Internet Swag

LOBO -Predator Press

That Pretty Part of Poison

LOBO -Predator Press

"I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me," Wendy growled.

"Oh don't be silly," I says.  "Although the idea of free MRIs has some appeal."

"What?"

"Free MRIs," I ponder aloud. "And I could sell them to friends for like fifty bucks apiece."  I shrug.  "I would dump you in a hot second."

Wendy scowls.

"I'm kidding sweetheart," I says, tenderly grabbing her hands.  "I'm not a monster.  We should just steal it."

Internet Swag

LOBO -Predator Press

Happily Ever Aftermath

LOBO -Predator Press

"I know you're frustrated an pissed.  I was there last year.  Yellin at my students, takin pictures of graveyards, kickin the Dean upside down ... been there, done that.

So first, I want to thank you for being the fightiest fighter in the fight.

Second, the CliffsNotes version of a thesaurus isn't a very good value.  The lack of an apostrophe should have been a dead giveaway.

Third, I really hope you come back next year.  It will effect my decision on whether to fold the fantasy football league or hand it off .

We've been doing this for over a decade.  C'mon man ... you know next year opening season you will be all gussied up in stolen fingerpaint with no place to go, smacking school kids upside the head for smoking in the bathroom and their portrayals of you on You Tube.  And then you start reading the comments, and POW!  You just go kablooey -literally explode.

I can't live with the guilt of you leaving your lovely wife with nothing but all that ruined furniture.  She could probably save the monitor with a little Windex and elbow grease, but I'm pretty sure the keyboard is f*cked.

So ya, I am begging you to stick around.  How we educate our children will dictate our future generations.  Childrens are the FUTURE.  Also, I bet that furniture was expensive.

Realistically, robots are the future ... our children are just tools to fix the robots.

I'm glad we cleared this up.

-LOBO"

I Preferred the Quarantine

LOBO -Predator Press

"Can you sign it, 'To LOBO, the greatest athlete on Earth.  He taught me everything I know, and is the Gofather of my children'?"

"This is a baseball," Tom Brady points out.

"A Bedazzled baseball," I correct.

I, Robot. Robot Robot

LOBO -Predator Press

"Would you please stop doing 'The Robot'?" asks Wendy.

"Couldn't even wait for my breakdance finale?" I frustratedly sigh, gathering up the cardboard.  "I don't think we are right for each other."

Part I: A Leave of Abstenance

LOBO -Predator Press

[*wrrrrrr*]

I got bored so fast, I daydreamed about smashing the thing.

"We need to meet corporate blah, blah, before corporate blah blah ..."

[*wrrrrrrr*]

-Fucker has a USB charged self-stirring coffee cup.

Now that you are all caught up, I never liked this man.

And all that follows is inadmissible in court:

***

"His body parts were EVERYWHERE" I told the cops ... "Ihe blood splashed all over my hands!" 

"Are you black?" he asks.

"No," I says.  "I don't think so."

"Can you help us identify a suspect?"  he replied, putting his gun away.

"Let me look around and touch everything."

I searched everything, ...SO many shovels, and goddamn those knives were sharp.

"There are a lot of items with bloody fingerprints in here."  I conclude.

"Indeed," the cops replied, scratching their chins.  "Ma'am ..."

"Wendy," she replies.

"You witnessed it all?

"No.  I was trying to get blood and teeth out of LOBO's hair at the time."

"So you are his alibi?"

"No.  I was trying to get blood and teeth out of his hair at the time."

"Was he ever black?"

"Like the Metallica Album?"

The cops put their notebooks away.  "We don't need sarcasm, miss."

"I would argue you do," I yell from the back seat.

"LOBO probably killed him," Wendy shrugged.

"Ha!" I says, gnawing at my handcuffs.  "Probably!  This is a wrongful arrest when you consider all the reasonable doubt!"

"That is horrible for your teeth," the cops explain.  "Are you black?"

"I don't think so" I says.

As the cops release my handcuffs, they add "There is no excuse for shoddy dental care."

"See?"  Wendy demands.

"This is no time for facts," I says.  "We have a crime to solve."

Wed Redding

LOBO -Predator Press

"Look" I says.  "Divorce is extremely likely.  People have been marrying for hundreds of years, and Humanity still hasn't cracked the code."

I grab her hands.  "I promise you.  If science ever figures out why people get married, I will get good at science."

