How Would OJ Fare at Shark Boxing?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Our hometown Pianosa now has an exit off of I-80, and is starting to take shape. It's the only town in Illinois that has both ski resorts and tropical beaches, and located smack between a Denny's and a Shell Station. It has further been statistically proven that on Saturday nights 14% of the people at the Shell station know the directions to Pianosa (the other 86% are only looking for directions to the Denny's).

I intend to change all this: I intend to make Pianosa the host of the first registered global exhibition match of a chum-soaked man in boxing gloves being pitted against a pissed-off 47' hungry Great White shark.

Shark Boxing promises to be the largest Man-Boxes-Shark Pay-Per-View event ever broadcast on network television.

We've named our Champion "Daisy."

And once again, Predator Press scienticians have stepped up: this time to answer that age-old burning question on everyone's mind, How would OJ Simpson fare at Shark Boxing?

At great expense to you, 'o Loyal Reader, we built a supercomputer that ran simulations of what would happen should OJ accept our challenge to take the $100 prize money.

See, because she weighs in at around 3 bone-crushing school busses, you immediately think the reigning champion Daisy has the advantage, right? Well, you forget that aside for being an all-around good guy, OJ Simpson is famous for only one thing: his athleticism. He's a Heisman Trophy winner. Sure that was a few years ago, but I'll bet he can still play basketball just as good.

Shockingly, after 17 kajillion separate identical simulations it turns out OJ wins the bout 98% of the time.

We showed Daisy the statistics, and she seemed unimpressed. In fact, one of our techs captured Daisy muttering something about OJ being a "stinky-faced poo-poo head."

I can't believe OJ is letting her get away with talking trash like that.

Ask LOBO

Predator Press

[LOBO]

People are always asking me, "LOBO, after a mere four years, you've blossomed Predator Press into the colossal juggernaut of a blog it is today. What's your secret?"

I always tell them the same thing I tell both of our readers. It all boils down to two things: Awareness, Determination, and above all Discipline.

"A.D.D." for short.

See, what most people don't realize is that blogging about something is exactly the same as actually doing it. Here you can pretty much say anything and everything in full confidence that a preponderance of lack-of-evidence to the contrary is virtually everywhere. You know how I blogged about having lost both arms when I was shot down in the Battle of Leyte Gulf? Well now the U.S. Navy blogs about sending me disability checks. And remember how LadyTerri and I got married last week? The miracle of blogging transformed our wedding from this:




Into this:




Don't believe me? Ask any successful blogger to show you their "To Do" list. It will look something like:


1) wake up turn on computer, blog

2) take lithium drink coffee, blog

3) go to work call off, blog

4) go to doctor appointment surf WebMD, blog

5) reschedule colonoscopy eat White Castles, blog

6) clean garage buy gasoline, matches and fire insurance, blog

7) give dog bath away, blog

8) make dinner Mac and Cheese, blog

9) spend quality time with family ask lazy freeloading moochers to bring you some Mac and Cheese, blog

10) sleep blog

Again, discipline is the key.

And if all else fails, include some pornography.

Predator Press “Self-Centered Cosmology” Theory Rejected by Scientists, Wife

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Heather Mills Nets 50 Million for Four Year Marriage

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Musical genius you are I say -but that’s
6.5 Ashley Alexandra Dupres a day!

[chorus]

It's a Diabolical Thing

Predator Press

[LOBO]

AS we can all see, the bravado of DONCO has been its own undoing: WITNESS the proof that Don possesses weapons of mass destruction!

Currently he is constructing a giant Death Dog so devastating, once complete it will launch state-of-the-art unimaginable human-melting horrors and patio furniture from its sides.

And not just any pooch: it's a Boston Terrier.

... I wouldn't want to be Boston right now.

Read this Post or DIE

Predator Press

[LOBO]

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


[LOBO]

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."