Predator Press
[LOBO #64]
LOBO clone #32 arrived at the Pearly Gates bewildered.
He was
dead?
Apparently. And by now, there was a line of LOBO clones waiting to speak to Saint Peter.
"Hi LOBO clone #32!", says LOBO clone #71 and #16, waving enthusiastically. "Jesus Christ what a handsome clone."
"I was just about to say the same thing," grins LOBO clone #32. "You guys are downright
gorgeous!"
"How did
you die?" asks #71.
#32 shrugs. "High cholesterol maybe?"
"Wow," says #16.
"Yeah," says #32. "What about
you handsome devils?"
#16 blushes. "You know I'm not sure. I was playing with plastic bags. You know, putting them over my head, and trying to inflate them. That's the last thing I remember."
"It was probably the mob," offers #71.
"That's a really brilliant insight," ponders #16. "I never thought of that. It could have been a really ugly, jealous mob. #71, you must be a genius."
"A really good looking,
sexy genius," ads #32.
"What about you, #71?" asks #32.
#71 held up his right hand, inspecting his fingernails with arched eyebrows coolly. "I knocked up Sapphire."
"No
way!" says #32.
"You're kidding!" says #16.
"Nope," says #71. "Several years ago, before I met Terri, me an Sapphire had a, uh,
'thing'."
"You lucky bastard," says #32. "You handsome, brilliant, lucky bastard."
"Tell us how it happened," says #16.
"Yes, please do," says #32, bouncing and clapping his hands. "Give us
details!"
***
LOBO hated going to Chicago. It was always a big pain in the ass.
As usual, he would ride straight up Interstate 94 until he hit the inevitable gridlock. Deciding that this was more
parking than it was actually
driving, he would then abandon his car wherever he was -right there in the sea of beeping and cursing- and walk the rest of the way.
It wasn't a perfect or particularly convenient system admittedly. But on occasion when he came back hours later, the car was still there surrounded by the same beeping and cursing people that were there when he left. And sometimes -when he was
really lucky- it would have maybe fifteen or twenty feet of open road in front of it.
At least he didn't have to tote around change for a parking meter.
On
this particular day, he got within eight miles of his destination before the "parking" started.
It was shaping up to be a fine day.
Shuffling northward, he was reading the used car classifieds as he walked. In no particular hurry, he arrived at Sapphire's posh apartment building three hours later.
Outside was a disheveled, smelly guy, holding out a tin cup.
LOBO took the cup and looked inside. It was full of nickels and quarters.
"No thanks," he says, handing it back to the bewildered guy. Tapping his temple with his index finger he replies, "I did the
free parking thing."
But as he starts to walk away, he notices someone else walk by and drop some change in it.
"Wow," says LOBO. "That guy just
gave you money? Just like that?"
The guy with the cup stared.
"Oh I gotta get in on
this action," he says to no one in particular. "This city
rocks!"
***
So LOBO returns from the nearby convenience store like twenty minutes later with a small bag.
Unwilling to soil himself, he also had a Diet Pepsi which he promptly poured in his lap.
Figuring an environment less hostile to the olfactory senses might be more lucrative, in the bag he had two dozen pine tree air fresheners which he proceeded to sneakily hang on all the other people on the block holding out cups.
With a black marker and cardboard, he countered the abundant "WILL WORK FOR FOOD" signs with "WE ACCEPT VISA AND MASTERCARD". Where one guy's pants hung too low, LOBO's hung lower. Where one's clothes were inside out, LOBO's were inside out and upside-down. When one drooled, LOBO gushed. When one sang tunelessly or cursed at people that weren't there, LOBO would affix a Bluetooth earpiece upon them: this would transform the shabby-looking transient instantly into a trendy Gen-X high powered executive.
"Oh come on!" LOBO complained when the guy in Army fatigues missing his legs scooted by on a skateboard. Frustrated, he beaned "Skateboard Guy" with his empty plastic cup.
Frothing unrepeatable obscenities, he skulked on up to Sapphire's apartment in defeat.
***
Three hours later, the phone seemed to ring forever.
Finally, the semi-familiar voice answers.
"Yeah?"
"Is this Fat Louie?" asks LOBO.
"Who wants to know?" says the disembodied voice.
"This is LOBO."
"Who?"
"You know,
LOBO. We met downstairs. You asked me if I needed anything. Like 'H' or dope or crack or women."