Don't. Don't You Want me.

LOBO -Predator Press

One Could Hope

LOBO -Predator Press

Happily Ever Aftershocks

LOBO -Predator Press

So ya, I guess I owe it to the millions and millions of readers who are always asking me evey day "What ever happened to LOBO?"

And to a lesser degree, "... and Wendy?"

Wendy and I had an amazing Christmas ... dancing in the cool moonlight listening to Tychovski, and admiring the beauty of fresh snow under bright stars. But sometime around 7:15am, relatives showed up and gave us Covid.

So we had a solid 3-4 hours of joy and cheer, but all the new January and February murders got bumped down the schedule: frozen ground is too hard to dig inconspicuous shallow graves in. And due to the spike in demand, many of these holiday murders will have to be pushed back until April ... possibly even May!

[*sigh*] I know. Same as last year.

Our New Year's Resolution is to get more cardio.

Malibu

LOBO -Predator Press

Pocket Full of Posies

LOBO -Predator Press

Just started my first vacation in a decade, and OMG I am soooo bored.

Expect some short stories.

:)

Emperor Erroneous

LOBO -Predator Press

"Well congratulations," says says Gina, looking up from her newspaper.

The idea of a Google employee reading a newspaper always cracks me up.

"For what?"  In a bathrobe, I'm just trying to get an iced coffee.

"Wendy told us you proposed to her."

Goddamit I need to get my own refrigerator upstairs.

Wincing and scratching my eyebrow, I reply "We had a conversation about getting married.  It was purely academic I thought."

I've been awake eight seconds, and I'm already in a death roll.

"We were all surprised too," she shrugged.

"I hate marriage," I explain, holding my head.  "I give up my job, friends, family, home, pets, car, sex, and all worldly possessions that don't fit in a backpack."  I surmise.  "And there is way too much yelling."

"You're exaggerating" she says.  "You've been dating her for, like, five years.  She definitely loves you."

"Wendy is the first person I've dated since the divorce," I admit.  "Do I want her to turn into a vile screaming jealous lying hypocrite adulterous racist psycho-shrew proliferating computer malware already?  No.  I think we are doing just fine as we are."

I twist the coffee cap off with a satisfying "pop" sound.

"I actually kinda like her," I elaborate.  "Why rush it?"

MAMBA

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Millions and millions of readers are always asking me every day, "LOBO, where are you at with current day politics?"

I have founded the "Make America More Boring Again" party, aka MAMBA.

We promise to do absolutely nothing. All you need is footie pajamas.

Nancy Pelosi tucks us in after milk and cookies.

Quiet

LOBO -Predator Press

I've told so many crazy stories about how I blew up my shoulder two months ago, the boring truth will likely be lost to history.

"I was playing for the 49ers."

"The Kama Sutra doesn't come with warning labels!"

"The MMA put me in the wrong weight class," or

"An old friend bet me I couldn't stick a one-and-a-half somersault with a half twist from a janky Craig's List pommel horse."

-Then, with a straight face, I conclude with "I can't talk about it per the settlement agreement."

But this got me thinking about Predator Press again.  Here we both are at the end of the world.

The problem with writing Predator Press is that it isn't a memoir. Yuck.  I can't think of anything more pretentious and boring than some douchebag's memoir, let alone mine.  But framed as quasi-fictional humor, all the names, dates, locations and scenarios have been changed to protect the guilty to such an extent, even I am having issues tracking this, er, "story."

So I'm going to try and rewind a little bit.  The early parts of the past decade were admittedly pretty shitty, and, a pisspoor humorist, I stayed trying to be funny.  On a Cosmic scale, I think that was what I was born to do.  But while I obfuscated myself so no one had to see the ongoing relentless shitshow, life slowly and incrementally got better.

And I wouldn't tackle such a project it unless it had a happy ending -well, as happy an ending as 2020 will allow.

Welcome to History.

Internet Swag

LOBO -Predator Press

All That Sweet Library Money

LOBO -Predator Press

As I throw the switch, I explain "It's time to put on your put on your protective goggles and safety chapstick."

The turbines whine to life.

"So this is how you spend your free time?"

"What?" I says. "I can't hear you."

She leans her mouth to my ear: "SO THIS IS HOW YOU SPEND YOUR FREE TIME?"

