Not-So-Fast Food

Predator Press

[LOBO]


Mr. Insanity, our new fact-checker, was all Predator Press could afford thanks to all you readers' latent back subscription fees.

Ethan let me hold the $100 bill for a minute, and I kissed and hugged it tightly.

"Know what we can buy with that $100?" Ethan asked me.

"A present for 100 of our closest friends at Dollar General?" I suggested.

"No, try again," replied Ethan.

I guessed. "Two fifty-dollar hookers?"

Ethan winced.

"Fifty two-dollar hookers?" I was getting excited.

"Fact checker" he says, exhasperated.

Fiddle-fuckin-sticks.

***

So we go to Harvord, Stanford, ... hell all the Ivey-league colleges that end in "ord", but none of the prospective applicants were falling for the old "$100 bill-on-the-ground-tied-to-the-end-of-a-string" trick.

Except Mr. Insanity. He bent over and seized the thing, an holding it up to the sky, he proclaimed "HA! A STRING!" Well, that's what was going to happen, but fearing losing our string, Ethan hit 'im high and I hit him low. Soon, the 187-pound drooling, moaning, burlap-bagged bundle-o-joy was flying cargo-class home to Pianosa.

We forgot to cut air holes, but the kid's still pretty talented as far as we can tell. The main drawback is that every three or four days the kid whines for food nonstop like he was dyin or something. (You deadbeat readers should be ashamed of yourselves, as outlined in the class-action lawsuit subpoenas you will be receiving in the mail Monday.)

For example. Having eaten a leftover donut that was licked clean of icing by a dog four days ago, Mr. Insanity decides to do a story on Online Dating. He's only fourteen years old, and I'm wondering if this is some pre-pubescent curiosity manifesting ... or maybe just a side effect of eating a leftover donut that was licked clean of icing by a dog four days ago. Either way, I don't really think he's old enough for an adult story like that, you know? He's liable to freak out over his overactive adolescent hormones and make a completely humiliating public spectacle of himself, and be traumatized forever over it.

So here's what happened:

Glenda32, a self-proclaimed "Domestic Goddess Vixen With A Wild Side", turned out to be Glen64, a hairy unemployed pervert from Des Moines.

This really sucks because I can see Mr. Insanity through the IHOP window, apparently pre-occupied with reading the menu instead of watching for the subtle "OHMYFUCKINGGODABORT!!" signal we worked out. In a chauffeur’s outfit --completely oblivious to everything-- he's waiting by the door of the Volkswagen Rabbit I borrowed, to open the door classy-like for me and what was supposed to be a hot Russian blonde nubile circus contortionist, defecting from the Motherland or someplace. Then Mr. Insanity was to drop us off at Casa de LOBO, where I could properly woo her out of her scandalous lack of citizenship, military secrets, and finally, virtue.

So when "Glenda32" --in dire need of a shave-- walks in and spots me in my Tuxedo, multiple simultaneous and violent aneurisms prevent me from fleeing until it's far too late. "She" sits and crosses her nyloned, hairy legs Sharon Stone-style and say's in squeaky, supressed baritones "LOBO?"

"No", I say stammered quickly. "Uh, LOBO's waiting for you outside." I blurted, pointing through the window at the oblivious Mr Insanity.

"Hm", says Glenda32 wistfully, eyeing the pup like a steak.

"--And if his bitch ass don't get me $200 today," I said, thinking quickly "I'm sending him back to that Monastery in Rome once and for all."

"Glenda32" lets out a feminine gasp and gives me $200. I count it as she leaves. "Give him a Chicken McNugget every six hours or so. The kid's a damn fool for Chicken McNuggets."

As the screeching tires and screaming faded off into the distance, my blueberry pancakes arrive. If my buddy ever sees that Volkswagen Rabbit again, he'll probably want to burn it. But he's probably insured, and I didn't care much for the color anyway.

I smiled, warm and fuzzy, knowing that my efforts have made so many people so very happy today. Ethan gets a fact-checker, Glenda finds love, Mr. Insanity gets his story, My buddy gets a new car, and I get $200.

