Tuesday
Landscaping
Predator Press
Newt shuts the door. “Look, I can’t do this. It’s just too heartless.”
“An he’s cryin like a sissy,” says Bush, wincing. “I told you not to cancel his decoder ring yet!”
“Look,” says Newt. “Everyone makes mistakes. Both Clinton and Bush admitted to some rather nefarious ‘youthful indiscretions'. The media went nuts.“
“Ooo, I love stories!" says Bush. "Then what happened?”
“What we’re gonna do,” says Rush, “is ask him to be a spy Democrat.”
“We wouldn't even have to wait for Jesus to kill him," exclaims Bush. "That’s geniusness!”
“We could even make him report to somebody,” gloats Newt.
“I vote my gardener,” says Rush, raising his hand.
“Aw,” complains Bush. “Your gardener is already handling Social Security. It’s my turn to have a kewl gardener.”
Newt shuts the door. “Look, I can’t do this. It’s just too heartless.”
“An he’s cryin like a sissy,” says Bush, wincing. “I told you not to cancel his decoder ring yet!”
“Look,” says Newt. “Everyone makes mistakes. Both Clinton and Bush admitted to some rather nefarious ‘youthful indiscretions'. The media went nuts.“
“Ooo, I love stories!" says Bush. "Then what happened?”
“What we’re gonna do,” says Rush, “is ask him to be a spy Democrat.”
“We wouldn't even have to wait for Jesus to kill him," exclaims Bush. "That’s geniusness!”
“We could even make him report to somebody,” gloats Newt.
“I vote my gardener,” says Rush, raising his hand.
“Aw,” complains Bush. “Your gardener is already handling Social Security. It’s my turn to have a kewl gardener.”
Monday
Night in the Ruts
Predator Press
[LOBO]
The blindfold comes off, and I’m sitting in a small room.
Around me –left to right-- is Newt Gingrich, Rush Limbaugh, and President George Bush.
“Word up, homie!” I says to Bush, who artfully avoids my conspicuous 'High Five'.
“LOBO,” says Newt. “We have to talk. In your first week as a Republican, you’ve enraged senior citizens, published smutty innuendoes, and insulted maybe every religion on the face of the Earth.”
I look around, and I can read it in their eyes.
I’m being kicked out.
“Look,” says Rush, puffing a stogie. “Not everyone is cut out to be a Republican. We think you should join the Democratic Party." He taps his ash, "We've already cancelled your decoder ring."
[LOBO]
The blindfold comes off, and I’m sitting in a small room.
Around me –left to right-- is Newt Gingrich, Rush Limbaugh, and President George Bush.
“Word up, homie!” I says to Bush, who artfully avoids my conspicuous 'High Five'.
“LOBO,” says Newt. “We have to talk. In your first week as a Republican, you’ve enraged senior citizens, published smutty innuendoes, and insulted maybe every religion on the face of the Earth.”
I look around, and I can read it in their eyes.
I’m being kicked out.
“Look,” says Rush, puffing a stogie. “Not everyone is cut out to be a Republican. We think you should join the Democratic Party." He taps his ash, "We've already cancelled your decoder ring."
I'm Sorry
Predator Press
[LOBO]
All you cranky seniors sending me hate mail and downing me in the blog ratings because you were offended by that last post should probably "cool your jets" for a minute.
Firstly, this is an adult site. This sophomoric humor, while brilliant and intrinsically vital to Humankind as a whole, should under no circumstances ever be viewed by children or cranky old bastards like you.
But on a personal level – thereby infinitely more important-- anyone that reads this blog for any length of time knows that no one in it gets spoofed harder than me.
Period.
So what can I say to all that, other than I only hope your sorry, miserable mirthlessness will one day soon be extinguished in a swift and merciful way?
I, conversely, choose laughter.
[LOBO]
All you cranky seniors sending me hate mail and downing me in the blog ratings because you were offended by that last post should probably "cool your jets" for a minute.
Firstly, this is an adult site. This sophomoric humor, while brilliant and intrinsically vital to Humankind as a whole, should under no circumstances ever be viewed by children or cranky old bastards like you.
But on a personal level – thereby infinitely more important-- anyone that reads this blog for any length of time knows that no one in it gets spoofed harder than me.
Period.
So what can I say to all that, other than I only hope your sorry, miserable mirthlessness will one day soon be extinguished in a swift and merciful way?
I, conversely, choose laughter.
Saturday
Smitten
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I didn’t have my door locked, and Babs ‘an six big guys in matching jumpsuits just come right in.
The jumpsuited glandular freaks are carrying furniture.
What the fuck?
“Good,” she says. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve decided I’m moving in.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? You might’ve squirmed out of that marriage business for now, but you’re still my bitch.”
“But we were getting along so well not seeing or talking to each other,” I reason.
“Yes, well all that’s changing.”
“Ma’am?” says a mover. “There isn’t going to be room for the china hutch.”
“The hell there isn’t,” she scowls, circling the house. Decidedly, she stops and points. “Get rid of that.”
