number You Haven't Dialed ...

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    "He's not calling," says Terri.

    "Of course he's calling," I insist. "You remember the now-historic interview I had with Barack. We had a real moment there.”

    “You don’t think he would have called you by now?”

    “I'm sure he's very busy. Who else would Barack pick as VP? Do you think he wants Don Lewis to win?"

    “What about John McCain?”

    “Oh come on. Nobody is seriously voting a fast food clown in for president.”

    “That’s Ronald McDonald. John McCain is a decorated war vet, and-“

    “Which war?”

    “Vietnam.”

    “Did he win?”

    “Well-"

    “He must have won,” I reflect. “He also survived the subsequent World Wars One and Two. That’s impressive.”

    “What?”

    “They name wars alphabetically so history students don’t have a hard time.”

    “Really.”

    “Yes. That’s why we’re never moving to Yugoslavia.”

    “Because we’re going to have a war there?”

    “They will probably retool all those Yugo factories to build tanks, but we can wipe them out with cleverly placed potholes and speed bumps. In fact, my first act as VP will be to surround that country entirely with potholes and speed bumps. It'll be like trying to invade Chicago!"

    "And that's your strategy against Yugoslavia?"

    "If you want to pick a winner in that war, I would go with whatever country produces the most potholes and speed bumps per capita.”

    “Preemptively wiping out another country’s military seems more like a conservative plan. Don’t you think you would be a better VP for a republican like McCain?”

    “Who?”

    Friday

    Spooky

    Predator Press

    [LOBO]

    A dark and addled thing of doom
    whispers lies and gloats in gloom;
    poised to strike so very soon
    it haunts this place and chills my room!

    "Leave me to my own devices:
    I give no heed to such entices!
    I will not fear what haunts my bed
    -for you are only in my head!"


    I feel it sniff under the door
    -a gleeful, mocking predator-
    "You do not fear what you don’t see?
    Well, what about X-Rays? Hm? Or E-Coli? And how about radioactive isotopes? When is the last time you saw a radioactive isotope? Even a small exposure to radioactive isoptopes could really mess up your thyroid.”

    Monsters hate poetry.