It is at this moment I simultateously realize women are imposible to understand, and her hair looks amazing.

"I had my bedroom fans replaced with P-51 Mustang plane engines so it would seem more comfortable and peaceful," I confess. "Those Messerschmitt engines made everything smell like gasoline."

Bandits

LOBO -Predator Press

Internet Swag

LOBO -Predator Press

Malibu

LOBO -Predator Press

The irony of watching plumes of smoke along the coast from the deck of the Honeypot isn't lost on me.

"You look like you would rather be there," Fish giggles, pouring wine.

"Nah," I says, taking a glass. "Protesters, counter-protesters, insurgents ... this is fighting police on police terms."

"So you're admitting it comes down to law?"

I shrug. "Nobody was listening. This had to happen."

Fish and I are coworkers labelled "essential," so we started sort of quarantining together a few months ago to blow off steam. We're an odd pairing. Her house in Malibu burned down several years ago, and local ordinances forbade her rebuilding. In the transition, she moved to the Honeypot to consider her options.

"You understand," she says soberly, "if the business folds, you lose the house."

"Ya," I reply. "Maybe the car too, unless I can pull something out of my keyster. Gina, Rachel and Jiaying are already looking for something else."

They will probably have to take Phil II with them.

"You and Wendy could stay here for a while."

"Thank you," I smile. "But I doubt Guillermo wouldn't stand for that."

Guillermo Del Taco, Fishs' ex husband, is perhaps one of the most intimidating men I've ever met. He lost Honeypot in their bitter divorce. Bad mojo. Plus this is a bit of a trap. Fish isn't good at hiding her romantic intent. For instance, I came aboard under the auspice of 'having dinner.' Where is the food?

When I first met Fish, she was beautiful. But after her divorce, she started getting frequent plastic surgeries. She got the nickname "Fish" when someone unkindly remarked she was starting to look like a Wallace and Gromit love interest. My penis and I have intuited some sort of self-mutilation in process. She's unrecognizable now, and a weird metaphor; like America, I'm not sure I ever knew what she was. Over time, all the cosmetics and polish are observable as a very thin veneer.

This version of 'beauty' must stop. It's not healthy.

"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I muse out loud, and a salty waft of smoke blows by. "And I don't know how to help it."

Destroy The Running

LOBO -Predator Press


>|

Choking the Skeleton

Predator Press

[LOBO]

As the worlds' most beloved Anarchist, millions and millions of people are always asking me every day "LOBO! What should we do?"

Look. I'm on a yacht in International Waters surrounded by half-dressed Instagram "Influncers," trying to recover from edibles/wine/various. Frankly, I, this ship, and everyone aboard need to be boiled. STOP BEING A PEST.

I've witnessed and experienced cop abuse … thankfully I haven't been murdered yet, but I do have a nice tan going and the day is young. Our relationship with police needs to be reinvented, and I WILL NOT PAY for bodycams that can be turned off conveniently, more weapons, et cetera; fuck "copaganda" … they decimate lives and communities maintaining an already brutal economic status quo. I'll buy them a dictionary so they understand the words "Protect" and "Serve."

It is our duty to resist authority.

Incremental defunding makes sense. All the "reforms" proposed currently are common sense things police were supposed to be doing in the first place. Harvey Weinstein is getting a trial, and a guy trying to pass a bogus $20 bill is dead. After almost a century, the cops ain't 'learnin SHIT. So fuck 'em.

There ARE good cops. Let's make the dick-wagging bad ones accountable. And then maybe I can stop being an Anarchist, and take up Sudoku or knitting or something.

Mista BLICK

LOBO -Predator Press

I haven't had much time to delve into the VR world. And, until recently, I regarded it merely as "nifty."

But then I got a copy of something that changed my opinion.  There is software on the way that will let you make "handwritten" notes and a really cool 3-D archive system.  Anyone that knows me knows that I have notes EVERYWHERE, and my current organizational skills have me finishing this post February 2027.

Just saving the paper excites me.

"Man you really like that," Barbarossa observes. "Can I try it?"

It was about 6 minutes before he was hurling the writing tools, hoping for explosions.

Acoustic Uterus

LOBO -Predator Press

Outercepted

LOBO -Predator Press

"Hello?"

"Hi Rachel."

"What do you want?"

"Would you bring me up a bottle of water?"  The air in my room is so delightfully cold, I am breathing steam.