My pancakes were delightful.

Cosmic Background Explorer

Predator Press

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Cobe and I don't get along very well.

But we have some mutual business interests, so we extend a certain "professional courtesy" to our relationship, which is a euphemism for keeping a wide berth of each other.

I'm far too lazy to pick fights anymore. What do I do to stay in shape, you ask? I basically cling desperately to my skeleton as the Earth hurdles through the universe at blistering speeds.

I'm getting tired just thinking about it.

But today, Cobe is in charge ... the "regular guy" is out sick. And to be honest, I'm kinda impressed. Cobe has made good calls all day. Everything is going smooth, and for once we're way ahead of schedule. Inevitably, we get stuck in a car together. He's driving, and I'm in the passenger seat. At some point, he waves at somebody, and I reflexively look.

It's a carload of teenage girls.

Now Cobe has got twenty years on me ... I get the creeps. "Damn Cobe," I wondered aloud, "Got a thing for those low-mileage babes?"

He looks at me confused, and then notices the girls in the car next to us. "Oh Christ no!" he replies, suddenly realizing what I meant. "Steve made this light and just passed us." He points at the tail car in the next lane, and sure enough there's Steve.

Steve's wavin back, laughing.

Okay ... Cobe is vindicated, and I relax a little. But then Cobe says something that really throws up red flags. "Oh God don't even joke about that," he says, taut as a goddamn drum. "If my old lady even thought that I was screwing around she'd blow my head off!"

Okay, it's creepy again. I look at him and his eyes are fixed on the road ahead, suddenly a little pale. He's dead serious.

So I start musing. Cobe is a fairly successful guy that's been married for thirty years. Is the secret to a successful marriage deciding that, while divorce is not an option, murder is? Is honest, hardworkin Cobe just one "Do you think she's pretty?" from gettin his skull turned into some kind of macabe bird feeder? I started to feel bad for good 'ol honest, hardworkin Cobe.

But then, with a "captured audience", Cobe made me listen to country music.

For forty minutes.

An hour later I get home totally crushed over some girlfriend I never had, and a pickup truck I never owned. That night I found myself serving my guests Scoopable Fritos and french onion dip in a polished hubcap, weeping openly about the plight of Catherine Bach.

I had lost six full IQ points.

I checked.

Right after Hee Haw.

So to cheer myself back up, I'm and planning to leave Cobe messages on his wife's answering machine. Something like "Hey Cobe! You can't just up and leave me with these horndog chicks. And you still owe Jasmine fifty bucks!" Who knows? Maybe this will be the one crippling lost consumer the entire country music industry can't withstand: It could all spontaneously collapse --in a furious God-smiting tempest of rhinestones, bad footwear and Stetson cologne-- to a teeny morose singularity that can be banished from our grateful planet completely with some Simple Green and paper towels.

I'm doing a public service here.

But I walk in the house my roomie has got this internet story up about this guy in Florida that got a hand axe buried in his forehead by his wife for cheating. The woman hacked the guy into chunks, and then fed the chunks to a bunch of prizewinning chinchillas she was breeding.

Righteous and joyous mayhem oh so tantalizingly close ... my goddamn roomie is always online when I need to make a phone call! Is there no God?!?

So what the hell is a "chinchilla"? And can you buy them bulk?

Hi MOM!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Well, my mom can't find Predator Press.

An English teacher at a major college --where hoits meet toits and discuss "Shakespeare" and "Interest Rates" and whatever-- she can't risk any personal email at work under penalty of death.

It's in the School Charter.

Curious about her little 150 lbs bundle 'o joy, she asked me to slip her a cleverly-disguised email containing a link to it.

I wrote:

Deer Teecher,

Here is wherefore the writing sample what I had wrote:

http://predatorpress.blogspot.com

Anyways, thanks for teachin me stuff and English and makin me write it real good now ... I will never fergit you wuz the best teacher that what gimmee my Litrinary Talent!

