Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Ethan,” I says. “I quit.”
“You quit what?”
“I quit Hawley Enterprises.”
“You quit doing what exactly?”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me out with that. I’m having a lot of trouble with my ‘Letter of Resignation’.
“What brought this on?” says Ethan.
“I’ve decided I want to be a sheepherder.”
“A sheepherder.”
“Think about it. The sheep is not a very fast animal.”
“Do tell.”
“Yeah. I figure I could virtually watch the little bastards disappear over the horizon, and still catch 'em in a jeep like an hour later.”
“Possibly,” says Ethan, scratching his chin. “But you would have to protect the sheep from predators too.”
“Oh please,” I says. “The only other animals I ever see around sheep are cows, and cows are pussies. My sheep will be combat-trained, hardened bad-asses.”
I drift off for a second.
My sheep will have leather jackets.
“What do you think ‘Sheepherder’ pays?”, asks Ethan.
“$40-$60 thousand a year according to this Devry University brochure. Next semester –Satellite Tracking, GPS and Radio starts in three weeks.”
“Really?”
“It ends in four.”
Sunday
I Understand Completely
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Ethan came into the office quietly and shut the door behind him; I can tell by the look on his face that something is wrong.
He flips a thick folder onto my desk, sits down, and just stares at me expectantly.
"What?" I says, perplexed. I look at the file. "I read one of those once. I thought it was wordy and pedantic. I'm into Louis L'Amour now.”
“Who,” says Ethan finally, “is Frank Gilmore?”
“He’s the VP-ATL of Hawly Enterprises.”
“And what exactly is a ‘VP-ATL’?”
“Vice President of All Things LOBO.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly make him President,” I says, leaning back in my chair. “That’s way too much responsibility. But he’s an invaluable asset to your organization, I assure you. Would you like to speak to him?”
“Yes,” says Ethan. “I would.”
I grab my phone, hit ‘speed dial’, then the number one.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in, Mr Gilmore.” I says.
Mr Gilmore enters, and just then his cell phone rang. With a deft maneuver into his jacket, the ringing stops. “Yes sir?” he says, all dignified.
I look at Ethan. “I just love how he does that.”
“It’s good to see you again sir,” says Gilmore. “Have you lost weight? I never thought a ladykiller such as yourself could get actually more devastating in only two hours.”
“He’s a fuckin’ genius,” I whisper to Ethan. “He can translate too.”
“Really?” says Ethan.
“Yeah! Watch.” I turn to Gilmore. “Gilmore, say, um, ‘roadkill’.”
“Roadkill.”
“Okay, now say it in ‘South of I-80’.”
“Road pizza.”
I look to Ethan, nodding my amazement. “Now say it in Arkansazian.”
“Not fast enough food,” says Gilmore.
“Is that true?” I says, scowling incredulously. “People from other countries are actually eating roadkill?”
“Yes sir,” replies Gilmore. “But I’m sure your vast intellect is superior to being preoccupied with historic and factual minutia like that,” he says flatly. “That’s what I’m here for sir. That, and to forcibly remove the women that get too sexually aggressive after being exposed to you for more than a few moments at a time.”
“Remember Gilmore, I don’t want them hurt,” I says.
“I know sir. It’s not their fault.”
Ethan flips open the file on my desk, and leafs down a couple of pages.
“$6 an hour, eh?” he asks.
“Actually, $6.10,” I reply. “I gave him a raise last year.”
Ethan scratches his neck. “Does he have any friends who need a job?”
[LOBO]
Ethan came into the office quietly and shut the door behind him; I can tell by the look on his face that something is wrong.
He flips a thick folder onto my desk, sits down, and just stares at me expectantly.
"What?" I says, perplexed. I look at the file. "I read one of those once. I thought it was wordy and pedantic. I'm into Louis L'Amour now.”
“Who,” says Ethan finally, “is Frank Gilmore?”
“He’s the VP-ATL of Hawly Enterprises.”
“And what exactly is a ‘VP-ATL’?”
