[LOBO]
settings: Lesbian, Butch, and Semper Fi.
Sunday
Next Year in Review
Predator Press
[LOBO]
In 2010, Flowbee will introduce three new
settings: Lesbian, Butch, and Semper Fi.
You can never have a bad hair day at the Redneck Bar and Grill.
[LOBO]
settings: Lesbian, Butch, and Semper Fi.
Thursday
Shenanigans
Predator Press
[LOBO]
It can't be true.
It just can't.
... It's been almost two weeks since I've tried to infuriate It's a Funny Thing's brilliant author Don Lewis!
Long ago, I concluded that the internet is utterly useless aside from infuriating Don Lewis.
I've sought high and low for some decent SEOs so my search engines are optimized.
And how I yearn for the remotest hope of penis enlargement.
Please don't get me started on the futility of finding porn.
Will no one reveal to me the secrets of Internet Marketing or Making Money Online?
Doesn't anyone accept VISA Platinum anymore?
[*sigh*]
All there is is Don.
Don Lewis.
Even as I type this, the sole recipient of the Predator Press Temporary Lifetime Achievement Award is probably all tucked in, sleeping soundly, and thinking of genuinely funny and unique crap ... crap that will doubtlessly distract countless blog readers from the wholesome Wisdom, Purity, Hope and Truth which Predator Press strives only to promote.Well, I won't stand for it.
Not for a second.
Not even for a nanosecond.
In a fit of jealousy, I'm stripping Don of his monopoly on the coveted and highly sought-after honor that I will one day actually create: the Predator Press Lifetime Achievement Award.
Today, the subtle and unobtrusive Predator Press Temporary Lifetime Achievement Award -currently recognized as the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval- is being bestowed upon the following blogs as well:
.45 Caliber Headspace
Angry Seafood
Average Dudes
Bee's Musings
Blogs We Luv
DEAD ROOSTER
ettarose-edgeofsanity
From the Roads
LadyTerri
Lord Likely
My Interesting Files
neOnbubble
OMYWORD!
Speedcat Hollydale
The Cult of Qelqoth
The Offended Blogger
The Ominous Comma
The Skwib
When Things Get Dark
-:¦:-•:*'""* -:¦:- NICE -:¦:- WORK -:¦:- *'""*:•.-:¦:-
Now "Don Lewis" -if in fact that is your real name- every time you surf the funniest sites on the internet, you will see your own award prominently displayed smack on every one of them!
Tantrums, Fury, and the Art of Self Destruction
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Now it's time to interrupt a dramatic plot with another inconveniently-timed, ill-fated, useless Public Service Message.
Have you ever had one of those days when you're cut off in traffic by some jag in a green Nissan Sentra yappin' on his cellphone, and you just want to slam a toaster into his mushy receding hairline until the twitching stops?
Well, you're not alone my friend: according to the American Mental Association, approximately 52,000 Americans suffering from this disease go undiagnosed every year.
And this year, we're all doin it.
Tuesday.
Obama don't dance, but the Comma can rock 'an roll.
[LOBO]
Now it's time to interrupt a dramatic plot with another inconveniently-timed, ill-fated, useless Public Service Message.Have you ever had one of those days when you're cut off in traffic by some jag in a green Nissan Sentra yappin' on his cellphone, and you just want to slam a toaster into his mushy receding hairline until the twitching stops?
Well, you're not alone my friend: according to the American Mental Association, approximately 52,000 Americans suffering from this disease go undiagnosed every year.
Tuesday.
Obama don't dance, but the Comma can rock 'an roll.
Wednesday
The Watchtower All Along
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Poor .45!
-I've botched the entire mission to save his soul.
It all started so innocently; all I had to do was help Paul bury those heavy plastic bags in his trunk out in the desert.
Paul and I were in dire need of one of my little-known 'gifts' at this point: digging all those big deep holes was going to require a lot of people capable of 'physical labor', and all those protests and sit-ins I mounted on numerous college administration buildings in the past made me very skilled at the process of organizing people for a common cause. Even without any money, I knew some folk in these small rural towns are just plain helpful ... and sure enough in no time at all, a handful of friendly local police were eager to pitch in.But just as soon as I rounded the corner with those big, strappin' ditch-diggin lawmen, Paul peeled out of the station.
