Read this Post or DIE

Predator Press

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After 57 episodes of "ASK A NINJA", I bought the book, T-shirt, the Neu Tickles album, the DVD, the cap, and some kickass black jammies. (Actually mine are dark green jammies; black jammies are described as difficult to get in Episode 1 ... but these are way cooler than black jammies: these got little froggies all over 'em.)

... As soon as that scary looking squirrel gets out of the front yard, I'm gonna open a can of whoop-ass.

Maybe I'm late for the dance (again) and you've already seen these -there are like 75 million episodes. Still, I thought they were a lot of fun. Check 'em out if you haven't!

Fore Science

Predator Press


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Following in the tradition of other great sages and intellects suffering from a deep crisis of Faith, I went golfing with Speedcat Hollydale.

As a natural born athlete, I derive much pleasure from sports: distraction might be just what I need.

"Fore!" I call. Throwing the golf ball up in the air, I smack it hard with the bat and it arced gracefully. The distance was good, but it landed far to the right of my target.

"Dammit!"

"That's a mean slice you have there," says Speedcat addressing his own ball. He had a curious habit of hitting the ball from the ground with a bent metal stick.

"You should let me take a mulligan," I protest.

"Not a chance," says Speedcat, concentrating. "I've already let you take six."

"But a daiquiri umbrella was stuck in my facemask!"

"Look," he says exasperated. "At some point you're just going to have to face the fact that you're gonna owe me that 100 bucks."

Whock

... Crash!

"Hah!" I says. "You didn't call your shot!"

"First, this isn't Pool. And second, that's the only damned window the police car had left!" Speedcat argued. "Speaking of which, we should get moving. That cop is bound to come out of that Dunkin' Donuts any second now."

"So you forfeit?"

"Like hell."

"All right, screw it," I says. Struggling under my protective sternum plate, I dig for my wallet.

'Your game was really off today," observes Speedcat. "What's bothering you?"

"I hadda get a blood test for the wedding," I concede. "The whole thing was very traumatizing."

"Did they find something wrong?"

"No. My blood got an A+, once again demonstrating it's intellectual superiority over all the other stupid and inferior bloods." I hand him a $100 bill. "I just feel like I was treated rudely from the start."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When I got to the medical center, I was very clear that nobody was gonna impale me except for Doctor Toboggans ... Especially not that quack Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep."

Speedcat paused from packing his clubs. "Well that sounds pretty straightforward actually."

"Yeah. But Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep was argumentative," I says, throwing my football shoulderpads in the trunk. "He was all, 'But Toboggans isn't that kind of Doctor,' and Toboggans is busy saving America from certain economic disaster,' blah blah blah."

"You're kidding," says Speedcat, tightening the knot on the kayak caddy. "Hey, watch out. Here comes the Zamboni."

"Thanks."

"So what did you tell him?"

"I asked him flatly what kind of 'medical center' the ignoramus was supposedly running devoid of such luminaries as Doctor Toboggans."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know. The tranquilizer dart started taking effect."

The Prince of Dorkness

Predator Press

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"What, brings you here today my son?" asks Father Fritz.

"Well, Patrick Swayze's death really shook me up, and I'm getting married Friday."

"I'm so happy for you my child!" says Fritz.

"She's not Catholic," I says. "I've been trying to convert her, but she's really stuck on this whole 'Christian' thing. I just want to be sure I can tell her with absolute certainty she's going to suffer Eternity burning in Hell for her heathen beliefs."

"What?"

"Hey, I'm not doing those 'stand-sit-kneel-sit-stand-sit-kneel-stand-kneel calisthenics every Sunday so's I can go to Heaven with a bunch of lazy hippie pagans."

"But you haven't been to church since 1999!"

"That was by your request."

"You kept handing out Gatorade and towels and high-fiving people. It was very disruptive."

"I was moved by The Spirit."

"LOBO," says the priest, leaning back in his chair. "Have you ever considered any other religions? Perhaps becoming Jewish?"

"I can't make that whole 'beard-without-a-mustache' look work. And those 24' sideburns could get caught in the heavy machinery at work."

"How about a cult?" he offers. "I know for a fact there are dozens of perfectly good cults out there."

"Hm," I says thinking. "I know these Qelqoth guys with a cult that seems pretty cool."