“Vice President of All Things LOBO.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly make him President,” I says, leaning back in my chair. “That’s way too much responsibility. But he’s an invaluable asset to your organization, I assure you. Would you like to speak to him?”
“Yes,” says Ethan. “I would.”
I grab my phone, hit ‘speed dial’, then the number one.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in, Mr Gilmore.” I says.
Mr Gilmore enters, and just then his cell phone rang. With a deft maneuver into his jacket, the ringing stops. “Yes sir?” he says, all dignified.
I look at Ethan. “I just love how he does that.”
“It’s good to see you again sir,” says Gilmore. “Have you lost weight? I never thought a ladykiller such as yourself could get actually more devastating in only two hours.”
“He’s a fuckin’ genius,” I whisper to Ethan. “He can translate too.”
“Really?” says Ethan.
“Yeah! Watch.” I turn to Gilmore. “Gilmore, say, um, ‘roadkill’.”
“Roadkill.”
“Okay, now say it in ‘South of I-80’.”
“Road pizza.”
I look to Ethan, nodding my amazement. “Now say it in Arkansazian.”
“Not fast enough food,” says Gilmore.
“Is that true?” I says, scowling incredulously. “People from other countries are actually eating roadkill?”
“Yes sir,” replies Gilmore. “But I’m sure your vast intellect is superior to being preoccupied with historic and factual minutia like that,” he says flatly. “That’s what I’m here for sir. That, and to forcibly remove the women that get too sexually aggressive after being exposed to you for more than a few moments at a time.”
“Remember Gilmore, I don’t want them hurt,” I says.
“I know sir. It’s not their fault.”
Ethan flips open the file on my desk, and leafs down a couple of pages.
“$6 an hour, eh?” he asks.
“Actually, $6.10,” I reply. “I gave him a raise last year.”
Ethan scratches his neck. “Does he have any friends who need a job?”
Tuesday
depthcharge
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“You’re mine now,” says Babs. “Simple as that. I posted bail, and you’ve posted 'The Sh*rt' 85,211 times at $35,000 a pop."
“Yeah,” I says. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have showed me how to ‘cut and paste’ it.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter. You own the controlling interest in Hawly Enterprises, and since you’re mine, Hawly Enterprises is mine.”
“Look,” I says. “Take Ethan--“
“No,” says Babs. “Ethan is too smart to fall for me just trying to have sex with him until he dies of cardiac arrest.”
“Really?”
“—And that just leaves you.”
“Look Babs,” I says, rubbing the ink from my fingertips. “If this is just an elaborate plan to get into my pants--“
“No baby,” Babs smirks, rolling her eyes. “I’m into you for your mind.”
“You’re having wet, hot screamy sex with my mind!?”
Babs pauses, perplexed. “Well, I--,” she chokes.
“Whore!"
[LOBO]
“You’re mine now,” says Babs. “Simple as that. I posted bail, and you’ve posted 'The Sh*rt' 85,211 times at $35,000 a pop."
“Yeah,” I says. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have showed me how to ‘cut and paste’ it.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter. You own the controlling interest in Hawly Enterprises, and since you’re mine, Hawly Enterprises is mine.”
“Look,” I says. “Take Ethan--“
“No,” says Babs. “Ethan is too smart to fall for me just trying to have sex with him until he dies of cardiac arrest.”
“Really?”
“—And that just leaves you.”
“Look Babs,” I says, rubbing the ink from my fingertips. “If this is just an elaborate plan to get into my pants--“
“No baby,” Babs smirks, rolling her eyes. “I’m into you for your mind.”
“You’re having wet, hot screamy sex with my mind!?”
Babs pauses, perplexed. “Well, I--,” she chokes.
“Whore!"
SHART ATTACK
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Evidently, running around in a sexy tight suit and a mask is frowned upon by society in general.
In fact, some states make you register; according to my lawyer, I would’ve gone to the “Big House” for sure were it not for Babs.
Now, I’m not stupid. I know that “Big Houses” are drafty, haunted, and have really big fucking lawns ... and it’s no secret how much I would despise landscaping for the Undead … hell, the pays lousy, and they bitch no matter where you dig.