I was left behind.
:(
"What am I gonna do?" I asked the truck stop cashier.
"I dunno buddy," says the guy in the cowboy hat. "But you should know that Utah County is like 90% Mormon."
"I hardly think that's true," I says. "They appear to be a fairly advanced civilization."
"I said Mormon," he corrects. "It's a religion."
"Know anything about them?"
"I am one," he smiles. Offering his hand he says, "My name's Peter."
"Why does everyone have, like, the same 12 first names?"
"That's nothing. We only got like four last names."
"So I take it 'Mormonism' is a hip and trendy religion?"
"No."
"Rats," I says. "Well you've been very helpful."
I didn't have any money. All I had was my suitcase full of issues of The Watchtower I had meticulously doctored with pornography and profanity to ease .45's transition into Salvation.
"Here buddy," I says. "Thanks for the advice."Peter goes pale.
"Mister, we ain't got no place fer yer smut," he says, rolling up the issue and jamming it in his back pocket. "If you got any more of those," he adds, "I highly advise you to hand them over to me right now so's that I might dispose of them."
A bead of sweat forms on Peter's forehead.
Hmmm
"Okay," I says. "If you give me all this entire display of 'I love Utah County' keychains."
"Well, I can't just-"
"And," I add, looking around. "This canister of portable Zippo lighter fluid."
"Mister, we're talkin' about your soul-"
"And," I add. "This here entire plastic tube of beef jerky!"
"Fer the whole suitcase?"
"For two more issues."
"Deal!"
Six issues later, I had a nice car and a posh motel room.It was only when I lay back on the giant waterbed and clicked the remote control for the widescreen television when I found out Salt Lake City had declared a 'State of Emergency': according to the mayor, there was a huge, inexplicable religious defection taking place, and the entire state was converting to Jehovah's Witnesses.
A town meeting was called at the church.
And as a concerned citizen, I felt obliged to attend.
Peter arrived at the same time I did.
"Peter!" I cried. "What has happened to our beloved community?"
He stops me at the door. "I don't know LOBO. But you can't come in the temple."
"Why?" I demand. "Have not hours and hours of blood, sweat and equally Mormonesqe tears proven me worthy to-"
"Sorry LOBO," he says shutting the ornate doors. "Non-Mormons may not enter."
SLAM
"Oh no you didn't!" I start to circle the building, and yell at the stained glass. "I know you guys are crackin' wise about my momma in there!"
But nothing I did provoked a response.
I had been unjustly, and without due process, been Excommunicated from my Faith.
With a chain I fashioned out of 560 'I love Utah County' keychains, I scaled that church.
"You ain't getting' away with this!" I swore, swinging my suitcase onto the roof.
Now, I don't know much about Mormon engineering and architecture, but that damned suitcase blew through that church roof life it wasn't even there. And tryin' to grope after it, I lost my balance and fell in right behind it.The suitcase landed first, and burst wide. This was lucky, as about 1,650 meticulously doctored issues of The Watchtower cushioned my fall.
Landing squarely in front of the preacher, he squinted through the cloud of fluttering pornography and profanity.
"And I see," he said simply into the microphone. "That LOBO has chosen to join us today."
Then the canister of portable Zippo lighter fluid detonated.
"Witch!" screamed Peter.
"Peter, you're a damned liar and hypocrite!" I protested.
And suddenly, 1/12 of the congregation pounced.
grow precariously on the Edge of Sanity.
Tuesday
The Jehovah's Witness Protection Program
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Where ya goin?" asks the driver.
"Pianosa," I says.
Leaning over, he opens the passenger side door. "Hop in. I ain't goin that far, but I can get you partway."
Hesitating for a second, I size him up.
I figure he looks pretty harmless.
I pull the paperback out of my back pocket, swing into the seat, pull the heavy suitcase into my lap and close the door.
"Name's Paul," says the driver, offering his right hand.