"Well there you go," says Fritz.

"I just wish I could remember what it's called ... "

Predator Press Loses Product Line to DONCO

Predator Press

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Finally breaking the silence, blog mogul Don Lewis -author of "It's a Funny Thing"- has formally announced once and for all the sinister consolidation and centralization of humorous blogging from his notoriously evil fortress located in equally-evil Northern Idaho.

While initially shocked at the subsequent hostile takeover of our highly-profitable line of frighteningly realistic Halloween costumes, the folks at Predator Press Fiendish Fashions are preparing to surrender unconditionally to welcome their new comic overlord and CEO.



Frankenstein

Dracula

Ann Coulter

Creature from the
Black Lagoon

Frankly, these things were giving us the creeps anyway.

Did I Eat This?

Predator Press

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After three years, I finally got my RSS feed working.

I'm really impressed with myself.

I called my dad.

"Hey dad!" I says. "I got my RSS feed working!"

"What? Who is this?"

"Dad, it's me. LOBO."

"Who?"

"Very funny dad," I says chuckling. "We missed you at the wedding"

"What wedding?"

"I am married the fair LadyTerri."

"Oh man, she's hot."

"I know!" I says.

"Who is this really?"

"LOBO," I says. "Remember? You are undefeated at finding the most Easter eggs. I was the short one wearing the blindfold."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your dad was the one hiding the Easter eggs in the first place?"

"You would get frustrated after a few hours, and from then on made us paint them white so they would be easier to spot," I reflect. "I found one on my Big Wheel yesterday."

"Well I wouldn't eat it. Look. I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong-"

"You used to drill us at 3:30 every morning in case of a zombie uprising."

"Zombie uprising? I'm sorry, but-"

"Unless it was Wednesday or Sunday. That's when we practiced for alien robot overlords."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Say, are you calling me from a cell phone?"

"You don't remember bursting out from under my bed, banging a trash can and shining a flashlight into my eyes while zapping me with a cattle prod and screaming obscenities until I wet my pants? That's one of my fondest memories."

[audible sigh]

"You realize that alien robot overlords would be able to intercept these transmissions -if they really existed?"

"Um-"

"And that once they secured a foothold on Terra Firma, they would play back all these messages searching for possible insurgents? They would send Ragnarok the Colossus!"

"Or Thrang, the Human Rototiller!"

"-If they existed."

"How is Rex?"

"Zombie."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We hadda put him down in 2005. He unmistakably had The Look."

"So Rex is gone? Who delivers your mail now?"

"I dunno. Some robot."

"How's mom?"

"Possible zombie."

"Mom?"

"You know her. It's hard to tell. She's never been the same after the abduction."

"Yeah. Good luck getting her near a trailer park."

"I keep tellin' her the best way to kill aliens is with a tornado. But then she just gives me The Look."

"How about Aunt Phyllis?"

"Robot Zombie."

"Really?"

"She always was a social butterfly. It worked out really well for her ... she's a Class C."

"A stainless model?"

"Fusion powered. All chrome. She's really come a long way. And you should see how fast she can deal the cards at Euchre. Mom and her are still inseparable ... but if we have another incident at the children's petting zoo, I think they are going to call the cops."

"I can just imagine the bill for dry cleaning."

"Look. I gotta go. You take good care of that LadyTerri, okay?"

"I will dad."

"God she's hot."

"I know dad."

"And congratulations on that RSS feed thing. If you guys ever get down here to Capitol Hill, be sure and drop into my office."

"We will."

"And stay away from Humor Blogs. Those people are weird."

"I will. I love you, dad."

"Fag."

Opinion: Fisting Not Just for Old People Anymore

Predator Press

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You remember the drill: no sooner would you get that kickass skateboard ramp all set up and some blue-haired wrinkle kit runs out yelling "GET OFF OF MY LAWN!" Wobbling precariously on his or her rocker, they shook their liver-spotted and crunkly clenched hand menacingly at about eye-level to punctuate every syllable.

But widely-embraced by America as a whole, 'fisting' is now being done by a whole range of generations: Years ago I fisted Madeline Albright repeatedly over her foreign policy. Now, disillusioned artists on American Idol are fisting Simon Cowell even as you read this. Heck, a guy fisted me earlier in traffic!