On a less professional note, Ethan just informed me that every time I post the words "The Shart" from here on out, the FCC is making me donate $35,000 to charity.
He would’ve told me sooner, but he needed only 70-Large more to cure leukemia.
[LOBO]
Evidently, running around in a sexy tight suit and a mask is frowned upon by society in general.
In fact, some states make you register; according to my lawyer, I would’ve gone to the “Big House” for sure were it not for Babs.
Now, I’m not stupid. I know that “Big Houses” are drafty, haunted, and have really big fucking lawns ... and it’s no secret how much I would despise landscaping for the Undead … hell, the pays lousy, and they bitch no matter where you dig.
On a less professional note, Ethan just informed me that every time I post the words "The Shart" from here on out, the FCC is making me donate $35,000 to charity.
He would’ve told me sooner, but he needed only 70-Large more to cure leukemia.
Super Setbacks
Predator Press
[The Shart]
Typically as the city sleeps, The Shart's youthful grad-student sidekick Matt McCord dutifully scours The Shart's email in search of leads.
But tonight, Matt played World of Warcaft for nine hours, and "Enlarge Your Penis" SPAM beguiled him into downloading crippling viruses via porn while sleeping with a slice of Dominoes Pizza on his lap.
This effectively shut down The Shart's Central Network of Intelligence Agencies for almost six months.
... and I bet the Dominoes guy never shows again.
[The Shart]
Typically as the city sleeps, The Shart's youthful grad-student sidekick Matt McCord dutifully scours The Shart's email in search of leads.But tonight, Matt played World of Warcaft for nine hours, and "Enlarge Your Penis" SPAM beguiled him into downloading crippling viruses via porn while sleeping with a slice of Dominoes Pizza on his lap.
This effectively shut down The Shart's Central Network of Intelligence Agencies for almost six months.
... and I bet the Dominoes guy never shows again.
Monday
With Great Power Comes Hot Chicks
Predator Press
[The Shart]
Like any other Superhero, The Shart is ever-tormented by tragic internal struggle.
But The Shart is new at this "Superhero" gig. As soon as The Shart thinks of a cool one, The Shart will let you know.
For now, The Shart is busy seeking out the Pianosian Syndicate: a worldwide wretched and lethal bunch of organized cutthroat thugs that’ll poke your eye out sooner’n look at you.
The Shart didn't find them under The Shart's bed.
… In a few hours, The Shart will probably check the rest of the bedroom ...
[The Shart]
Like any other Superhero, The Shart is ever-tormented by tragic internal struggle.
But The Shart is new at this "Superhero" gig. As soon as The Shart thinks of a cool one, The Shart will let you know.
For now, The Shart is busy seeking out the Pianosian Syndicate: a worldwide wretched and lethal bunch of organized cutthroat thugs that’ll poke your eye out sooner’n look at you.
The Shart didn't find them under The Shart's bed.
… In a few hours, The Shart will probably check the rest of the bedroom ...
Sunday
"THE SHART" BITES
Predator Press Unaware that he is about to be apprehended and beaten severely, notorious "Shovelman" attempts to steal snow from the State Capitol of beloved Pianosa
--all to fuel Mister Cold Miser's sinister groundhog-killing "Doomsday Device"
Beware Miscreants!
Predator Press
[The Shart]
As metropolitan Pianosa slumbers peacefully, I prowl the shadows in a sexy, tight-fitting rubber suit, seeking out evil and injustice that must be smoten.
Wherever there’s a hot chick in danger of some creepy guy stalking her in the night, I’ll be there.
Swift, lethal and tenacious --like the shark-- I'm always one step ahead of the authorities because I’m smart.
I am The Shart.
[The Shart]
As metropolitan Pianosa slumbers peacefully, I prowl the shadows in a sexy, tight-fitting rubber suit, seeking out evil and injustice that must be smoten.
Wherever there’s a hot chick in danger of some creepy guy stalking her in the night, I’ll be there.
Swift, lethal and tenacious --like the shark-- I'm always one step ahead of the authorities because I’m smart.
I am The Shart.