“My big screen television!?” I says. “Look here, sister. What in the hell makes you think you can just walk right in here and start throwing out my stuff?”
“I can bend parking meters with my thighs.”
“What kind of china is it?”
[LOBO]
I didn’t have my door locked, and Babs ‘an six big guys in matching jumpsuits just come right in.
The jumpsuited glandular freaks are carrying furniture.
What the fuck?
“Good,” she says. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve decided I’m moving in.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? You might’ve squirmed out of that marriage business for now, but you’re still my bitch.”
“But we were getting along so well not seeing or talking to each other,” I reason.
“Yes, well all that’s changing.”
“Ma’am?” says a mover. “There isn’t going to be room for the china hutch.”
“The hell there isn’t,” she scowls, circling the house. Decidedly, she stops and points. “Get rid of that.”
“My big screen television!?” I says. “Look here, sister. What in the hell makes you think you can just walk right in here and start throwing out my stuff?”
“I can bend parking meters with my thighs.”
“What kind of china is it?”
Friday
Sugar Rush
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Please stop emailing me and asking me to run for President again.
Despite my $516 "Vote for LOBO Cuz Those Other Guys Suck!" media blitz, I didn't make a dent in the 2006 Elections; frankly, I wasn't even on the damned ballot.
The fact of the matter is I've got what politicians refer to as "baggage".
I used to be a Jolly Rancher whore.
Before I found God, I might've had a hard time talking about my "problem" this openly. But back when I was single --and before rehab-- if you were a hot chick with Jolly Ranchers, I would do anything.
It started off innocently enough; a hot chick offers me an Apple STIX, and then I 'top off' with a Wild Berry Fruit --you know, just to be social and fun.
But before long, I was doing Double and Sourbolt Blasts --you know, the heavy stuff-- and "servicing" three or four hot chicks at a time.
All this has all changed since I've found God, the Republican Party, and a girlfriend that would cut my nuts off for ever eating any Jolly Ranchers again.
So please stop asking me to run for President.
[LOBO]
Please stop emailing me and asking me to run for President again.
Despite my $516 "Vote for LOBO Cuz Those Other Guys Suck!" media blitz, I didn't make a dent in the 2006 Elections; frankly, I wasn't even on the damned ballot.
The fact of the matter is I've got what politicians refer to as "baggage".
I used to be a Jolly Rancher whore.
Before I found God, I might've had a hard time talking about my "problem" this openly. But back when I was single --and before rehab-- if you were a hot chick with Jolly Ranchers, I would do anything.
It started off innocently enough; a hot chick offers me an Apple STIX, and then I 'top off' with a Wild Berry Fruit --you know, just to be social and fun.
But before long, I was doing Double and Sourbolt Blasts --you know, the heavy stuff-- and "servicing" three or four hot chicks at a time.
All this has all changed since I've found God, the Republican Party, and a girlfriend that would cut my nuts off for ever eating any Jolly Ranchers again.
So please stop asking me to run for President.
Thursday
Kyle Sampson is a Big Fat Lying Poo-Poo Head
Predator Press
[LOBO]
It’s jerks like that that completely ruin our ability to enjoy this Zenith of Republican Enlightenment. Look around you! There are no wars, taxes, or poverty. Everyone is free to worship Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as much as they choose, and the streets are safe because anyone able to hold a gun, does.
And the spinach will definitely not kill you.
All you alarmist liberal hippies and pinko-commies should put down your hookahs and catch a boat back to whatever other country kicked you out for treason.
Move along. There's nothing to see here America; go about your business.
Everything’s just fine.
[LOBO]
It’s jerks like that that completely ruin our ability to enjoy this Zenith of Republican Enlightenment. Look around you! There are no wars, taxes, or poverty. Everyone is free to worship Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as much as they choose, and the streets are safe because anyone able to hold a gun, does.
And the spinach will definitely not kill you.
All you alarmist liberal hippies and pinko-commies should put down your hookahs and catch a boat back to whatever other country kicked you out for treason.
Move along. There's nothing to see here America; go about your business.
Everything’s just fine.
Wednesday
Cured
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“You’re finished with your Penance already my son?” asks a skeptical Father Fritz.
“10,000 ‘Hail Marys’?” I says. “Not a chance.”
“Well then what are you doing here?”
“It’s a Miracle,” I says excitedly. “I’m no longer a pyromaniac, nymphomaniac, or hypocondriac. And my claustrophobia, necrophobia, xylophobia, spectrophobia, bolshephobia, agateophobia, phthiriophobia, syngenesophobia, coimetrophobia, sophophobia, virginitiphobia, agrophobia, russophobia, spacephobia, myrmecophobia, phasmophobia, and phobophobia? Gone. Gone! And best of all, my sinuses decompressed for the first time in weeks.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Who would’ve thought chemically-treated pallets would smell so good.”
“Pallets?” says Fritz. “Where exactly were you saying those ‘Hail Marys’?”
“At the music studio.”
