Pentagon OKs "Cap 'n Crunchboarding"

Predator Press

[LOBO]

If you thought those things cut the roof of your mouth, imagine them stabbing into your Frontal lobe!

[*shiver*]

How To Prepare For The End

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The first problem with the Swine Flu is the name itself. Blech! Who names these things anyway? Would it have been so bad to name it something more palatable like the "Fuzzy-Bunny" flu?

To test this theory, I called my mom and told her I had a bad case of Fuzzy Bunnies. She thought it was wonderful, and requested I save her one.

But because this disease can kill you, the cutesy name theorem is imperfect: "Fuzzy Bunny" entered on your Death Certificate as 'Cause of Death' can have an extremely negative effect on your street cred; once the illness turns lethal, we're going to want to call it something more dangerous sounding.

Currently I’m leaning toward "Thor’s Bitchslap."

-Now that sounds like a pretty cool way to die.

That being said, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is according to numerous highly-scientific simulations I’ve conducted on the Flash game Pandemic II, I figure you all have maybe eight days left before the virulent "wonderful" outbreak of Fuzzy-Bunny devolves fully into the subsequent -and inevitably fatal- onset of Thor’s Bitchslap.

But the good news is with proper precautions there’s still hope for all of you not transmitting this disease to me. The Predator Press Center For Disease Control has issued the following recommendations:

1) Boil yourself at a minimum temperature of 165 degrees Fahrenheit prior to contact in a one half bleach, one half Lysol and one half holy water solution.

2) Burn all your germ infested property (unless you think I might want it). Use careful discretion here ... I don’t want pictures of your kids and whatever. Please limit this salvage to luxury cars, high-end electronics and precious metals.

3) Be tidy. Without remaining hosts to be transmitted to, most pandemics will burn themselves out in a few months: the only thing worse than me wandering around mid-July roasting in a hazmat suit would be doing so knee-deep in a bunch of stinky skeletons. Please have some consideration. Cremation also 100% eliminates the possibility of you returning as zombies.

In conclusion, you all being dead will be a terrible thing for me to endure: I thank you in advance for easing my painful experience through your efforts.

Arlen Specter Defects to Left!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Having recently become hotly critical if the Republican Party myself, I’m not particularly shocked that after a lifetime of right-wing policies Arlen Spector has abandoned that bunch of assholes once Predator Press demanded it.

-But didn’t this bastard kill Barbarella?

I don’t know. While impressive, killing the herione credited with rescuing Doctor Durand Durand from the planet SoGo seems to me to be an indellible black mark on your record no matter which side of the political fence you’re on.

But you gotta give it up for that hair.

Seriously.

Tomb of Cleopatra Discovered!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I'm laughing at this idea too hard to actually write it.

-The best suitable story for this entered in "comments" will be republished with full credit to the guest writer.

:)

Richard Marks

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Mister Cheney, after 33 waterboardings I doubt Zubaydah is going to tell us anything at all. I recommend halting this procedure due to it's ineffectiveness.

-Also, Starbucks discontinued "Blended Lemonade" earlier this year.

Would you like to order something else?

Finally!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I’m so jazzed. According to CNN, my all-time favorite filmaker Spike Lee is introducing two new films at the 2009 Tribeca Film Festival!

I wonder what they will be about.

I've Already Repented, So God And I Are Cool On This

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I’m a news junkie I guess. While surfing, I’ll have my television running CNN or MSNBC or whatever in the background, and news ticker widgets a go-go feeding me “headlines.”

And I would like to think the only reason I even heard Miss California Carrie Prejean’s remarks on same-sex marriage is because it’s kind of a “local story.”

But here I am.

In short, during the course of the Miss USA pageant she was asked her opinion and –oops- she gave it.

While I didn’t agree with her, it wasn’t some frothing hostile rant. Frankly, considering the -ahem- "forum," it was well-articulated. It was the kind of thing you might hear and shrug, “Well, I don’t think anyone is going to be changing her mind on it soon,” and that would be that.

Also worth mentioning perhaps is that I don’t have any particular stake in her opinions, and maybe that makes me a little less sensitive than I should be: my evolving a profound social view based on a teenage beauty queen’s insights is about as unlikely as me becoming gay myself (and based on this logic, were I ever to attempt watching a Miss USA Pageant I doubt I would even have the volume up).

But while disagreeing with what she said, I think -eh- editorials like Perez Hilton's aren't warranted. (-And wow has Hilton let herself go since "The Simple Life." Woof!) Still, the subsequent national freak out does intrigue me: it would appear this issue won't be back-burnered for much longer.