Saturday
Secret War
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In the subseqent Lobonian trial, it was found that Frank was completely innocent, and that he killed Doctor Dentin Whatsit in self-defense.
The victim was British, after all.
But as they hauled him away to Guantanamo Bay, Frank somehow let it slip that I possess weapons of mass destruction.
I swear to God after I built them, my mom said "You'll poke your eye out!", and I haven't thought about them since.
It's really my mom's fault if you think about it ...
[LOBO]
In the subseqent Lobonian trial, it was found that Frank was completely innocent, and that he killed Doctor Dentin Whatsit in self-defense.
The victim was British, after all.
But as they hauled him away to Guantanamo Bay, Frank somehow let it slip that I possess weapons of mass destruction.I swear to God after I built them, my mom said "You'll poke your eye out!", and I haven't thought about them since.
It's really my mom's fault if you think about it ...
DOT Matrix
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Ethan,” I says into the phone. “We’ve got a Code Four in progress!”
“What?” Ethan says, alarmed. “Frank killed a DOT Officer in the break room with your Dukes of Hazzard lunch box because you were about to get busted for Felony Tax Fraud, and you’re trying to find someplace to hide the body again?”
“But this time it’s different!" I protest. "He was British.”
[LOBO]
“Ethan,” I says into the phone. “We’ve got a Code Four in progress!”
“What?” Ethan says, alarmed. “Frank killed a DOT Officer in the break room with your Dukes of Hazzard lunch box because you were about to get busted for Felony Tax Fraud, and you’re trying to find someplace to hide the body again?”
“But this time it’s different!" I protest. "He was British.”
Ink
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Writing off 50,000 gallons of blog ink on my taxes as a business expense seemed like a good idea at the time, but the decision has haunted me ever since.
Like today, for instance. It’s hard enough to write this crap … but there’s a whole logistical side to it as well; this week I spent about sixty hours –and part of my Saturday no less—at the warehouse, making sure things “tick”.
In the break room, I was peeling through a day-old newspaper and absently making small talk with one of our maintenance employees, Frank Kowalski. Frank -complete with his tattoos, shaven head, and Insane Clown Posse attire- was 'rendered' a good listener, due mostly to having broken most of his teeth over a gigantic metal stud tongue piecing.
Deceptively intelligent, he is widely regarded by me as the eyes and ears of the whole complex.
Suddenly, this handlebar-mustached old guy I’ve never seen before struts confidently in and flashes his badge.
“Are you David Curr?” he asks in a thick, foreign accent.
“I’m LOBO,” I says, trying to be cagey.
“My name is Destry Dentin,” he asks, squeezing the shit out of my hand. “I’m here from the Department of Transportation.”
“I’m sorry,” I say rather politely. “The Department of Transportation you say? I can barely understand you. Your butchery of our fine American language is terrible. What kind of accent is that?”
“It’s British.”
“Jesus, no wonder. I understand that the educational systems in those third world countries can be pretty sketchy. I’ll try to be patient, but speak slowly, and try to enunciate a little better; you're feeble grasp on the English languish is totally crap-o-rama, and my first impression of you might've been that you were a complete idiot were I not a worldly and educated dude." I slap him at the top of his arm to 'drive home' these helpful nuggets of wisdom. "This isn't China or France, pal ... in this country, we don't do gibberish.”
“Mr. Curr,” he says. “I’m here to inspect your hazardous material storage facilities.”
“Why would I keep my laundry at work?”
“I’m talking about the 50,000 gallons of flammable UN1210.”
“My what?”
“Your ink.”
“Oh!” I says. “Um, we’re out. Used it all.”
“You used 50,000 gallons?”
“Yep. We’re very industrious bloggers.”
“How did you dispose of the empty drums?”
“We, ah, gave them to our Waste Management Department, where the were disposed of in the most expensive, environmentally sound and legal recycling program we could find.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s amazing if you think about it. They take all that steel and grind it up and turn it into baby food for poor people or something.”
“Is that so?”
I hold up two fingers. “Scouts Honor.”
“You’re a Boy Scout?”
“Technically. If you’re still a Cub Scout when you turn seventeen, they kinda grandfather you in.”