“You have pallets at a music studio?”
“No, no. I was at the warehouse.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Well, I did like ten or fifteen of them but it was getting really tedious. So I made a recording of saying it, and set it on a loop. According to my calculatrons, by this time next Wednesday I’ll have said like 50,000 of them!”
“I don’t think you understand the concept of Penance,” chided Fritz.
“Sure I do,” I says. “Even after I added drums and guitar, it’s totally mind-numbing after a while. You know, with billions of people doing that every day, I would bet God is ready to blow his brains out.”
“You’re supposed to suffer through it in a show of Faith and Discipline, in hopes that the Saints will prepare your way to Heaven!”
“Aw, but all those guys are dead! Can’t I just smite some pagans or something? I know tons of Protestants just begging to be smoted.”
“Penance isn’t supposed to be fun!”
“We have a gay guy at work. What if I go into Jimmy Orlando’s office once a day, and, like, shuffle all his papers up while he’s a lunch? Or maybe burn his house down?”
“Jimmy Orlando?” says Fritz. “How do you know Jimmy Orlando?”
“I dunno. We met him a year or so ago,” I says. “He claims to work part-time as a pool boy for some hotshot bigwig in Miami.”
“What is Jimmy doing working as a pool boy?”
“I dunno," I shrug. "We checked it out. This guy ain’t got no pool."
[LOBO]
“You’re finished with your Penance already my son?” asks a skeptical Father Fritz.
“10,000 ‘Hail Marys’?” I says. “Not a chance.”
“Well then what are you doing here?”
“It’s a Miracle,” I says excitedly. “I’m no longer a pyromaniac, nymphomaniac, or hypocondriac. And my claustrophobia, necrophobia, xylophobia, spectrophobia, bolshephobia, agateophobia, phthiriophobia, syngenesophobia, coimetrophobia, sophophobia, virginitiphobia, agrophobia, russophobia, spacephobia, myrmecophobia, phasmophobia, and phobophobia? Gone. Gone! And best of all, my sinuses decompressed for the first time in weeks.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Who would’ve thought chemically-treated pallets would smell so good.”
“Pallets?” says Fritz. “Where exactly were you saying those ‘Hail Marys’?”
“At the music studio.”
“You have pallets at a music studio?”
“No, no. I was at the warehouse.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Well, I did like ten or fifteen of them but it was getting really tedious. So I made a recording of saying it, and set it on a loop. According to my calculatrons, by this time next Wednesday I’ll have said like 50,000 of them!”
“I don’t think you understand the concept of Penance,” chided Fritz.
“Sure I do,” I says. “Even after I added drums and guitar, it’s totally mind-numbing after a while. You know, with billions of people doing that every day, I would bet God is ready to blow his brains out.”
“You’re supposed to suffer through it in a show of Faith and Discipline, in hopes that the Saints will prepare your way to Heaven!”
“Aw, but all those guys are dead! Can’t I just smite some pagans or something? I know tons of Protestants just begging to be smoted.”
“Penance isn’t supposed to be fun!”
“We have a gay guy at work. What if I go into Jimmy Orlando’s office once a day, and, like, shuffle all his papers up while he’s a lunch? Or maybe burn his house down?”
“Jimmy Orlando?” says Fritz. “How do you know Jimmy Orlando?”
“I dunno. We met him a year or so ago,” I says. “He claims to work part-time as a pool boy for some hotshot bigwig in Miami.”
“What is Jimmy doing working as a pool boy?”
“I dunno," I shrug. "We checked it out. This guy ain’t got no pool."
Tuesday
Salsa
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I'm looking down through the trees, and there she is.
And I'm wanting to wave, but I realize she is undressing quickly, and not aware that I can see her undressing; she slides her shorts down over her curvy hips, and in moments she's not even wearing a thong. And then the shirt; a brief and tantalizing silhouette of those magnificent breasts--
"Look," says Father Fritz. "Fine, you're a Republican now. But this isn't therapy, it's Confession --"
"But then she starts rubbing down with this tanning lotion... "
Father Fritz scowls, "Now you're just bragging."
[LOBO]
I'm looking down through the trees, and there she is.
And I'm wanting to wave, but I realize she is undressing quickly, and not aware that I can see her undressing; she slides her shorts down over her curvy hips, and in moments she's not even wearing a thong. And then the shirt; a brief and tantalizing silhouette of those magnificent breasts--
"Look," says Father Fritz. "Fine, you're a Republican now. But this isn't therapy, it's Confession --"
"But then she starts rubbing down with this tanning lotion... "
Father Fritz scowls, "Now you're just bragging."
Bittersweet
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I don't tell you this often, so when I say explicitly "this is a true story," this is a True Story. My mom, given the opportunity, will confirm it.
And neither one of us recall me as a toddler being a particularly fussy eater.
But when introduced to Brussels's sprouts, it was on.
I still hate those innocuous-looking vile little hellspawned biological perversions.
