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.
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