“Well, I would certainly like to speak to this ‘Waste Management Team'.”
Frank, until then pretending not to listen, set down his issue of High Times. “What would you like to know?”
Fuck.
[LOBO]
Writing off 50,000 gallons of blog ink on my taxes as a business expense seemed like a good idea at the time, but the decision has haunted me ever since.
Like today, for instance. It’s hard enough to write this crap … but there’s a whole logistical side to it as well; this week I spent about sixty hours –and part of my Saturday no less—at the warehouse, making sure things “tick”.
In the break room, I was peeling through a day-old newspaper and absently making small talk with one of our maintenance employees, Frank Kowalski. Frank -complete with his tattoos, shaven head, and Insane Clown Posse attire- was 'rendered' a good listener, due mostly to having broken most of his teeth over a gigantic metal stud tongue piecing.
Deceptively intelligent, he is widely regarded by me as the eyes and ears of the whole complex.
Suddenly, this handlebar-mustached old guy I’ve never seen before struts confidently in and flashes his badge.
“Are you David Curr?” he asks in a thick, foreign accent.
“I’m LOBO,” I says, trying to be cagey.
“My name is Destry Dentin,” he asks, squeezing the shit out of my hand. “I’m here from the Department of Transportation.”
“I’m sorry,” I say rather politely. “The Department of Transportation you say? I can barely understand you. Your butchery of our fine American language is terrible. What kind of accent is that?”
“It’s British.”
“Jesus, no wonder. I understand that the educational systems in those third world countries can be pretty sketchy. I’ll try to be patient, but speak slowly, and try to enunciate a little better; you're feeble grasp on the English languish is totally crap-o-rama, and my first impression of you might've been that you were a complete idiot were I not a worldly and educated dude." I slap him at the top of his arm to 'drive home' these helpful nuggets of wisdom. "This isn't China or France, pal ... in this country, we don't do gibberish.”
“Mr. Curr,” he says. “I’m here to inspect your hazardous material storage facilities.”
“Why would I keep my laundry at work?”
“I’m talking about the 50,000 gallons of flammable UN1210.”
“My what?”
“Your ink.”
“Oh!” I says. “Um, we’re out. Used it all.”
“You used 50,000 gallons?”
“Yep. We’re very industrious bloggers.”
“How did you dispose of the empty drums?”
“We, ah, gave them to our Waste Management Department, where the were disposed of in the most expensive, environmentally sound and legal recycling program we could find.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s amazing if you think about it. They take all that steel and grind it up and turn it into baby food for poor people or something.”
“Is that so?”
I hold up two fingers. “Scouts Honor.”
“You’re a Boy Scout?”
“Technically. If you’re still a Cub Scout when you turn seventeen, they kinda grandfather you in.”
“Well, I would certainly like to speak to this ‘Waste Management Team'.”
Frank, until then pretending not to listen, set down his issue of High Times. “What would you like to know?”
Fuck.
Friday
The Best Policy
To: Ethan Hawly
From: The Docter
Date: 02/22/07
Re: LOBO
We regret to inform you that your employee, LOBO –aka “Lance Steelpipe” as written on his verile insurance forms—will not be able to come to work today, as he has been stricken by a fatal, incurable disease and will probably die from it within hours.
We will probably release him back to duty in March.
Maybe.
From: The Docter
Date: 02/22/07
Re: LOBO
We regret to inform you that your employee, LOBO –aka “Lance Steelpipe” as written on his verile insurance forms—will not be able to come to work today, as he has been stricken by a fatal, incurable disease and will probably die from it within hours.
We will probably release him back to duty in March.
Maybe.
Well, Duh!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Why is there spaghetti sauce in this ice tray?” says Ethan.
“That’s not spaghetti sauce," says me. "That’s marinara.”
“Why is there marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because it came with the Cheese Sticks.”
“Okay,” says Ethan, exasperated. “Why is there Cheese Stick marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because I fucked up the toaster with the Cheese Sticks, okay?”
[LOBO]
“Why is there spaghetti sauce in this ice tray?” says Ethan.