Oh, sure mom issued the S.O.P. 'Miranda Rights' for a kid: "No desert 'til you clean your plate!" --generally this heralded "GAME OVER"; it was a matter of time before I would capitulate.
Except this time; even after a cascading portfolio of ice cream and Popsicles, I would not budge.
Dad said "Fine," and put me in the high chair. "No desert at all then. Yell for us when you're done."
And then they left for the living room.
They turned the lights off, and the television on.
... My god, these people aren't bluffing.
***
Around 9:30, I was kaput.
And I had no ideas.
I made an audible sound, acknowledging tiredly 'I give up!'. The living room stirred to life in that flickering pale blue light of the television amongst giggles like, "Well, I was starting to think he was never going to cave in."
It was at that exact moment, as they so smugly gloated, that I stuffed those vile green horrible objects into my cheeks.
And I waited.
***
6:30 the next morning was routine: I get deposited in the bathroom momentarily while mom gathers the diaper change and my daily threads.
But just starting to scuttle and crawl, I've got some surprising mobility, and right at that Single Perfect Moment I drag myself of the side of the toilet bowl, and spit those hateful sprouts from last night directly in the toilet.
It was the perfect crime.
Except I didn't know how to flush yet.
[LOBO]
I don't tell you this often, so when I say explicitly "this is a true story," this is a True Story. My mom, given the opportunity, will confirm it.
And neither one of us recall me as a toddler being a particularly fussy eater.
But when introduced to Brussels's sprouts, it was on.
I still hate those innocuous-looking vile little hellspawned biological perversions.
Oh, sure mom issued the S.O.P. 'Miranda Rights' for a kid: "No desert 'til you clean your plate!" --generally this heralded "GAME OVER"; it was a matter of time before I would capitulate.
Except this time; even after a cascading portfolio of ice cream and Popsicles, I would not budge.
Dad said "Fine," and put me in the high chair. "No desert at all then. Yell for us when you're done."
And then they left for the living room.
They turned the lights off, and the television on.
... My god, these people aren't bluffing.
Around 9:30, I was kaput.
And I had no ideas.
I made an audible sound, acknowledging tiredly 'I give up!'. The living room stirred to life in that flickering pale blue light of the television amongst giggles like, "Well, I was starting to think he was never going to cave in."
It was at that exact moment, as they so smugly gloated, that I stuffed those vile green horrible objects into my cheeks.
And I waited.
6:30 the next morning was routine: I get deposited in the bathroom momentarily while mom gathers the diaper change and my daily threads.
But just starting to scuttle and crawl, I've got some surprising mobility, and right at that Single Perfect Moment I drag myself of the side of the toilet bowl, and spit those hateful sprouts from last night directly in the toilet.
It was the perfect crime.
Except I didn't know how to flush yet.
"Beta" Blogger
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I swear to God, I can't tell you how much I hate what they've done to Blogger ... On a tight schedule, I just lost two hours worth of work because of their defective "Word Verication" software --I even backed the page up both times to see if the mistake was mine!
I would so love to freeze every last one of them in liquid nitrogen, and slowly chip little pieces off until I was knee deep in gory slush ...
[LOBO]
I swear to God, I can't tell you how much I hate what they've done to Blogger ... On a tight schedule, I just lost two hours worth of work because of their defective "Word Verication" software --I even backed the page up both times to see if the mistake was mine!
I would so love to freeze every last one of them in liquid nitrogen, and slowly chip little pieces off until I was knee deep in gory slush ...
Monday
The Truth About Goats
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I use really stringent email filters.
So every once in a while I have to check the “junk” mailbox, just in case any of you rabid and screaming fans are leaving more steamy love letters and/or death threats.
“Spammers”, as they are called by you techno-geeks, are getting more clever all the time, weaving their schemes in a ‘hot stock tip’, or ‘Flandsa Ha’asasanba needs your help to smuggle $80 billion dollars out of Wangswaba’ or ‘enlarge you penis’ ads.
You know, news you can use.
Today, I was shocked to find one that said, “Give Poor Farmers a Fighting Chance.”
Farmers?
Fuck the farmers!
Look, I don’t know about you, but I get my food straight from the grocery store. What Liberal conspiracy is even keeping these guys around anymore? I know for a fact by watching lots of television that farmers don’t do shit except for breed 'goats' (frankly, the ugliest and least-domesticatable strain of dog I've ever seen), obstruct much-needed superhighways and airports over greedily-oversized real estate claims, and occasionally provide a vehicle for another critically acclaimed Pauly Shore movie.
You know, if those hippies stopped soliciting hand-outs via these emails all blitzed on hemp and got a real job, I’ll bet their luck would change real fast. How about getting off of your lazy asses and maybe helping out poor Flandsa Ha’asasanba, you selfish jerks?
This country is completely going to shit.
[LOBO]
I use really stringent email filters.
So every once in a while I have to check the “junk” mailbox, just in case any of you rabid and screaming fans are leaving more steamy love letters and/or death threats.