People are getting pissed.

So why do people oppose same sex marriage? Is it homophobia? What exactly are these so-called “straight” people so afraid of? Do they think well-catered Oscars parties will just spontaneously explode in their newly redecorated living rooms?

You have to look at the religious aspect with some skepticism too. Look if blowing up busloads of people because your mystical boogeyman doesn’t like their mystical boogeyman sounds rational, maybe that's your bag. Go crazy. Knock yourself out. If you can't find a dead chicken to wave over your television, I'm sure a can of Campbell's Chunky Chicken Noodle will do.

But why should the Government care what sex you are? -Especially one so deeply ensconced in nifty buzzwords like “Freedom”?

I wouldn't be so blunt, but the Religious Right treats these people like livestock: we should take the gender questions off of marriage licenses so the churches can go fight their own battles. Let's give the issue back to the people maintaining “Liberty” from of one side of their mouths and supporting persecution from the other.

-This isn't my problem, Miss Prejean.

It's yours.

Ghost of a Chance

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Okay. Maybe calling in The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS) on my first day as Director of Psychiatry wasn’t such a good idea. But how often am I going to have full access to an asylum? You’ll never get anywhere in life if you don’t take some chances every now and then.

-Besides if the place is haunted, those poor crazy people have a right to know.

When All Else Fails

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“I told you to stop applying for psychiatrist jobs!” says Terri, scowling into my CareerBuilder account.

“It’s not just any psychiatrist job.” I explain. “It’s Director of Psychiatry. I would run, like, a fleet of psychiatrists. Those cats make like $250,000 a year.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“How hard could it be?” I shrug. “I carry around a clipboard, and make all the patients in my asylum smoke cannabis while listening to old Beatles records. Hell people will be trying to break in.”

“You’re not qualified!”

“I get my second interview tomorrow.”

“Really?”

Snarquis de Sade

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I know you all have seen this image in the past, but I wanted to update my screenshot on various services: this is my all-time favorite Photoshop –a pic originally spawned by my buddy Speedcat Hollydale. (You can see his original version by clicking the pic.)

For me, today is general blog maintenance: I’ve added a “Top Commenter” widget (see ”Pack Mentality,” right), and Twitter –although I’m not 100% on Twitter yet. While currently unfamiliar and purely experimental, please feel free to add me as a Twitter follower [@SnarquisDeSade] and I’ll return the favor.

-I don’t really foresee being able to devote a lot of time to Twitter, but at the very least I regard it as a handy little shorthand tool for keeping track of some of my favorite people.

What if our Alien Visitors are Delicious?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Oh, come on ... you're all thinking it, you're just too chicken to ask.

And I can already hear you bleeding heart liberals complaining, 'But LOBO, aliens capable of interstellar travel would be super-intelligent!' blah blah.

Oh please ... ridden a bus lately? What if these are celestial losers tryin to get a picture of themselves next to the intergalactic equivalent of the 'World's Biggest Ball of Yarn?"

Pthbttt!

The capability of travel doesn't impress me. In fact non-intelligent beings travel every day (see photo, right).

And frankly, these rude and unannounced tourists being 'intelligent' only makes the idea more attractive: what could be better than a meal that preheats the oven, sets the timer, lathers itself in a fine Mornay sauce and is fully cooked to a succulent golden-brown before you even get home?

As far as I'm concerned, the only question is whether to serve them with a white wine or a red.

Playing With Matches

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.

See, nowadays new blogs are poppin up everywhere and all the time. I’m willing to bet at this point there are like fifteen or twenty of them -all industriously ripping off my idea to have an online diary, and paying me, um, zero in royalties.

And I'm fine with that really. There is no real need to thank me ... from the very conception of the concept of “blogging,” I knew it was too great a gift not to share with the rest of Humankind.

-But I cannot, in good conscience, let said Humankind forget the history behind it.

As an example, I invite you to take the following quiz:


HINTS
v

One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.

The other will only write about it.


One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.

The other is made of Latex and rubber.



One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.

The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.


One of these two was in a TV series.

The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.



One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.

The other is somehow cashing in despite "Pet Detective", and Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Budget Surpluses."



One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.

(In this case, both answers are correct. I can't tell the difference either.)



***

Now for any of you that took this quiz and didn’t score like four million points, I think you really need to do some homework. You know, like, “study” or something. Don’t write a blog without knowing the cold hard facts surrounding the glorious history of blogging: it would just embarrass us both.