“That’s not spaghetti sauce," says me. "That’s marinara.”
“Why is there marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because it came with the Cheese Sticks.”
“Okay,” says Ethan, exasperated. “Why is there Cheese Stick marinara sauce in this ice tray?”
“Because I fucked up the toaster with the Cheese Sticks, okay?”
Black Day
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Alright, while I was away negotiating this amazing deal on bulk peanut butter, some asshole broke into my house and stoled my Pet Rock Incubator.
Do you know how long I've been waiting for those things to hatch?
Look, I wasn't neglecting them; I just thought maybe diamonds took an extra-long time! Keep the Incubator, but please, whoever you are, return the diamonds; I'm sure they are worthless to you. But they could 'bust loose' any second!
[*sigh*]
Who am I kidding?
… the fucking thing is probably on eBay already.
[LOBO]
Alright, while I was away negotiating this amazing deal on bulk peanut butter, some asshole broke into my house and stoled my Pet Rock Incubator.
Do you know how long I've been waiting for those things to hatch?
Look, I wasn't neglecting them; I just thought maybe diamonds took an extra-long time! Keep the Incubator, but please, whoever you are, return the diamonds; I'm sure they are worthless to you. But they could 'bust loose' any second!
[*sigh*]
Who am I kidding?
… the fucking thing is probably on eBay already.
Thursday
Unpopular Occupation Rattles US Morale
Predator Press
Soldiers from all branches of US military shave heads in symbolic
gesture of solidarity to raise awareness of Lobonian cable plight
gesture of solidarity to raise awareness of Lobonian cable plight
Wednesday
Sneakery
Predator PressDistressed by civil unrest and cable atrocities in Lobonia Illinois, Tony Blair withdraws troops from someplace
All-night 'rave' renders Parliament blissfully unaware
Tuesday
Thaw
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Despite the unjust, immoral, lopsided, asymmetrical offensives the US wreaked permanently upon our local economy, tourism and industrial might by shutting off our cable, we bravely carry on under our new oppressors.
But Phil is sick.
I knew something was wrong; he cranks out kittens like four times a year! But the vet just called with his test results, and he has “elevated kidney levels” and requires more tests.
I think it’s a little ironic that of everyone in this house --and their respective diets and lifestyles-- the cat is cracking up.
[LOBO]
Despite the unjust, immoral, lopsided, asymmetrical offensives the US wreaked permanently upon our local economy, tourism and industrial might by shutting off our cable, we bravely carry on under our new oppressors.
But Phil is sick.
I knew something was wrong; he cranks out kittens like four times a year! But the vet just called with his test results, and he has “elevated kidney levels” and requires more tests.
I think it’s a little ironic that of everyone in this house --and their respective diets and lifestyles-- the cat is cracking up.
Monday
LOBONIA SURRENDERS; SUES FOR PEACE
Predator Press
Shortest Insurrection in US History
”The sooner we get our Reparations, the sooner we can rebuild,” says Lobonain Chancellor. "Now will you please turn my cable back on?"
Shortest Insurrection in US History
”The sooner we get our Reparations, the sooner we can rebuild,” says Lobonain Chancellor. "Now will you please turn my cable back on?"
Predator Press Reviews: Canadian Bacon
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Well, the author of such books as Bowling For Columbine and Fahrenheit 911 has gone and scared the shit out of me again with his latest documentary Canadian Bacon, starring critically acclaimed Rip Torn and a lot of other really talented actors.
In this movie, Roger Moore unveils footage of Americans concocting a phony threat from another country in order to secure political stability and fulfill the agenda of a greedy profiteer that personally benefits from America’s participation in a war.
--God, if I would’ve written it as a science fiction story you wouldn’t have believed it.
Well, needless to say, I panicked and seceded from the United States.
No, I’m serious. I have proudly hoisted the new flag of glorious Sovereign LOBONIA.
It's a little too 'friendly' as far as I'm concerned, but I want to encourage the local "surf and sand" lifestyle, as well as robust trade, supermodel tourism, and hearty taxation.