"Are you serious?

"I haven't been home for six months," I explain into the phone through the hole in the blankets I am getting oxygen through. "My bed feels like a warm marshmallow."

"You are serious. You just can't come downstairs?"

"I'll let you sleep with me."

"Gina would skin you alive for even saying that."

"I'll let her sleep with me instead."

Suddenly, I hear two loud knocks. My bedroom door opens a few inches and then slams, but there is a bottle of cold water on the floor.

It glitters and sweats in the light from the crack under the door.

Fifteen feet away.

I curse at merciless God, "So am I Job now?"

… and then I remember the drone remote control is on the nightstand.

Cruelinary Skill

LOBO -Predator Press

Hostess "Limited Edition" Wintermint Ding Dongs were so horrifyingly bad, I had to eat a second one just to confirm they tasted like toothpaste.

Weeks -okay months later, still in my freezer, I thought "Oh come on. They couldn't have been that bad."

Yep. Two more.

At this rate, I might hate them enough to buy again next year.

So You've Contracted the Coronavirus

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The Predator Press Center For Disease Control has issued the following recommendations so you do not transmit this disease to me:

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.

The Gentlemanly Thing to Do

LOBO -Predator Press


All this time I could have been writing, I've been thinking about my Twitter crap.  And why Star Wars stormtroopers usually offer the "good guys" a chance to surrender, but are generally killed on sight by everyone else.

A derivative of my Twitter handle in use is by an ex, and we didn't agree on much.  Politics, philosophy, shampoo and other hair products … but her Twitter BLOWED UP when last I checked.  She had like 73,000,000 followers -which is like the entire population of Earth getting split ends and dry scalp.

Well fuck "Earth" I says.  Fuck those stormtroopers too.

I am changing my Twitter ID.


@MistaBlick

Nyx

LOBO -Predator Press

As I slowly wake up, how and why Barbarossa is driving me home from Vegas is growing clearer.

"Man," he says as I slap his hands away from the radio.  "These office parties just aren't the same with out Maddy."

"How far away are we from food?" I demand, scanning billboards.  "And who is 'Maddy?'"

"Mads!" he blurts in disbelief, like that clears it up.  "The crazy girl with all the tattoos?"

Vaguely remembering, I ask "How is she doing?  Hey take this exit, or I'm going to pee in my own car."

"Dude, it only has 16,000 miles on it" he concedes, eyes wide as he decelerates. "She got married in October.  Husband disappeared four days later.  The cops finally issued a warrant to have her questioned, but she violated probation … "  He does a flourish with his free hand. "Poof."

"Huh," I says.  "So Maddy is single?"

"She asks about you all the time."

Bucephalus

LOBO -Predator Press

Even before the door shrapnel settled, The Fish demanded "What the Hell is going on in here?"

Several timid musicians lowered their instruments in confusion.

"We were trying," explains one, adjusting his cello.  "To recreate the 'Ex Shriek'."

"The what?"

"LOBO doesn't know how to write music.  He does it on a laptop.  So he gave us a list of the sounds he uses, and when to use them."  Pulling the papers from his stand, he shows her.

"Whale fart, whale fart, … choking cat, ex shriek, ex shriek, whale fart, repeat …"

Then they started playing it.

"Oh my god," said The Fish, tearing up.  "That is beautiful."

Gallus Mag

LOBO -Predator Press

Gina busts the door open.

"You need to write something!"

I am luxuriating alone on a king size bed, with a fan powerful enough to levitate the satin sheets.

"Okay!" I says.

Rachel busts the door open.

"You need to write something!"

"Goddamn it, you people should knock"  I says.

Jiaying busts the door open.

"写点东西!"

[*sigh*]

I can't argue with that.

Liquid Sword

LOBO -Predator Press

" … because you said the brains I had went to my head ..."

AZ-5

LOBO -Predator Press

Like all good Americans, when I went broke I sold nuclear secrets to the Russians.

"This is picture of Chernobyl," observes Vladimir Dyatlov.

"Yes," I agree. "A very good one."

"It is picture after meltdown?"

"Indeed. That is why I am letting it go at half price."

It Could Happen

LOBO -Predator Press

"If I make bail, tell you where I'll go
I'm gonna cross the border into Mexico
Tequila's cheap and sunshine
-wind up banging everything in sight"

Dear Employer

LOBO -Predator Press

I missed work today because I was ambushed by a well-armed horde of hot time-traveling space ninjas. Subsequently held in a concentration camp for forty-four years, I escaped with only the cunning use of hair gel and a twig.

