Sunday

Hollywood Writer Strike = Deep Discounts Offered

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When it comes to scab labor, I'm your guy.

$9 an hour.

Period.

I'll even make Starbucks runs and sort paper clips or whatever. Loan me the Hummer, and for a free latte I'll squish that picket line into a gooey puddle that smells like construction paper, glue, glitter and tanning oil.

Think about that for a second: for less than $30 I can eliminate your enemies and crank out six full-length movies complete with corresponding Oscar acceptance speeches ... all with ample time to surf porn and complain about having to go to Starbucks for cheap Hollywood Bigwigs while making $9 an hour.

For me it's all about the integrity of the art.

Don't believe me?

Here goes:

1) LOBO: The Motion Picture

2) LOBO: The Motion Picture Prequel: An in-depth look at LOBO's parents, and how they screwed everything up with a staggeringly laughable inability to provide Panzer ground support during a historically critical defeat. This ultimately indemnified me from ever eating Brussels sprouts again.

3) The Scalding: A psychotic waffle iron terrorizes a bunch of dumb college students during Spring Break.

4) The Office Stabby Thing: Creepy, huh? If you thought that piece of crap about the kids running around in the woods, playing with sticks and dripping boogers was scary, this will institutionalize you: it's about a giant psychotic stapler that delights in hanging snarky Post-Its on cheapskate Hollywood Bigwigs with an unsanitary steel "U".

5) No Deposit, No Dice: A documentary about a guy who robs a sperm bank and now serves a sentence for 607 billion counts of kidnapping.

6) The Making of LOBO: The Motion Picture: All CGI and Special Effects are explored, including interviews with John Woo, George Lucas, Johnny Depp, Jessica Simpson, Chuck Norris, Geoffrey Rush, and the Coen Brothers.

See that?

13 minutes.

See, I'm like that guy in "Shine" except without the talent or that freak pasty thing going. You know, like after the kids have already beat the teacher's erasers together after class. Yeah. Like all the bullies just beat the chalk out of me, and left a pasty, broken, vindictive glob of flesh that had one finger left with which to blog with. And then years later, letter-by-letter the maimed blogger has them all horribly killed.

The Control-Alt-Delete scene alone will be huge at the Sundance Film Festival.

Do I hear $8?


Thursday

Stay the Hell Away From the Light

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I staggered into the Emergency Room.

"I'm dying," I gasp, collapsing to the floor.

"I thought Security just kicked you out of here," says Nurse Garrison.

"Twithe," I says, weakly fogging the glossy linoleum.

"You have a cold."

"I'm a crawling host for billions of parasitic viruses," I paraphrase. "C'mon, woman. Heal me for God's sake. It's not like I have an HMO."

"Where did you get the hospital gown?"

"I keep a few in the car," I reply. "It might save me a few mortal seconds of begging for medical attention on the hospital floor."

"Go home and rest. Drink some chicken soup."

"Chicken soup? What the hell kind of Voodoo crap is that?" I stand. "Shall I circle the chicken over my head while chanting? Hm? Are you even licensed to practice medicine in the United States? I want to see some credentials, you Hypocratic quack."

"Get a vaporizer," she offers. "You would be amazed how much that soothes."

I was slightly encouraged. "You know," I confess, "I've never actually vaporized anyone before."

With new purpose, I shuffle out in my paper booties. "You'll still be here in an hour, right?"


Wednesday

A Predator Press Halloween

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Thanks for the flowers. You may now
remove yourself from my presence."


My carved pumpkin was less-than-well
received at the 2007 Jedi Convention


In a perfect world, Peter Parker makes J. Johnah Jacobsen
watch the same episode of 'Spongebob Squarepants' 86 times.

Today.


No one believed that giant plastic dinosaurs
once roamed freely in my backyard.

-Until they saw the colossus 350-ton statue of
a pack of cigarettes Andy Warhol made me.


Oh, sure. Like you've never French kissed a snake.