Rather 'geographically inconvenient' for the Capitalist pig-dogs, LOBONIA is smack in the middle of Illinois, and surrounded on all borders by entire suburbs of lousy hostiles and bewildered, asshole neighbors that have absolutely zero tolerance for the seemingly-alien culture and strange mores of my proud people.
Because of this, I've “liberated” some traffic barricades, and have placed them right where you would turn onto my street: none of you crazy foreigners and illegal aliens and immigrants are allowed beyond my new International Passport Checkpoint of Doom without being pelted by a massive arsenal of state-of-the-art, “fire and forget” UN approved non-allergenic water balloons.
... Except the mailman. I didn’t get the water bill last month, and I’m worried that it's going to get shut off.
The mailman is crucial to my Defense Program.
[LOBO]
Well, the author of such books as Bowling For Columbine and Fahrenheit 911 has gone and scared the shit out of me again with his latest documentary Canadian Bacon, starring critically acclaimed Rip Torn and a lot of other really talented actors.In this movie, Roger Moore unveils footage of Americans concocting a phony threat from another country in order to secure political stability and fulfill the agenda of a greedy profiteer that personally benefits from America’s participation in a war.
--God, if I would’ve written it as a science fiction story you wouldn’t have believed it.
Well, needless to say, I panicked and seceded from the United States.
No, I’m serious. I have proudly hoisted the new flag of glorious Sovereign LOBONIA.It's a little too 'friendly' as far as I'm concerned, but I want to encourage the local "surf and sand" lifestyle, as well as robust trade, supermodel tourism, and hearty taxation.
Rather 'geographically inconvenient' for the Capitalist pig-dogs, LOBONIA is smack in the middle of Illinois, and surrounded on all borders by entire suburbs of lousy hostiles and bewildered, asshole neighbors that have absolutely zero tolerance for the seemingly-alien culture and strange mores of my proud people.
Because of this, I've “liberated” some traffic barricades, and have placed them right where you would turn onto my street: none of you crazy foreigners and illegal aliens and immigrants are allowed beyond my new International Passport Checkpoint of Doom without being pelted by a massive arsenal of state-of-the-art, “fire and forget” UN approved non-allergenic water balloons.
... Except the mailman. I didn’t get the water bill last month, and I’m worried that it's going to get shut off.
The mailman is crucial to my Defense Program.
Sunday
Oh Yes I Did
Predator Press
[LOBO]
You know how I was wearing fake weights so I could hit on sensitive and vulnerable chicks with low self-esteem at Weight Watchers meetings?
Well, then I did something kinda reprehensible: I claimed to have invented the Fat-Burning Twinkie, and started to sell them at $4 a pop there.
Now, a $2 box of Twinkies has, well, a lot of goddamn Twinkies in it. I figure I can make maybe 5-6% on this deal, right?
At first, Weight Watchers Corporate didn’t notice anything. I --having dropped the weights-- had lost about 55 pounds while everyone else gained two or three. The net result was pretty much zero.
Ultimately, it was an IRS guy that busted me out. He had a shoebox full of checks from Weight Watchers “known associates” --currently embroiled in a lawsuit against Weight Watchers-- totaling $26,420, all made out to “cash”, and all signed by me.
Weight Watchers Corporate is just plain jealous.
[LOBO]
You know how I was wearing fake weights so I could hit on sensitive and vulnerable chicks with low self-esteem at Weight Watchers meetings?
Well, then I did something kinda reprehensible: I claimed to have invented the Fat-Burning Twinkie, and started to sell them at $4 a pop there.
Now, a $2 box of Twinkies has, well, a lot of goddamn Twinkies in it. I figure I can make maybe 5-6% on this deal, right?
At first, Weight Watchers Corporate didn’t notice anything. I --having dropped the weights-- had lost about 55 pounds while everyone else gained two or three. The net result was pretty much zero.
Ultimately, it was an IRS guy that busted me out. He had a shoebox full of checks from Weight Watchers “known associates” --currently embroiled in a lawsuit against Weight Watchers-- totaling $26,420, all made out to “cash”, and all signed by me.
Weight Watchers Corporate is just plain jealous.
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