Predator Press
[LOBO]
People will stop coming to your cubicle altogether.
Wednesday
Tuesday
The Day the Chick Manget Died
Predator Press
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She was a great car. And that 1990 Plymouth Horizon with Corinthian leather interior and a Porsche 911 engine probably had better owners.
But she leaked oil.
It’s hard to be a great car leaking oil when Jessica Simpson leaps on your hood and Jennifer Lopez clings to your roof and you have twenty-six cinderblocks in your hatch.
Anna Kournikova was so stubborn, I hadda threaten her Predator Press subscription …
[LOBO]
She was a great car. And that 1990 Plymouth Horizon with Corinthian leather interior and a Porsche 911 engine probably had better owners.
But she leaked oil.
It’s hard to be a great car leaking oil when Jessica Simpson leaps on your hood and Jennifer Lopez clings to your roof and you have twenty-six cinderblocks in your hatch.
Anna Kournikova was so stubborn, I hadda threaten her Predator Press subscription …
Hard-Core Troubadour
Predator Press
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What really sucks is the inability to sleep. I’m fried on weeks of short spurts of light dozing, punctuated rudely by fits of coughing. I don’t even have the concentration to watch TV or play video games.
And under this thick glaze of disease --and almost certain pending death, I'm sure-- I guess I’m bored. Hell, the house is clean, the laundry is done ... thus I don’t really have the option of trying to divert my attention on any household tasks, were I to muster any strength. Honestly, the only thing the got me out of bed at all was the opportunity to spread lethal germs all over Mr. Insanity’s PC; everyone else is gone, currently embroiled in the pre-production of 'Ox Nuts: The Motion Picture'.
Casting begins today.
I wanted to play 'Ox' myself, but it turns out I'm slightly, eh, "underqualified".
Slightly.
[LOBO]
What really sucks is the inability to sleep. I’m fried on weeks of short spurts of light dozing, punctuated rudely by fits of coughing. I don’t even have the concentration to watch TV or play video games.
And under this thick glaze of disease --and almost certain pending death, I'm sure-- I guess I’m bored. Hell, the house is clean, the laundry is done ... thus I don’t really have the option of trying to divert my attention on any household tasks, were I to muster any strength. Honestly, the only thing the got me out of bed at all was the opportunity to spread lethal germs all over Mr. Insanity’s PC; everyone else is gone, currently embroiled in the pre-production of 'Ox Nuts: The Motion Picture'.
Casting begins today.
I wanted to play 'Ox' myself, but it turns out I'm slightly, eh, "underqualified".
Slightly.
They Can't All Be Gems
Predator Press
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Sorry gang ... home sick today.
Death is at my bedside, slicing onions and carrots into a big pot ... awful nice of the guy to go out of his way and cook and all ...
I can't do this "doctor" crap again ... I hate being sick only slightly more than I hate being well.
[*pout*]
Phoebe, will you please come over and say nice things again?
God is mad at me.
[LOBO]
Sorry gang ... home sick today.
Death is at my bedside, slicing onions and carrots into a big pot ... awful nice of the guy to go out of his way and cook and all ...
I can't do this "doctor" crap again ... I hate being sick only slightly more than I hate being well.
[*pout*]
Phoebe, will you please come over and say nice things again?
God is mad at me.
Fear of Flying
Predator Press
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I’m dreaming.
I’m standing in and endless snowy field.
Santa and his full compliment of reindeer slide to a deliberate, graceful halt beside me, and Santa dismounts his sleigh. He's smiling.
I never see the uppercut coming.
Or the jab. Or the next uppercut ...
Tossing me up on his big bag of toys, he commands the reindeer to take to the sky once more.
***
“Ho ho ho,” he cries. “Come now LOBO, let me show you the True Meaning of Christmas!”
Waking slowly I sit up, and a thin blood icicle snaps off my nose.
Ahead, I can see powerful beasts galloping mightily to pull us into the sky, their breath streaming behind them as they arc across the full moon. Peering down over Santa’s shoulder through my swelling eyes, I can see the tiny sparkling lights of Gary, Indiana beneath us. Overwhelmed by the sensation of flight, I stretch out my arms.
And that’s when I strangle that fat fuck …
[LOBO]
I’m dreaming.
I’m standing in and endless snowy field.
Santa and his full compliment of reindeer slide to a deliberate, graceful halt beside me, and Santa dismounts his sleigh. He's smiling.
I never see the uppercut coming.
Or the jab. Or the next uppercut ...
Tossing me up on his big bag of toys, he commands the reindeer to take to the sky once more.
“Ho ho ho,” he cries. “Come now LOBO, let me show you the True Meaning of Christmas!”
Waking slowly I sit up, and a thin blood icicle snaps off my nose.
Ahead, I can see powerful beasts galloping mightily to pull us into the sky, their breath streaming behind them as they arc across the full moon. Peering down over Santa’s shoulder through my swelling eyes, I can see the tiny sparkling lights of Gary, Indiana beneath us. Overwhelmed by the sensation of flight, I stretch out my arms.
And that’s when I strangle that fat fuck …
Monday
Swag
Predator Press
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Here we go again.
Every year, the Predator Press mailroom is ground to a standstill by the brutal onslaught of X-mas presents from you people.
Well, it’s pissing me off.
I’ve already got tons of Cheetos, stuffed cats, cashiers checks, Pacific islands, and loan applications. --And frankly, the Prozac isn’t funny anymore.
Plus, you’re making me feel guilty that we didn’t get you anything. Have you any idea how far behind you are collectively on Predator Press subscriptions, fees and dues? Goddamn it, Ethan is so broke he’s eating fish eggs! (Ethan seems pretty cool with this and all, but Phil hates that crap.)
And this year marked the final, final death of my beloved Chick Magnet.
I’m already upset, and here you go screwing up our mailroom again.
Well thanks a lot. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Why don't you go pick on some other glorious Empire with your savage and selfish "generosity" and "goodwill" this year? How about, for example, sticking it to the March of Dimes for a change?
That'll show those jerks ...
[LOBO]
Here we go again.
Every year, the Predator Press mailroom is ground to a standstill by the brutal onslaught of X-mas presents from you people.
Well, it’s pissing me off.
I’ve already got tons of Cheetos, stuffed cats, cashiers checks, Pacific islands, and loan applications. --And frankly, the Prozac isn’t funny anymore.
Plus, you’re making me feel guilty that we didn’t get you anything. Have you any idea how far behind you are collectively on Predator Press subscriptions, fees and dues? Goddamn it, Ethan is so broke he’s eating fish eggs! (Ethan seems pretty cool with this and all, but Phil hates that crap.)
And this year marked the final, final death of my beloved Chick Magnet.
I’m already upset, and here you go screwing up our mailroom again.
Well thanks a lot. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Why don't you go pick on some other glorious Empire with your savage and selfish "generosity" and "goodwill" this year? How about, for example, sticking it to the March of Dimes for a change?
That'll show those jerks ...
Sunday
Plasma
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I forgot my mom reads this blog.
The whole ‘Ox Nuts’ debacle alone was bad enough … but when she found out that her 150 pound bundle of joy watches porn … wow.
Now I’m grounded from TV for life.
I hate everybody.
[LOBO]
I forgot my mom reads this blog.
The whole ‘Ox Nuts’ debacle alone was bad enough … but when she found out that her 150 pound bundle of joy watches porn … wow.
Now I’m grounded from TV for life.
I hate everybody.
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