"Oh yeah. You're the guy that said you were bored and looking for a 'good time'."
"Yep," says LOBO. "That's me."
"Well what do you want?"
"When you sold me this, uh,
Liquid G stuff, you said 'one drop in a girls drink, and I was
guaranteed to have a good time'."
"What happened?"
"She fell asleep!"
"Ummm ... what did you think was going to happen?"
"I don't know. I figured maybe she would call up some friends and we could play Trivial Pursuit or Monopoly."
Pause
"Uh huh," says Fat Louie.
"Should I give her some more?"
"God no," says Louie.
"Too much of that stuff could be dangerous. I would put it away. In something you know nobody will accidentally drink out of."
"Like a can of Tab? I'm way ahead of you." LOBO pauses. "How long is Sapphire going to be out? I think I need a ride home."
"About eight hours. She won't remember a thing, either."
"So I'll need to write out some directions?"
Another pause
"So what can I do for you?" asks Louie.
"Well, I'm bored. And I already watched all her Dawson Creek dvds." LOBO sighs. "So how's the wife and kids?"
"Look, 'LOBO'," says Fat Louie.
"You got any condoms?"
"Yeah. I found some in her purse."
"Well use them, dumbass."
A click, and a dial tone.
***
Use the condoms? LOBO thought.
What am I going to do? Make ribbed, glow-in-the-dark, 'lubricated for her pleasure' sausage?
He didn't get any ideas until he went in her bathroom. There, he found rows and rows and rows of Sapphire's bottled perfume.
It was all cheap crap, too. No
Safari.
Remembering the hobos in the street, he started making pleasant-smelling water balloons. It took about five or six burst ones to determine the maximum density of a water-slash-perfume filled condom, and he disposed of the unusable ones in the toilet.
"Bombs away!" he cried over Sapphire's 35th story balcony, scoring a direct hit on Skateboard Guy.
Finally out of ammunition, he returned to the kitchen, thirsty. Finding an unfinished can of Tab, he chugged the whole thing as he wandered in to see if Sapphire had woken yet.
... And passed out right next to her.
***
Sapphire woke to find LOBO snoring loudly.
That's strange, she thought.
Having been unconscious for quite some time, she headed immediately for the bathroom, where she found an empty vial labeled "Liquid G", and a half-dozen burst condoms floating in the toilet.
She screamed.
***
"What happened then?" asks LOBO clone #16.
"She was trying to wake me up, but I couldn't understand a word she was saying; for some reason she was really upset and had one of those Early Pregnancy Test slides in her mouth. Evidently, I might have gotten her pregnant somehow-"
"Maybe you're so virile that just being near her was enough. Did you go near any cabbage patches?" asked #32.
"No."
"Or leave a half dollar under her pillow?" asked #16.
"Nope," replies #71, shaking his head.
"I'll bet that sneaky
Skateboard Guy had a half dollar to sneak under her pillow," reflected #32.
#71 points to his nose, and continues. "I calmly explained that she shouldn't be ashamed of succumbing to her natural sexual desires for me, what with me screaming out all these incredibly manly testosterates everywhere. She's only
human for God's sake: it's
biology. And even though it was more likely Skateboard Guy's baby, I would raise it with her like it was my own, and we should get hitched so's the kid ain't no bastard."
"So ..."
"I don't know what happened next. Something crashed into my head. I turned to look, and it was the sidewalk."
"Hah!" says Saint Peter. "See Gabriel? You owe me fifty bucks!"
[LOBO]
The reason this comes up now is because it’s a matter of National Security: I recently caught Australia skulking up and down the West Coast. It wasn’t doing anything particularly suspicious -in fact at first I thought it was Kirstie Alley; it just rented a boogieboard and tooled about in the surf. But in retrospect I’m almost sure it knew I was "on" to it, and it was trying to look nonchalant.
Exactly why Australia has been sneaking around isn’t quite yet clear, but it has a long history of subtly messing with us with acts such as the “Coriolis Effect”; the Coriolis Effect -first proposed by famous mobster Don Coriolis- suggests that Australians often amuse themselves by flushing their toilets the same moment we do, thusly causing ours to back up.
One only has to see a few photos of the well-decimated and uninhabitable Australian landscape to realize that St Louis, nay, America doesn't deserve a similar fate: an Australian invasion deeply offends my national sensibilities, and I won’t take the inevitable sneak attack lying down.