So where was I?

Oh yeah.

Diesel.


***

See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.

“D,” I says. “You have to scale back the awesomeness of this book. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you write another one.”

But Diesel can be pretty stubborn when it comes to advice.

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says smugly.

“D, I’m serious,” I insist. “They made this guy Hemingway write like three books.”

“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“Have they made you write any books?”

“Hell no,” I smirk. “I’m on to those pricks.”

“What’s your secret?” he asks.

“Bad punctuation, grammar … the occasional smattering of misspellings. All buried deeply in unreadable pedantic and wordy nonsense."

I pause.

“I think it’s more of a gift, really.”

Well I Looked Up "Misogynist," And It Turns Out That Bitch Couldn't Be More Wrong

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I thought a "Misogynist" might be a cool thing, like "Macho-Handsome Karate Fighter."

-But no! Merriam-Webster defines Misogynist as "One who harbors a hatred of women."

Well, who needs a Dictionary now, lil Miss Hoity-Toity Stephanie B -aka Rocket Scientist?

-I happen to love women, as evidenced by all the pornography my wife made me throw out when we got married.

Take that, "Science."

In the Beginning

Predator Press

[LOBO]

God made man in His image.

-But man was a slob. First he stopped shaving. Then he blew far past ‘love handles,' and went straight into full-fledged Wisconsin Goiter.

“Adam,” says God. “You look terrible!”

“Well gee thanks God,” replied Adam, chewing. “Be sure you sign me up for your self-esteem seminars.”

“Adam, I’m going to make you a woman.”

“But what will all my friends say?”

“No. I mean I’m going to create you a companion.”

Now Adam wasn’t all that bright: he imagined animated conversations about football and endless ‘pull my finger’ jokes.

“Cool,” he says.

“Give me one of your ribs,” says God.

“Here you go,” says Adam.

“Ugh,” says God. “You’ve got barbeque sauce in your beard.”

Adam wiped his beard with a napkin. “Do you want some of this coleslaw? This coleslaw rocks.”

“No. Just the rib, thanks.”

And from Adam’s rib sprung Eve.

“What a dump!” Eve complained.

“Okay,” says God. “My work here is done. You kids have fun now.”

“Thanks God,” says Adam.

“It’s filthy,” says Eve.

“Oh yeah,” says God as He recedes into the clouds. “One more thing. Stay the hell away from My apples, or I’ll invent the tire iron and beat you to death with it!”

“Okay God!” says Adam waving.

“Ugh,” says Eve. “Is that barbeque sauce?”


***

Within a month, Adam had lost 50 pounds.

-Because Eve had eaten everything in sight.

Eve had gained so much weight that he couldn’t fit on the bed anymore, and often slept on the floor.

He got up and stretched carefully.

-His back was now completely wrecked.

He surveyed the devastated remains of The Garden as his stomach growled; the crops were gone, and a huge pile of animal bones by the fire pit were all that remained of the wildlife.

Adam was scratching his head wondering how Eve had even gotten the leaves off of the top of the trees when he heard a rustling sound.

A squirrel.

“Oh thank heavens,” said Adam.

But the scrawny animal had no intention of becoming Adam and Eve’s breakfast so easily. It scampered, ran and bounded out of Adam’s reach, and finally up the Tree of Knowledge. And there were those glorious apples: round and firm, a deep crimson -so sweet and heavy, the branches arched painfully under their burgeoning weight.

“Come down from there squirrel,” Adam cajoled, “and I’ll make it quick and painless!”

But the squirrel wasn’t listening. It was sniffing an apple excitedly.

“I wouldn’t do that if-“

Crunch

Suddenly there was thunder and lightning, and God’s voice boomed from the sky. “What the hell,” He says, “did I tell you people about eating My damn apples!?”

Frightened, the squirrel dropped the apple, and Adam caught it.

Adam looked at the apple, and then at the squirrel. If God catches me with this, he thought, I’m screwed. And if I explain that the squirrel did it, I’ll have no breakfast.

Looking around and thinking quickly, he spotted Eve, still slumbering and snoring loudly.

“Who dared?” demanded God.

Thinking quickly, Adam hurled the apple, and it rolled to rest right by her.

“Eve!” yelled God.

“Wha-?“ she said, starting to wake.

“Eve, what happened?” demanded God.

“She really let herself go once you left,” said Adam.

“No, I mean why hast thou disobeyed my Word and eaten of the Forbidden Fruit?’

“But I didn’t!” insisted Eve.