“Spammers”, as they are called by you techno-geeks, are getting more clever all the time, weaving their schemes in a ‘hot stock tip’, or ‘Flandsa Ha’asasanba needs your help to smuggle $80 billion dollars out of Wangswaba’ or ‘enlarge you penis’ ads.
You know, news you can use.
Today, I was shocked to find one that said, “Give Poor Farmers a Fighting Chance.”
Farmers?
Fuck the farmers!
Look, I don’t know about you, but I get my food straight from the grocery store. What Liberal conspiracy is even keeping these guys around anymore? I know for a fact by watching lots of television that farmers don’t do shit except for breed 'goats' (frankly, the ugliest and least-domesticatable strain of dog I've ever seen), obstruct much-needed superhighways and airports over greedily-oversized real estate claims, and occasionally provide a vehicle for another critically acclaimed Pauly Shore movie.
You know, if those hippies stopped soliciting hand-outs via these emails all blitzed on hemp and got a real job, I’ll bet their luck would change real fast. How about getting off of your lazy asses and maybe helping out poor Flandsa Ha’asasanba, you selfish jerks?
This country is completely going to shit.
Sunday
PEACE ACCORD ACHIEVED
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Well, thanks to extensive LOBOnian Diplomacy, over the span of a single weekend the long-sought-after Peace between the volatile Fort Waynians and the warlike Sanduskanites has been achieved.
God, to look at them you never think the potentially-Apocalyptic conflict even occurred!
As Prime Minister of LOBOnia, I would just like to say no thanks or Nobel Peace Prizes are necessary; we only wanted to intervene before more needless bloodshed.
… but didn't Yasser Arafat get, like, 9 billion dollars for this sort of thing?
[LOBO]
Well, thanks to extensive LOBOnian Diplomacy, over the span of a single weekend the long-sought-after Peace between the volatile Fort Waynians and the warlike Sanduskanites has been achieved.
God, to look at them you never think the potentially-Apocalyptic conflict even occurred!
As Prime Minister of LOBOnia, I would just like to say no thanks or Nobel Peace Prizes are necessary; we only wanted to intervene before more needless bloodshed.
… but didn't Yasser Arafat get, like, 9 billion dollars for this sort of thing?
See Ethan? We Can Do Politics Too!
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Alas, fair Fort Wayne, Indiana; there is treachery afoot!
Even as you sleep, Sansduky, Ohio is spreading disinformation about you and beloved LOBOnia in a vain effort to divide our peoples by eroding our long-standing diplomatic ties for an inevitable attack.
I trust, by your name, that you indeed have a "fort", and hopefully it is of the good sturdy treehouse variety; we have intercepted 'chatter' sent to us that contains invasion plans, as well as a string of malicious obscenities about your mommas so vile I dare not print them here.
As you ready your war machines to avenge this slander, you may take solace in that all peace efforts have already been exhausted without heed: the Sanduskians, a warlike and expansionist community just seething with cooties, would have no part in any of the numerous LOBOnian efforts to achieve a diplomatic resolution.
The hearts, minds and prayers of the LOBOnain people go with you into the doubtlessly bloody carnage that they have wrought upon us all.
Woe to thee, o Sandusky! Why have you demanded the righteous, indignant wrath of two staunchly unified and powerful allies upon yourselves?
(God, this is fun. I feel just like Ronald Reagan!)
[LOBO]
Alas, fair Fort Wayne, Indiana; there is treachery afoot!
Even as you sleep, Sansduky, Ohio is spreading disinformation about you and beloved LOBOnia in a vain effort to divide our peoples by eroding our long-standing diplomatic ties for an inevitable attack.
I trust, by your name, that you indeed have a "fort", and hopefully it is of the good sturdy treehouse variety; we have intercepted 'chatter' sent to us that contains invasion plans, as well as a string of malicious obscenities about your mommas so vile I dare not print them here.
As you ready your war machines to avenge this slander, you may take solace in that all peace efforts have already been exhausted without heed: the Sanduskians, a warlike and expansionist community just seething with cooties, would have no part in any of the numerous LOBOnian efforts to achieve a diplomatic resolution.
The hearts, minds and prayers of the LOBOnain people go with you into the doubtlessly bloody carnage that they have wrought upon us all.
Woe to thee, o Sandusky! Why have you demanded the righteous, indignant wrath of two staunchly unified and powerful allies upon yourselves?
(God, this is fun. I feel just like Ronald Reagan!)
Saturday
Armada
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Oh, noble Sandusky, Ohio, I too was shocked at the news that you had been maligned, and maligned under the guise of LOBOnian Diplomacy!
But as you can see via satellite photos, we have not even air support; our entire Naval Armada lies dry and askew scattered across my bathtub! Surely we could not have wanted to provoke a conflict with a power as great, merciful, and as capable of enjoying some good-natured ribbing such as yours.
Our Intel suggests the true source of those slanderous allegations to be Fort Wayne, Indiana. Those jerks have been talking shit about you for years, and their Japanese cohorts are making fun of your penis size!
