Frivolous Exercising Slays One, Hospitalizes 302

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Once again, death and heartbreak has followed on the heels of 'healthy diet' and 'exercise'... and this time it stuck it's icy fingers right into the heart of the Chicago Marathon.

The crowd gathered as is their ritual: early, and positively seething with good health, vigor and Old Spice.

Little did they know that their unclogged arteries would only increase the efficiency of their perspiration.

Fewer still thought maybe they should stay in their air-conditioned cubicles making mediocre money rather than watching the movie '300' too many times and working their asses off for no money.

There was ample water and ice --initially thought to be refreshments-- and every last one of the runners were numbered: all the pieces of a well-organized and hastily preformed good-'ole-fashioned organ harvest were in place.

The parade of pink lungs, pristine kidneys and robust young transplantable hearts began their annual run punctually, too. They waved, foolishly taunting the onlooking sedentary and physically inferior misfits. And while the fans outwardly faked their cheering ever-so-brilliantly, all secretly prayed one or more of those potential collections of upgrades and spare parts would wander from the predictable route, into the wrong dark alley, and could quietly be "mitigated" to death with cinderblocks and pointy sticks.

If you think about it, the fact that the Chicago Marathon had any survivors at all was a miracle.

You health nuts and fitness freaks need some serious help. You mean to tell me nobody decided before running 20 miles to check the weather? Jesus, I check the weather just to get the mail! Try this you vitamin-popping cult-driven bran-pooping charlatans and witch doctor practitioner-types: it's called weather.com. Next time you feel the urge to, oh, climb a mountain, skydive or eat tofu, you might want to check it out.

If you don't know your zip code, somebody else at the office probably does.

Okay?

May God have mercy on your souls.

Idaho Declares Self "North Utah" for Duration of Craig Scandal

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"With all due respect sir, fuck Rand McNally."

Hunting Technique "Not Sportsmanlike" Say Men

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"It ain't right," says Tyler #3.

"I get up at 4:00am, gear up in camouflage, and douse myself with deer urine every day. Feedin 'em a time-delayed shaped charge while wearin a pastel blue tank-top just don't seem fair."

Revealing New "Freedom" Burka Sparks Protest

Predator Press

[LOBO]

We all heard Mahmoud Ahmadinejad confidently proclaim that "Iran has no homosexuals."

... But a thought occurs ...

The History of Predator Press

Predator Press

[LOBO]

People always ask me, "LOBO, Predator Press is one of the most widely-read, respected and influential publications in the world. How did it all start?"

Well, it wasn't easy. Millions and millions of readers a day hanging on our every word and entire nations living or dying by what we publish didn't happen overnight. Indeed, cutting through the dissonance of a world gone utterly mad in search of The Truth has been a tough cross to bear.

And yes, the money helps. But when it all comes down, it isn't the luxury cars and women with loose morals that make us carry on: we do it for you, the Loyal Reader.

The events that inevitably culminated into this towering intellectual juggernaut pepper history like things that you might put a lot of pepper on. Like a good porterhouse. We are the pepper stuck to the Great Steak of Life.

A cursory search through a lot of history books revealed this to be true. Gleams of primitive permutations of Predator Press weaving their way deeply into the soul of human destiny permeate the earliest recorded events of humankind: King Arthur vainly sought his entire life for it. The Danes conquered Wessex in an attempt to possess it. Galileo threw two guys simultaneously off of the top of a building to discover it. Al Gore invented the internet, just so he could witness it wirelessly right at Dairy Queen. You know that whole "Burning Bush" thing in the Bible? Well that wasn't really us. But we covered it. The Freemasons used Predator Press as their secret handshake for centuries ... right up until we revealed that fact to our throbbing, seething hoards of ardent fans. Then the Freemasons hadda change it, and then those jerks all swore an oath of 'Eternal and Insatiable Vengence' against us.

I'm not 100%, but I think the secret handshake is currently 'Hi, how are you?'

... those Freemason assholes are everywhere.

Britney Spears "Gimme More" #1

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Pull!" demands Ethan.

I comply, and the disk arcs gracefully over to portside of his yacht. Ethan blows the thing into a hanging cloud of dust.

"That's 5 out of 5 sir," I says. "Well done."

Ethan lowers his shotgun. "Where did you get these 'skeet' things? My god, I can't miss!"

"Well sir, they're certainly not cheap."

"I can imagine," he says. "How much are they?"

"About $16.99 apiece."

Ethan reached into the box, and inspects one. "Hey, these are copies of Britney Spears' Blackout!

"Indeed sir," I reply. "A few more hours of this, and she'll go Double Platinum."

"Well, who am I to judge art?" he says, raising his shotgun to his shoulder.

"Pull!"

Sweet

Predator Press

[LOBO]


"Whore!" yells Phoebe.

"Slut," snipes Babs through bared teeth, closing the door to my office behind her.

"Bitch," I says, looking up from my monitor.

"Excuse me?" says Phoebe.

"Sorry," I says. "That's just a reflex. What seems to be the problem here?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is," says Babs. "Someone has hogged the entire supply of Sweet'N Low."

I blink.

"The world's most popular sugar substitute," clarifies Phoebe.

Now after a brief moment reflecting how Predator Press has no affiliation with Sweet'N Low or any of their fine products, I finally says, "What?"

"We're not getting anymore for weeks!" cries Phoebe.

"Well you sure seem to have plenty," says Babs.

"I keep some in my desk, " says Phoebe. "It's more efficient. That way I'm not spending hours trolling around the water cooler for the new guy in the mailroom like some floozy."

"Tramp!" says Babs.

"Lot lizard!" I says reflexively. "Sorry. I'm trying to work on that. It seems to me you guys suspect each other of hoarding all the fine product of Sweet'N Low."

"Way to go, Captain Obvious," says Phoebe sarcastically.

"Look," I says annoyed. "I was just writing a ground-breaking expose on how well-respected, admired and loved Danny Bonaduce was recently assaulted by some guy named Jonny Fairplay." I glance at my monitor. "I mean Jonny Fairplay? That name is so obviously fake. I think it was the Mob. Now unless you two are going to engage in a sweaty, growling, nearly-naked and hot catfight, I need to get back to work."

Babs snaps her fingers repeatedly. "LOBO. Over here. We have a serious issue. Predator Press has a thief in her ranks."

"But what about Britney Spears?" I protest. "America's Sweetheart is obviously now embroiled in some very strange activity. I have to engage in the futile search for other 'strange activity' involving Britney that might refute my story," I argue. "It's called research. And it has turned out to be very difficult to not find evidence of Britney Spears being anything less than a pillar of the community. I've checked all my reliable sources: television and the internet. Even Google!" I grin darkly. "Britney is revered by all. This story is going to rock the world."

Babs and Phoebe stare at me in disbelief.

"Hey," I says. "If it's any consolation, I don't think either one of you did it. I think we need to be on the lookout for a really fat cat burglar."

I feel myself go pale.

"Oh my God. Is Phil okay?"

"You know," offers Phoebe, "Bonaduce kinda sounds like a fake name too."

"Precisely," I agree.

"You know," says Babs, "I've often wondered what Britney Spears and Danny Bonaduce's love child might look like."

"Me too," I says. "But I don't see any reason to involve Nick Nolte in this yet."

My iPhone chirps to life.

"LOBO?" says Ethan between abrupt static bursts.

"Yes sir," I says, peering into the tiny electronic wafer.

"Did you ever get around to buying me any more Sweet'N Low? I'm almost out."