'Fisting' has sneakily entered the American lexicon of body language, and is rapidly rising to a level of globally recognized symbolism.

Now that's progress.

Rejection Coverage 2008

Predator Press

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As today marks the last day of my stuff being featured in the Clay Pigeon, I've decided that I need to do something educational. As the sole source of news for millions and millions of readers, I figure Predator Press owed it to the masses to weigh in finally on the up-and-coming elections.

Now when I say "up-and-coming", I mean to say November. That's nine more months of this crap, and I'm already sick to death of it. I can't turn on the television without seeing one or more of those windbag pricks.

This country has completely lost sight of any semblance of importance and priority. What about our own princess in distress Britney Spears? Or the charming romantic misadventures of our own beloved Ben Affleck? I can't even remember the last time I saw a juicy scoop on Paris Hilton!

Someone needs to get America back on track.

The truth is none of the presidential candidates are touching on real issues the America cares about at all. It's all, 'economy this,' and 'energy crisis that', and 'blah blah blah war'. Which country are these people running for? Nobody gives two craps about any of these things.

Not a single candidate has addressed the single most burning issue on everyone's mind: How will America will conduct International Policy with the Republic of LOBOnia?

Not one.

As many of you longtime readers already know, LOBOnia is the mobile 12' circle that surrounds myself at all times. (It used to be only 10', but we have been on an aggressive and successful expansion campaign since 2006 in anticipation of the wedding to the fair LadyTerri. Did your much-lauded Wall Street Journal cover that?)

The truth is America abuses our non-aggression pact all the time. One only has to be with me when I go to O'Hare Airport to witness unbridled violations of our no-fly zone. I've filed countless unanswered claims with your government about the numerous breaches of my diplomatic immunity and tax-free status ... and don't even get me started on what I pay for international calls: Cingular is raping me every month.

How do you think that effects our respective national relations?

Hm?

The Predator Press Institute of Political Analysis has found concusively that not one of these candidates are worthy to lead your great nation into the Age of LOBOnian Enlightenment inevitably to come.

Hillary Clinton: Are you seriously going to vote for someone devoid of the common decent courtesy to put the toilet seat back up when she's done using it?

Blech!

Barack Obama: I'm sorry. But after all these years of oppression, don't you think it's time for a white guy to catch a break?

Argyle socks are huge again, and 'Riverdance' is all the rage with young people.

Our time has come.

John McCain: Just look at that tie.

OMG.

I'm not ready for whatever psychedelic hippie crap this guy must be espousing.

This entire campaign would be derailed with the use of a simple drug test.


???: I don't know who exactly this guy is, but those eyebrows are pissing me off. And the last time I saw a haircut like that, it had bits and pieces of omlet in it from scubbing the skillet.

Time to 'phone home' buddy.

... NEXT!

Brian "The Ultimate Warrior" Hellwig: Let's see Chinese President Hu Jintao skimp on the safety of children's toys and pet food after a devastating 'Warrior Splash'.

Not only is Brian a fantastic candidate, but he's a great example of what a strict diet of turducken and Jolt Cola can do.


William "Captain Kirk" Shatner: Now here's a guy who is on my personal "A" list. Not only does he have all the necessary qualifications to be an effective commander of my sprawling intergalactic empire, but unlike McCain he's got the "tie" thing together. See that? Understated. Elegant. Classy. And not afraid of two-headed green space chicks ... what a perfect heir to the Clinton legacy.

Plus we could move the whole space armada using deep Priceline discounts.

Han Solo: Lastly, I present to you perhaps the coolest candidate of all. I mean sure the actor that plays him is about as interesting as a box of rocks off-camera. But that Ford guy is an actor: Han Solo was a total BMF before the 'Special Edition' where Greedo shoots lamely in his direction first and gets his own head blasted off. But as you may well remember, in the Star Wars Unrated Release, Han and Luke tune Greedo up with baseball bats for about four minutes first.

Alas, it will be hard to separate him from his ties to crime families.

There you have it folks ... the long-awaited Predator Press list of 2008 presidential nominees.

Our apologies for not offering these sooner, but our glaring absence from commentary on the political spectrum has ended: we now recognize that you people apparently thing is pretty important.

We'll do it again next year.

I promise.

As a reminder, here's a picture of a tattoo far too painful for me to actually get.