Once I fill the bathtub with that "Safety Fluid", the LOBOnian Navy will be reactivated and fully operational again, ready to deliver swift and lethal payback to Fort Wayne, Indiana --thusly thwarting the evil Japanese plot for autocracy. I'll even throw in six 'GI Joes', a shark, and a giant rubber duck!
Don't laugh at the duck, dude. He may have a cute smile, but he's got 4 settings:
1) LOW,
2) MEDIUM,
3) NAPALM, FILLET, AND DESTROY WITH NUCLEAR AND BIOLOGICAL PREJUDICE WHEN NECESSARY, and
4) HIGH.
Nodody fucks with The Duck, pal.
[LOBO]
Oh, noble Sandusky, Ohio, I too was shocked at the news that you had been maligned, and maligned under the guise of LOBOnian Diplomacy!
But as you can see via satellite photos, we have not even air support; our entire Naval Armada lies dry and askew scattered across my bathtub! Surely we could not have wanted to provoke a conflict with a power as great, merciful, and as capable of enjoying some good-natured ribbing such as yours.
Our Intel suggests the true source of those slanderous allegations to be Fort Wayne, Indiana. Those jerks have been talking shit about you for years, and their Japanese cohorts are making fun of your penis size!
Once I fill the bathtub with that "Safety Fluid", the LOBOnian Navy will be reactivated and fully operational again, ready to deliver swift and lethal payback to Fort Wayne, Indiana --thusly thwarting the evil Japanese plot for autocracy. I'll even throw in six 'GI Joes', a shark, and a giant rubber duck!
Don't laugh at the duck, dude. He may have a cute smile, but he's got 4 settings:
1) LOW,
2) MEDIUM,
3) NAPALM, FILLET, AND DESTROY WITH NUCLEAR AND BIOLOGICAL PREJUDICE WHEN NECESSARY, and
4) HIGH.
Nodody fucks with The Duck, pal.
WWID
Predator Press
[LOBO]
While torching this hideous PC seemed rather innocuous and necessary at first, I failed to recognize the intrinsic flammable properties that an office full of paper airplanes might indeed possess; in the moments before the sprinkler kicked on, I witnessed the horror of the entire LOBOnian Air Force rendered to ineffective ash.
It was like Pearl Harbor all over again ... 'cept worse, because this happened to me.
Lousy Slants!
Of the entire elite cadre of my finest and deadliest engineering marvels, the only craft that survived was the badly charred T-14 Super-Sonic Stealth Death Bomber Plus II. And during the preliminary test flight to assess the damage, she arched straight to the ground with a soggy and ungraceful splat; her ruptured frame failed to keep the munitions from detonating, and she too joined the ranks of the staggering, catastrophic loss.
On this historic day, March 24, 2007 --even as Sandusky, Ohio is receiving a noterized LOBOnian Declaration of War that states flatly that their entire city has cooties, and lays out in detail my brazen demand for it's unconditional surrender-- the LOBOnian air defenses have been wholly and utterly wiped out.
Military might decimated, we are forced to recruit.
We're looking for a few good men.
... and a lot of really bad girls.
[LOBO]
While torching this hideous PC seemed rather innocuous and necessary at first, I failed to recognize the intrinsic flammable properties that an office full of paper airplanes might indeed possess; in the moments before the sprinkler kicked on, I witnessed the horror of the entire LOBOnian Air Force rendered to ineffective ash.
It was like Pearl Harbor all over again ... 'cept worse, because this happened to me.
Lousy Slants!
Of the entire elite cadre of my finest and deadliest engineering marvels, the only craft that survived was the badly charred T-14 Super-Sonic Stealth Death Bomber Plus II. And during the preliminary test flight to assess the damage, she arched straight to the ground with a soggy and ungraceful splat; her ruptured frame failed to keep the munitions from detonating, and she too joined the ranks of the staggering, catastrophic loss.
On this historic day, March 24, 2007 --even as Sandusky, Ohio is receiving a noterized LOBOnian Declaration of War that states flatly that their entire city has cooties, and lays out in detail my brazen demand for it's unconditional surrender-- the LOBOnian air defenses have been wholly and utterly wiped out.
Military might decimated, we are forced to recruit.
We're looking for a few good men.
... and a lot of really bad girls.
Friday
Errata
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Ethan,
I'm due for a computer upgrade.
I hate this "off-white" CPU color ... it clashes badly with the interior of my office. Don't they make 'Dells' with maybe an imported walnut finish? Corinthian leather keyboards? Cup holders?
You don't want important corporate visitors thinking we're unsophisticated barbarians back here, do you?
Cripes, now this thing reeks of gasoline too!
In any case, we should take this one back to Microsoft and demand a full refund, as well as a personal apology from Bill Gates.
And a car.
[LOBO]
Ethan,
I'm due for a computer upgrade.
I hate this "off-white" CPU color ... it clashes badly with the interior of my office. Don't they make 'Dells' with maybe an imported walnut finish? Corinthian leather keyboards? Cup holders?