Your pal,

Sincerely,

Thanks,

PS: LAW SCHOOL IS AWESOME

Your Fourmer Student,

Chuck Norris

Pay-Per-VIEW?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Okay, so the hot blonde that banged the lucky pup in Florida got caught. And to stay out of jail, the defense presented was "She's too pretty for prison".

This was initially treated as great news by me an Ethan ... heck, we're freakin gorgeous.

But then I started to think: If we aren't jailin hot chicks anymore, what happens to those hot women's prison films?

This is distressing. I don't want to rent "Cellblock 69" or something and havin it star Liza Minnelli and The Fantastic Moulah ... Jeez even the thought of that's enough to make a guy wanna switch teams.

Us beautiful people can't have our cake and eat it too. I suggest we take all the hot chicks and lock em up in the "stoney lonesome" for one last week with cameras everywhere. Paris Hilton, Lucy Liu, Porshe Derrasi, et cetera.

And as for the host, I'll even volunteer to "take one for the team".

I'll go from cell to cell with a Governor's Pardon and bark "Pamela Anderson! Tell me Newton's Second Law of Motion!"

And Pamela Anderson will answer, "The relationship between an object's mass m, its acceleration a, and the applied force F is F = ma. Acceleration and force are vectors; in this law the direction of the force vector is the same as the direction of the acceleration vector."

An I'll say, "I'm sorry, you must answer in the form of a question. As punishment, you are to be summarily sentenced to death by pillowfight!"

We could totally make this a Pay-Per-View.

Dog's Day

Predator Press

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Has anyone seen the commercial for the 'Doggie Stairs' product?

The thing is like a two foot tall set of carpeted stairs, so the little poodles and puppies -stricken with stubby lil legs by an unmerciful God- can get up on your bed and into your car, et cetera.

Given that one of the major selling points of this thing is not having to bend down to pick up your dog -and all the dogs in the commercial are between five and ten pounds- where would one find a consumer base that would shell out $40 and haul this thing around instead?

Mr. Insanity let me visit his trailer park to do some research. Clearly this is another instance that we could demonstrate the trademarked glorious and triumphant technologically-superior improvements for which Predator Press is world-renown: Humanity demands yet more of our artful manifestations, and once again we are drawn upon for our ingenius crafts of elegant scientific form and function.

Now the problem with trailer parks is that they tend to be a little cramped: very few people in these tightly-packed communities own poodles and puppies between five and ten pounds ... Our original concept of a Doggie Escalator was doomed to failure as all we could find in them were Pit Bulls and Dobermans.

But luckily, Mr. Insanity had a V-8 motor hanging by chain from a tree over his El Camino. And with all that extra horsepower, we developed the Doggie Centrifuge.

Equipped with the patented harness, you can launch a full-grown German Shepard into your bed from idling speed: at full choke this thing will put a pissed Saint Bernard safely into the fourth-story window of a PETA office building with surprising accuracy, even without with the optional scope ($400).

Think about it! If you have a friend in a neighboring trailer park that also has the Doggie Centrifuge you could just fire the happy pooch back and forth rather than taking those long tedious walks.

The Doggie Centrifuge is still being tested as we're having problems with the nitrous attachments, but we're expecting to be in full production by summer.

The expected retail price should be around $3,000-$4,000, and we are taking advance orders from anyone with a VISA.

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Derek B. recently inquired if "Beautiful White Stallion", the character in A Fairy Tale, was inspired by Eddie Murphy's character in Shrek II.

Actually, the oldest draft of A Fairy Tale I can find was written in 1999 --back in the day when our primitive ancestors were bloggin on Etch-A-Sketches-- two years before the original Shrek came out.

I'm still waitin for my check, Pixar ...

Jumpin Jack Trash

Predator Press

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Must've been a helluva Saturday night ... there's a waffle jammed in my CD changer.

It's not my fault! I was drunk. And hungry. The stereo --brandishing a slot and an electric cord-- seduced me with promises of perfectly-cooked, lightly browned fluffy waffles.

I don't know if the warranty covers this, but the waffle sounds amazing ...