The world should be warned of this impending well-armed horde of hot time-traveling space ninja invasion, but as a matter of National Security, I need to conserve my energy in case anything weird happens. Am requesting your discretion via satellite, currently riding on the back of an elephant through Deepest Darkest Africa in search of the US Embassy. But satellites are really heavy, and my elephant is getting tired and cranky. I have to keep this message short.

The President, Myself, and the rest of the Free World all thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter, and I will check email as soon as I find a new elephant.

BTW, what do you people have against elephants?

Three, Two ... Two and a Half.....

LOBO -Predator Press

The Best Defects

Spiky

LOBO -Predator Press

It's Pretty Simple Really

LOBO -Predator Press

n the Seventh Day, God and Jesus were in the garage working on Jesus' Pinewood Derby car. Both were frustrated, because Jesus' healing powers kept making the blocks of wood turn back into trees. They tried everything: gloves, robots, idiots, dinosaurs ... but nothing worked, and soon the garage was stuffed with pine trees. This, coupled with the annoying habit Jesus had of making slurpy sounds with his straw, frustrated God to the point that He created the horrifically disgusting dump we all know as "Earth."

Inevitably Jesus, bored, snuck into the garage alone. And there was the Earth, sitting in God's vice grips, getting ready for it's last application of water sealant. Jesus, a mischievous lil scamp, paused from making slurpy sounds long enough to take a piece of ice out of his Pepsi, and dropped it on the hapless planet.

"Look out Noah!" he cried. "I'm killing the dinosaurs!"

Noah floated all over the place, and finally discovered America. And because he had all the animals, Noah quickly cornered the market on fast food franchises -crushing the vegetarian competition. This depressed the vegetarian Steve Jobs so much, he started working on computers. Steve Jobs would subsequently invent the iPod and smell bad and get boring. His company, Apple would go on to defeat the Pharaoh by dropping frogs on him via helicopter. While perhaps not the most effective method of warfare, it is certainly by far the funniest: after a few years that Pharaoh was freaking out. "Why are all these frogs falling on me?" he would demand from the Jews. The Jews, tired of cleaning frog guts off of the pyramids, formed a tax-free consortium and bought up 51% of Egypt in a hostile takeover bid.

The Pharaoh was summarily fired from the Board of Directors, and the Jewish community lived happily ever after.

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. “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, idiot. I mean I’m going to create you a companion.”

Now Adam, indeed, 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.

As he surveyed the devastated remains of The Garden, 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.

Scratching his head and wondering how Eve even got the leaves off of the top of the trees, he heard a subtle, 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 lobbed the apple, and it fell to rest right next 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.

Adam threw his hands up in a frustrated shrug. “I tried to stop her.”

“Begone from my garden!” said God.

And poof, Eve was gone.

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

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

“Do you like squirrel?”

Animal Stories

LOBO -Predator Press

Hairy and sweaty, Froyo looks like he smells bad.

This is convenient, because he indeed does smell bad. I just bought him a case of Axe body spray for Christmas, hoping that he would get the hint.

"I need help" he says. "Fish wants a punch up on the 'Ruff Muff III: Mel in the Cell' script."

"Look man," I shrug dismissively as we enter my studio. "Just do what I always did. Add 'they fuck' somewhere randomly. Nobody cares."

"They already fucked."

"They fuck again," I says, starting the mixing equipment.

"They've fucked three times."

"Then they fuck somebody else."

Froyos eye widen. "That's brilliant" he says, scribbling into the notepad.

"Now if you will excuse me, I need to create a soundtrack for that, and three other movies by this afternoon."

"I really love the studio by the way," he says as he exits. "It is like an acoustic uterus."

Hence my new band name.

This is the End

LOBO -Predator Press

A mere fifteen minutes after the freezing sweat started, I yelled a six dollar coffee into the toilet.

Ebola

This is a problem, because I am supposed to meet my friends to go to a rare festival; tickets were really expensive.

Smallpox

I barely made it to Rachel and Gina's bathroom. Mine is upstairs.

Bubonic plague

"Go on without me," I text the group valiantly.