“I tried to stop her,” said Adam.

“Begone from my garden!” said God.

And poof she was gone.

Adam sighed. “You know, you give some people an inch ...”

“Yes,” said God disappointedly. “I guess so. Say Adam, when are you barbequing again?”

“You like squirrel?”

Obama Gets Gay Dog

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Now before all you homosexuals get upset because I used the word “gay,” remember that Predator Press is a very, eh, alternate lifestyle-friendly publication: I’ve always treated you people committing wanton abominations against God and Nature with nothing but the utmost respect and dignity.

-Let's just say that doghouse better be Feng Shui compliant.

Entretard

Predator Press

[LOBO]




<a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=entrecard+sucks&aq=f&oq="><img border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168923798517701042" style="display:block;border:0px solid #000000;margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" alt="Courtesy of PredatorPress.com" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8k5Q7GGojpFESxfU1cvsvUOGvQD1xw9dvKb5x-MIOXGkWRoWgNV8RrEhhUU96ihS6i1q08deu82sduQGRGCVOGHjL3Nj2hy0119H8P0i97nwPSIDj6GVEt-o6hQ9yN3n6KBr_yg/s400/Entretard.jpg" img/></a>

I Don't Want To Be An "I Told You So," But ...

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Hah!

After four long years of me blogging warnings -warnings that have gone almost completely ignored- the day has come:




-Zombie Pirates are on the move!

You can go to CNN to see for yourself -but I wouldn’t blame you for being too stricken with terror to leave this media Beacon of Truth known humbly as Predator Press ... I mean why weren't those CNN guys warning you all this time?

Did you ever think about that?

Hm?

Well, those zombie pirates didn’t catch this so-called journalist unawares: unlike Woody Harrelson I’ve got plenty of canned goods –enough to take me all the way through World Wars IV, X, and years into the subsequent Pirate Zombie Omnocracy!

Screw you people. I figure I can wait this thing out.

And it could have been worse frankly. I mean they could have been zombie pirate robots. Or maybe even zombie pirate astronauts! Trust me, zombie pirate astronauts are the worst: one day you’re an Average Joe stockbroker, ‘an the next, FOOM, you’re enslaved in a labor camp on Alpha Centauri makin’ tiny little fitted spacesuits for evil pirate zombie parrots.

Let me tell you, o loyal reader: makin’ evil pirate zombie parrot space booties ain’t no picnic.

-They got these teeny little buckles and a double inseam.

"Dropping" Out

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Yesterday, after logging into Entrecard for the first time in a few days, I received the following mind-blowing message:


"Please move widget closer to the top of the page, as per the new 1 page rule, within 72 hours to avoid deletion from Entrecard - thanks!"

-Boy did you guys manage to hit the wrong guy on the wrong day and in the wrong mood.

I use an increasingly rarified two-column template, so people can start reading immediately while the page loads below: if you look -minus a placard and my Playlist- Entrecard is the fourth from the top link out already. By virtue of this policy, Entrecard is essentially demanding to be my first link.

Now lemme explain first how Predator Press advertising works: you bring me traffic, copious amounts of amusement, or cash. Period. An frankly, according to Google Analytics, Entrecard currently sits poised to sink below AllTop -and I would be jazzed to move Guy Kawasaki's creation into Entrecard's slot.

Know why?

-Cuz he did this crazy weird thing I call earning Entrecard's slot.

Furthermore, Entrecard demanding to become my Number One link -even before this "Paid Advertiser" debacle- is statistically laughable; Entrecard has never warranted Number One status in any way, shape or form ever. As a matter of fact -now that I look- I'm thinking the Number Four spot Entrecard currently holds is far too generous!

In response to Entrecard's threat, I was tempted to rectify this "ranking error" (aka "Deep Six" this *ahem* service as appropriate) -but alas, unawares of ever-changing, eh, "standards"- I have already approved numerous Entrecard ads! (See for some, changing up the rules midstream when you have an existing agreement might be considered slightly, well, the word "Immoral" comes to mind.)

(See also: "Dishonest")

(-These buzzwords are loosely affiliated with something called "Integrity." Somebody at Entrecard should look that definition up first.)

Hopefully Entrecard will pull it’s head out of it’s keyster before it’s too late ... but just in case I no longer accept ads. I will, however, honor any ads already in cue.

If Entrecard decides to delete my account beforehand, please –by all means- raise hell for the refund you are entitled to.

I'll help.

-It'll be fun.

The Number You Have Dialed HAS A LIFE

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Teenagers spend a lot of time on the phone.