You don't want important corporate visitors thinking we're unsophisticated barbarians back here, do you?
Cripes, now this thing reeks of gasoline too!
In any case, we should take this one back to Microsoft and demand a full refund, as well as a personal apology from Bill Gates.
And a car.
Thursday
A Body Apolitique
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In a world of politically polarized blogs, my lack of "affiliation" drives Ethan totally bats.
The truth is, I've known some pretty fine people -and some rather spectacular train wrecks-- from both ends of the spectrum; my personal experience has taught me that a person's political and religious beliefs are rarely a reliable moral barometer. In fact, I find extreme levels of involvement bear out to the contrary; it often seems the more a person talks about what they believe, the less they behave in the manner of their chosen endorsement.
I've tried "staying on top" via various media, but the political charge always seems to bring out the worst in people; everybody is so busy distilling the information and calling everyone else liars, provocateurs and thieves, I couldn't tell you a good, reliable and objective news source were there a gun pointed at my head.
–besides Predator Press, of course.
Look, it's not complicated; either you want to defend, elevate and improve your own circumstances, or you want to improve, elevate or defend the environment of the circumstances and the collective whole, uh, thereby indirectly improving your own circumstances.
Hm.
Well, far be it from me to get in your ardent and virtuous way; hell, you screwballs are already so choked of fantastic conspiracy theories, finger-pointing and wild accusations, there isn't enough room for Predator Press to contribute!
Ultimately, this results in more leisure time for me; I'll step aside and let you make the comedy. Give kids 9mms in schools in an effort to understand the Metric System, and then automatic weapons while guarding the home in case of massive and well-coordinated quail or deer uprisings. Change the word "Prison" in the dictionary to "Low-Income Housing", "Starving" to "Sheik and Slender", and "Homeless" to "Independent Dwelling". Wreck the planet --and pay an oil man $3 a gallon of gas to do it! Bomb people frequently, and then pay "think tanks" to try and figure out why those people are are so irrationaly pissed off. Follow divisive religious tenants, and by all means kill people in Righteous Indignation. "Liberate" faraway communities of people of people you've never even heard of by either employing them or exterminating them --better yet, letting them exterminate each other once there services are no longer required! Fail not to look with adoring eyes and wallets (and various other body parts) upon the staggering contributions to humanity by such towering intellects as Anna-Nicole, Dick Cheney and Paris Hilton.
Promise me eons of Enrons, ages of atrocity, and volumes of vanity!
Because that's funny.
[LOBO]
In a world of politically polarized blogs, my lack of "affiliation" drives Ethan totally bats.
The truth is, I've known some pretty fine people -and some rather spectacular train wrecks-- from both ends of the spectrum; my personal experience has taught me that a person's political and religious beliefs are rarely a reliable moral barometer. In fact, I find extreme levels of involvement bear out to the contrary; it often seems the more a person talks about what they believe, the less they behave in the manner of their chosen endorsement.
I've tried "staying on top" via various media, but the political charge always seems to bring out the worst in people; everybody is so busy distilling the information and calling everyone else liars, provocateurs and thieves, I couldn't tell you a good, reliable and objective news source were there a gun pointed at my head.
–besides Predator Press, of course.
Look, it's not complicated; either you want to defend, elevate and improve your own circumstances, or you want to improve, elevate or defend the environment of the circumstances and the collective whole, uh, thereby indirectly improving your own circumstances.
Hm.
Well, far be it from me to get in your ardent and virtuous way; hell, you screwballs are already so choked of fantastic conspiracy theories, finger-pointing and wild accusations, there isn't enough room for Predator Press to contribute!
Ultimately, this results in more leisure time for me; I'll step aside and let you make the comedy. Give kids 9mms in schools in an effort to understand the Metric System, and then automatic weapons while guarding the home in case of massive and well-coordinated quail or deer uprisings. Change the word "Prison" in the dictionary to "Low-Income Housing", "Starving" to "Sheik and Slender", and "Homeless" to "Independent Dwelling". Wreck the planet --and pay an oil man $3 a gallon of gas to do it! Bomb people frequently, and then pay "think tanks" to try and figure out why those people are are so irrationaly pissed off. Follow divisive religious tenants, and by all means kill people in Righteous Indignation. "Liberate" faraway communities of people of people you've never even heard of by either employing them or exterminating them --better yet, letting them exterminate each other once there services are no longer required! Fail not to look with adoring eyes and wallets (and various other body parts) upon the staggering contributions to humanity by such towering intellects as Anna-Nicole, Dick Cheney and Paris Hilton.
Promise me eons of Enrons, ages of atrocity, and volumes of vanity!
Because that's funny.
Tuesday
Samsara
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Didja ever notice how rare it is when everything seems to be "in tune"?
Like maybe your job is great, the bills are paid, and you're surrounded by friends and loved ones ... but then your best friend and your old lady accidentally knock a scented candle over while having sex, and burn the house and all your worldly possessions to the ground? Or you win the lottery, and while jumping around in jubilant celebration you snag a testicle on a protruding rusty nail? Remember the first time when --beguiled by the rather grandiose name-- you found out a urinal cake was not the fluffy confection you were led to believe it was?