Cholera

Alternating from fever and chills, I strip naked and start the showers, hoping to sort of 'regulate' my temperature.

Bird Flu

Suddenly feeling the need to sneeze, I scroll off some toilet paper. But, inhaling deeply before sneezing, the loose tail of the toilet paper shoots down my throat -I am now choking to death on a piece of toilet paper.

Smallpox

Self-applied Heimlich maneuvers busted my forehead on the marble. Now bleeding, I sunk to the floor, a blob of wet toilet paper stuck on the mirror.

Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia

Nobody will be home for days.  How will this be explained?

Cyanide Poisoning  (fuck you Nicolas Cage)

Reaching up to the sink, I fumbled for my cell phone, knocking off a makeup powder case which exploded everywhere when it hit the floor.  My naked sweaty body starts taking on the COVERGIRL mist.

Anthrax

"Well," I resolved. "This is exactly how I pictured it."

Let's "Nerd" for a Second

LOBO -Predator Press

The Star Wars press machine is creeping up on me like an ex girlfriend with zip ties, matches, and gasoline.

No fictional character influenced my childhood more than Han Solo.  Still, even I wasn't asking for this movie.  (If it sucks, don't think for a SECOND that I won't complain about a movie I never asked for.  Quite the contrary.)

Despite my skepticism, I think the source material is being dealt with well.  They have clearly spared no expense.  I always remembered his quote, "This ship made the Kessel Run in 12 Kilometers" (-or some other weird Canadian measurement of time).  But was Han the pilot?

-If you haven't lost sleep on minutia like this for decades ... I ... wonder if you even have a soul.

***SPOILERS***

If you will indulge the following 2 minute featurette, I have a theory that at minute 1:19 they are hauling what will be the object between the "classic" Millennium Falcon front mandibles.  It is spice, from the Spice Mines of Kessel, and it fatefully gets jettisoned during an escape:

The rest of the story is pretty cookie-cutter obvious.  Jabba the Hutt, notoriously forgiving, shrugs the whole thing off.  But Han has fallen in love with the almost naked slave girl on Jabba's chain, and says "Fuck you," splashing his Cosmopolitan into Jabba's fat fucking face.  And while Jabba is trying to wipe his face with those stubby little arms, Han and the naked slave girl escape.

Weirdly, the naked slave girl turns out to be a Kashyyyk princess or a queen or a general, which -let's be honest here- is the only thing Han swipes on Tinder.  Han saves Chewbacca from an impacted assful of alimony, and BOOM ...

"... A New Hope."

Barking at Satellites

LOBO -Predator Press

Is Luann de Lesseps single? Something about that "I'm going to unleash the eels upon you" look turns me on.

rungameid

LOBO -Predator Press

I won't pretend to have invented the "SCRAM" bag, intended for impromptu vacations or unexpected travel. After three failed marriages, I keep one chambered at all times. There is one in my car, and two or three where I work.

But I am claiming credit for the "BLAM" bag -a stash at my place in case shit blows up unexpectedly- so you can come home.

Ask LOBO: Bad Gamma Jamma

LOBO -Predator Press

About halfway into "Thor: Ragnarok," I realized I was crushing on -not Cate Blanchett- but Hela. Having had a similar experience with the "Suicide Squad" villain Enchantress, it invited some mind-blowing introspection.

[I'm not attracted to goth. And Cara Delevingne, admittedly, is not exactly in my age demographic. But Suicide Squad's "Enchantress" demon(?), is like probably older than dirt anyway.]

My first thought is always now this is a woman that gets shit done. No more hassle by airport security for yours truly aka "God's football," lest ye be smoten. And standing in line too long at a grocery store? Pow! Free Slurpees for everyone!

And then I went all swoony.

-I "get" Hela.

Sure there would be downsides to dating her. TV dinners for all Eternity. And I'll bet the damned shower drain hair filter alone would be a nightmare. Toenail clippings that could shoot through concrete walls would probably change my insurance rates significantly. But can you imagine the sex? She is effectively a timeless goddess, and I am pretty open to new things. I'll just double down on the calcium so my pelvis holds up as long as possible.

This says a lot about me and past relationships. I'm not capable of that kind of aggression, so maybe it is a yin and yang thing I never noticed in myself before. An excuse for terrible evil for which I can participate, yet be divorced from on a karmic level. Maybe that is the whole new scale of evil.

I would protect her.