They are very busy and important people.

Busy, busy, busy.

Important, important, important.

And I'm okay with that.

Seriously.

But they call a lot.

Look. Nobody has called me circa 1996, and I kinda like it that way.

-Now the same person will call five times in a row. And not just leave a message and move on, but just call and call and call.

And call.

First Call: If you call once and choose not to leave a message, I get that. You wanted to talk to the person live. Nothing particularly important.

Second Call: The second call presupposes something like a) you changed your mind about leaving the afore mentioned message, or b) I was in the shower: while toweling suds out of my eyes, perhaps I made a heroic effort for the phone -but the instant I got there the call switched to voicemail. I haven't called back because the dripping water probably shorted out both the voicemail and the Caller ID.

Third Call: The third call always makes me wonder what exactly our teenagers are telling people about the size of our place: Okay. Maybe I'm in the pool. While drying off the phone starts ringing again and -gasping- I realize I've locked myself out of the house and the the phone, half-forgotten, lies on the kitchen table. As a bonus, Freddy Krueger audibly starts to churn through the outer perimeters of my hedge maze.

I don't know about you, but the third unanswered call suggests to me that this isn't the best time.

Fourth Call: A fourth call leaves me totally bewildered.

Okay this scenario suggests that I'm maybe at 7-11. And as I pour my Slurpee, a crashing meteor wipes out all mankind and accidentally creates flesh eating zombies: it's only then I realize I've locked myself out of the church, and off in the distance I can hear Freddy Krueger in my hedgemaze with a pack of cheetahs -directly in the path of my house where the phone lie half-forgotten on the kitchen table. All civilization as we know it has come to an abrupt and bitter end, and one lone human being -one with me on speedial- is crying out for help as the frail atmosphere is being sucked violently from Earth by a black hole.

Frankly, I still wouldn't answer: I would obviously have my own problems to deal with.

And Humanity's last Slurpee.

What’s That? Wednesday

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Every once in a while, if I really like your blog, I’ll pay it the ultimate compliment and rip it off completely.

-Such is the case with this, the very first official Predator Press What’s That? Wednesday, surgically removed from The Junk Drawer.

This was fraught with unseen peril. First of all, I try to do a post a day. My next open spot is Tuesday. Further complicating things, it’s actually a Sunday. Can you actually have the very first official Predator Press What’s That? Wednesday on a Tuesday that is actually a Sunday?

Worse, my wife Terri guessed immediately what "That" was, and now I have to sleep in the car.

She likes the Predator Press coffee cup though.

After Single-Handedly Defeating the GOP, What Should I Do Next?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"But LOBO," I can hear some of you saying. "That was clearly the hardest-fought four day span of your entire career. You must be exhausted!"


It's true. I'm pooped. Those Republicans were pretty tenacious.

-But Predator Press doesn't offer idle time off: I can't leave you millions and millions of readers devoid of my mighty righteousness!

I dunno. I’m thinking about tackling cancer next.

-Or maybe tofu.

Blech.

Conflict Revolution

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“The whole Republican Party?” I ask the guy.

”Yes,” says the disembodied voice on the speakerphone. ”Every last one of us signed it.”

“An apology?”

”For offending your sensibilities.”

“What about just plain bein’ assholes?”

”That too.”

“I don’t know,” I says. “I mean you got me pretty upset, and I don’t think accepting surrender from your entire political party is enough. I think I deserve some cash compensation as well.”

”Eh,” says the guy. ”Wouldn’t that constitute a bribe?”

“A bribe,” I explain, “would presuppose forgiving you guys as a condition of receiving money. I’ve already decided to forgive you guys as long as you use your powers for good instead of evil from here on out."

"So this is ...?"

"Cash as an incentive to make that fact public. This is more like blackmail.”

”I ... see.”

“And I want a statue,” I continue. “Nine feet tall. One of me wrestling a cheetah or something.”

”A cheetah.”

"Yeah. And make me in a loincloth so my Craig Blair isn't floppin' all over the place."

"Uh-"

“In Tiananmen Square.”

Penis is Such an Ugly Word

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I really try to keep bad language on Predator Press to a minimum.

-But sometimes it’s hard to get around, you know?

So from here on out, instead of the word penis (or any other variant on the male genitalia), I’ll refer to that part of human anatomy as a "Craig Blair." Okay?

True, Craig Blair might find this euphemism offensive.

But I’m not afraid.

-Word on the street is that he’s too much a "Gwyneth Paltrow" to do anything about it.