Next Year In Review

Predator Press

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After years of resisting Western influences,
Al Qaeda will struggle with the concept of "Bring
Your Daughter to Work" Day this April.

New "Chick Magnet" Unveiled

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Behold.

Those NASCAR wusses said we shouldn't build it because it doesn't have brakes.

And NASA geeks said we couldn't build it, and the refrigerator in the background photo of the prototype was more aerodynamic.

But all we can hear over the 5,000,000 horsepower engine is soggy panties slapping against the floor.

Like the original, we haven't quite figured out how to make a full-scale mighty Chick Magnet V2.0 work yet.

But we can helicopter it in for $85,000 whenever you want to look cool.

Come to My Site, or I Will Kill You

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As a trained and licensed killing machine, I'm perfectly capable of waxing the four or five people left that stubbornly aren't reading Predator Press; if not for my fear of flying, I would've been in the Special Forces.

I once decapitated a guy with my bus transfer.

A Dark Matter

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Standing there almost at the top of Mauna Kea, I didn't know shit about astronomy or physics; I was a tourist with a telescope, shivering at the top of a mountain, gawking at the stars and planets.

I have found away to be cold even in Hawaii, I remember snarking to myself.

When my friends suggested I go to the lookout point, I figured it sounded cool. Pianosa is pretty damn flat; even if the space stuff didn't impress me, I would probably enjoy just the scenery.

But the problem is you don't drive up a mountain to see stars during the day. The journey was an excruciatingly long and boring climb into darkness, saturated with what often felt like forced conversation; by the time we got there I was feeling irritable.

And then I saw the Universe.

It stopped my heart.



***

Staring down at clouds with your feet on soil alone would have been enough. But the sky...

... I just cannot find the words.

There's a reason the Keck telescope was built there ... you can see the rings of Saturn with your naked eye. At my friend's behest, I stared at the celestial beauty through his $20 binoculars, utterly amazed. And in a strange confluence of fortune, Jupiter was in view as well; I hogged the magnifying lenses shamelessly while I watched the moons visibly circling gracefully around the magnificent giant.

"What's that dark spot?" I asked, watching a dark orb swinging toward the colorful, living surface.

"That's Jupiter's Eye. It's the largest and oldest storm in the solar system."

"No," I says. "I mean the one swinging around it."

And even as I said the words, the object swung behind the massive planet.

"It's a moon."

"Really?" I says. "I thought moons would have nice, tight circular courses. This one just kinda screamed in, and went behind it."

"Yeah, okay," says the guy, searching the spot with his own binoculars. "You're seein UFOs?" he guffawed.

"I didn't say it was a fucking flying saucer," I says, still peering through the lenses. "I asked what this thing is."

All of us ogled the sky for a while in silence.

"It's a moon," the guy repeats, packing his binoculars audibly into his belt minutes later. "Do you have any idea how large something would have to be, being visible behind Jupiter?

"Not at this-"

There it was again.

I stared at the arching spot for a precious second to assure myself it wasn't my imagination.

"There it is," I says.

I could hear him receding in the background. "Darting about is it?" he says sarcastically.

"No," I argue irrationally. "It just came around the other side."

I force myself to remove the binoculars, and finally face this asshole.

"Son," the rather unremarkable guy says loudly in the distance, slamming a car door that reads Keck Telescope Personnel. Lowering his electric window, he adds, "Jupiter is about 25,000 miles wide."

Disinterested, I return to the view. The thing creeps beyond Jupiter slower and slower, until seemingly to stop. And escaping Jupiter's ambient light, it was almost invisible already.

I figured we have about 167 days.

Give or take.



***

Six months later, I feel I have done what I can to warn everyone.

I have warned the "proper authorities" ... but no one will listen. SETI has blocked my calls.

I took up mathematics and science, and proved that -by virtue of the bending of surrounding light- a gravitational giant had been slung like a Frisbee from Jupiter at our solar system, at a speed of approximately 30 miles per second.

No one listened because my mortgage was foreclosing ... but I could not work.

And my wife was leaving me because she thought I was crazy.

And only now, now that a tiny dark stain is visible in the blue sky, do people peer at it curiously. It's the antithesis of a star; almost like a growing period, punctuating a gun-metal grey sky with violent green and blue lighting jumping and dancing for it.

Today it's unseasonably cool, windy and dark.

People will want to watch the spectacular show.

Many will be barbequing.

The Mattress Police

Predator Press

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This fellow blogger has written a book so brilliant, profound and utterly funny, I've only read three chapters and have already dispatched six assassins.

Diesel autographs them too.

Buy one quickly; they will exponentially increase in value by Friday.

Frivolous Exercising Slays One, Hospitalizes 302

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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

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