Well, that's how life works. It's a box of chocolates where you often find nothing but coconut creams.
After weeks, I got the blog "spider friendly" again and we're already back up to number 2 --I anticipate overtaking those wildlife jerks in the number 1 spot again anytime now. But I've got a nasty cold again and I'm so stuffy I can't think of anything 'spiff' to write; while usually slowed down scrawling notes on Post Its against my steering wheel at 94 MPH, I'm way early for work today. Staggering around in a Nyquil-induced fog, drinking coffee that tastes like a roast boot, I'm spinning the unappetizing food in the vending machine in an apparent effort to make spraypainted soybean products dizzy.
This colorless and blasé "Wheel of Suffering" has nothing new to hold my interest today. It cares not for the lost souls it sustains, nor how it tastes to the wreched fools who dare the inevitably fatal rectal trauma; joylessly shorting you 85 cents change, it shares its bountiful array of microwavable cheeseburgers that were never cheese or beef, chicken fajitas that are tortillas stuffed with lettuce and green peppers idly mulling rumors that chicken was involved in the process somewhere ...
And, staring absently into that smudgy glass, I don't particularly care.
We're number 2?
To Environmentalists?
I find this highly offensive.
For those of you that have known me awhile, you may remember that I'm twice the survivor of pneumonia. And I don't use the word 'survivor' loosely, either; the last time I was in the ICU for three weeks. The doctor told me a third 'bout' would likely be the last. So we have to take 2nd place to a bunch of jerks trying to protect an environment that's unabashedly been trying to kill me for years? Hell, if anything, the 'environment' should get it's ass kicked; for years now, it's presented me with nothing more than a constant assault of inclement weather and deadly microscopic flesh-eating bacteria, in a world infested by clever and fast-moving hungry carnivores and axe-wielding Heisman Trophy winners.
The fact is that 'The Environment' kills dozens of people every day, and there are various scientists that can prove it: "Mother Nature" would like nothing more than to dance in the splendor of my tasty and nutritious slippery entrails!
I've had just about enough of this 'environment' crap, thank you. I say we all take this moment in history to show this bitch "Mother Nature" exactly who's in charge around here ...
[LOBO]
Didja ever notice how rare it is when everything seems to be "in tune"?
Like maybe your job is great, the bills are paid, and you're surrounded by friends and loved ones ... but then your best friend and your old lady accidentally knock a scented candle over while having sex, and burn the house and all your worldly possessions to the ground? Or you win the lottery, and while jumping around in jubilant celebration you snag a testicle on a protruding rusty nail? Remember the first time when --beguiled by the rather grandiose name-- you found out a urinal cake was not the fluffy confection you were led to believe it was?
Well, that's how life works. It's a box of chocolates where you often find nothing but coconut creams.
After weeks, I got the blog "spider friendly" again and we're already back up to number 2 --I anticipate overtaking those wildlife jerks in the number 1 spot again anytime now. But I've got a nasty cold again and I'm so stuffy I can't think of anything 'spiff' to write; while usually slowed down scrawling notes on Post Its against my steering wheel at 94 MPH, I'm way early for work today. Staggering around in a Nyquil-induced fog, drinking coffee that tastes like a roast boot, I'm spinning the unappetizing food in the vending machine in an apparent effort to make spraypainted soybean products dizzy.
This colorless and blasé "Wheel of Suffering" has nothing new to hold my interest today. It cares not for the lost souls it sustains, nor how it tastes to the wreched fools who dare the inevitably fatal rectal trauma; joylessly shorting you 85 cents change, it shares its bountiful array of microwavable cheeseburgers that were never cheese or beef, chicken fajitas that are tortillas stuffed with lettuce and green peppers idly mulling rumors that chicken was involved in the process somewhere ...
And, staring absently into that smudgy glass, I don't particularly care.
We're number 2?
To Environmentalists?
I find this highly offensive.
For those of you that have known me awhile, you may remember that I'm twice the survivor of pneumonia. And I don't use the word 'survivor' loosely, either; the last time I was in the ICU for three weeks. The doctor told me a third 'bout' would likely be the last. So we have to take 2nd place to a bunch of jerks trying to protect an environment that's unabashedly been trying to kill me for years? Hell, if anything, the 'environment' should get it's ass kicked; for years now, it's presented me with nothing more than a constant assault of inclement weather and deadly microscopic flesh-eating bacteria, in a world infested by clever and fast-moving hungry carnivores and axe-wielding Heisman Trophy winners.
The fact is that 'The Environment' kills dozens of people every day, and there are various scientists that can prove it: "Mother Nature" would like nothing more than to dance in the splendor of my tasty and nutritious slippery entrails!
I've had just about enough of this 'environment' crap, thank you. I say we all take this moment in history to show this bitch "Mother Nature" exactly who's in charge around here ...
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