Area 52

[LOBO]-Predator Press

With Twitter now a smouldering wasteland, I figure I'm safer writing on something nobody reads.

"So you pissed off a bunch of nerds," says Barbarossa. "What is the big deal?"

"Because a nerd," I explain, peering through blinds pushed apart with a finger, "will put on a costume and kick your ass."

My day was spent in fairly meta thought. I guess I didn't need to explain why I canceled my subscription? But my job is to troubleshoot problems. I can't do my job without input, and I welcome it. Am I the one "out of step?" A mental analog comparison has me sending all our current accounts out to wreck up one that just left.

"Can I at least turn on the TV?" he asked.

"No lights," I reply. "Some Daredevil cosplayer might me taking a sniper bead on me even as we speak."

"Daredevil is blind," Barbarossa replies.  "He tracks stuff down by, like, sound and stuff."

"Okay fine," I concede.  "I suppose we can watch TV on mute."

I just read the news ticker for maybe thirty seconds.  The President of the United States is arguing with the National Football league.

"This isn't helping," I says.

"Did you know Hugh Hefner died?"

 "This is really not helping."

Suddenly the phone rang.

Oh shit they found me.

***

"Johnny Listen" isn't this kids real name.  His real name is Johnny something, but I found myself saying "Johnny, listen!" so often it stuck.

"Hey man," Johnny Listen says over the speakerphone.  "Can I have next week off?  I want to go on a fishing trip to Canada."

"You just started this job last week, and you want to .... ?"  I am listening to myself talk, sort of in disbelief.  Johnny Listen has the job I started with, and I remember being so infinitely grateful for it.  This kid, in theory, is following in my footsteps.

"You are going to have to call H.R." I says.  "I don't know what to tell you."

"Dude, will I be fired?"

"If you disappear for a week?" I says.  "Probably.  This is a job.  J-O-B.  And job you just started a few days ago."

"My girlfriend will break up with me if I get fired."

"Well," I sigh exasperated, "You should maybe put some thought into this."

"She thinks I am a loser.  I got fired from McDonalds because I kept messing up the orders."

Trollar Opposite (GoFuckYourself.exe)

LOBO -Predator Press

I don't have a lot of time for social media anymore, but WOW my Twitter account isn't factoring that in. It can be an eyeful over morning coffee.

-And I am not "naming names" out of spite. Quite the contrary. Both sites that blew me up as an internet troll are pretty entertaining.

A year ago, an author at Screenrant.com suggested using D.C. superhero characters in a musical. The author wrote an excellent article article spelling out how the acting cast -by virtue of theatrical background- was perfectly capable of pulling this off. The author was exactly correct, and I think the musical crossovers have since already happened.

The problem is I personally dislike musicals. I made a sarcastic remark. When I got back to the internet (perhaps two days later), my Twitter done blowed up because I was a sexist? I didn't even know the author was female. I just don't like musicals, and now I remain permanently banned on the message boards.

But the @StarWarsMinute one really hurt. Pete and Alex run a REALLY good show, and it has recently blown up in popularity. They are super fan-friendly too. There is zero reason for me not to love the show. Except. Commercials. Not the number of commercials, but where they were placing them. I felt commercials in the middle of the show messed up the cadence -it is only 15 minutes long for God's sake. Finally frustrated, I DM-ed them that I was unsubscribing - and they retweeted my DM(!), adding, "Sorry we like to get paid." And again, my Twitter blowed up.

In both cases, I feel like I was "reverse trolled." Unnecessary drama (trauma) was brought in for clickbait.

This line of thinking -or lack thereof- is pretty goddamned alarming.

Turing

LOBO -Predator Press

When The Boss flies in thirty people from all over the world, you damn well better pretend to take notes.

Most people pretend to do so on laptops and cellphones, but I went "old school" -a pencil and a notebook.

I doodled the bat symbol.

"Blah blah opportunity blah blah markets blah blah ..."

Now I have a nice catwoman silhouette in the foreground ...

"Blah blah customers blah blah blah pizazz ..."

"Excuse me sir," I raise my pencil. "Did you just say 'pizazz'?"

He scowled at the interruption.

"I don't think anyone has invoked the word 'pizazz' in thirty years," I explain. "I was wholly unprepared for this word to be rushed back into the lexicon."

"Do you have a question?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not with out your help. But you're not helping ..."