"Fredrico," I says. "Fredrico Enchilada Del Morte El Monte Pinky Tuscadero Manora."
I'm not immediately certain why I'm lying ... but the suitcase must be protected at all costs: this is the suitcase filled with issues of The Watchtower I had meticulously doctored with pornography and profanity to ease Chris Wood's transition into Salvation.
"I see you've got a copy of Catcher in the Rye there."
"Yeah," I says listlessly. "Want it? I just finished."
We build speed, and safely leave the I-15 shoulder into sparse traffic.
"What did you think of it?" asks Paul.
200 lousy pages. No pictures, ninjas, car chases or robots. Just some weird punk who doesn't even kill anybody. "What a turd," I complain. "This book was crap."
"It's the devil's work," Paul agrees.
"Well I don't know. I wouldn't have thought the devil would be that boring."
"There's only one book worth reading Fredrico," Paul says confidently.
"Is it Antisocial Commentary?"
"No, Fredrico. It's The Bible."
Uh oh.
"Oh yeah," I agree thinking quickly. "That's my favorite too."
"Then why were you coming out of a strip bar?"
"I was, uh, tryin to Save all those lost souls." Looking out the window, I wince as I hear my own words fall out. "I'm a missionary."
"Really?'
"Yes," I groan painfully.
"Well that's fantastic. This whole world has just sunken into a briny cesspool of sin and debauchery. There'll be a lot of blood spilled when Jesus returns."
"That's not today, is it?"
"Could be," smiles Paul. "Say, that's a pretty heavy suitcase for a missionary. What's in it?"
"Oh you know. White collars. Bibles. Holy cinderblocks-"
"Which Bible?"
"The thick one."
"No, I mean is it the King James?"
"King Jesus," I correct.
"Halleluiah!" says James, still grinning. "I like you Fredrico."
"I'm glad," I says.
"Say," says Paul. "Can you hand me that black bag in the back seat?"
"Sure" I says, struggling to twist under my own luggage. "But I don't see it. Hey, why do you have so many chainsaws?"
"I'm a chainsaw salesman," he replies.
"No way."
"Yep. That's how I lost my hand."
Drawing his left hand into full view for the first time, I see it's been replaced by a large sharp metal hook.
"Wow!" I says. "That's totally cool!"
"That bag's back there somewhere," he assures.
Twisting back again, I repeat the search. "I don't see it."
"Maybe it's under all the pictures."
"You mean the ones with all the eyes cut out?"
"Yep. I was making tiny little masks."
"You're very precise." I says. "But no bag."
"How about under the machetes?"
Grunting, I clang them about a bit. "Nope. Oh. Wait. Is it the big black one?"
"Yeah," says Paul. "The one with the gun in it."
"What do you need a gun for?"
"I'm a very successful chainsaw salesman. You can't be too careful these days."
"That makes sense," I agree. "That explains the infrared scope. You could easily be jumped by like 700 well-organized deer if you demonstrated the foliage-cutting prowess of these beauties at night. You want me to load it for you?"
"It's already loaded," says Paul. "But I wouldn't worry. I doubt we'll be needing it where we're going."
"Were are we going?"
"Someplace untouched by the sin and perversion of humanity."
"But I kinda like Earth."
Holding the wheel with his hooked hand, he cocks the rifle with the other.
"We're goin to Utah!"
[LOBO]
"Where ya goin?" asks the driver."Pianosa," I says.
Leaning over, he opens the passenger side door. "Hop in. I ain't goin that far, but I can get you partway."
Hesitating for a second, I size him up.
I figure he looks pretty harmless.
I pull the paperback out of my back pocket, swing into the seat, pull the heavy suitcase into my lap and close the door.
"Name's Paul," says the driver, offering his right hand.
"Fredrico," I says. "Fredrico Enchilada Del Morte El Monte Pinky Tuscadero Manora."
I'm not immediately certain why I'm lying ... but the suitcase must be protected at all costs: this is the suitcase filled with issues of The Watchtower I had meticulously doctored with pornography and profanity to ease Chris Wood's transition into Salvation."I see you've got a copy of Catcher in the Rye there."
"Yeah," I says listlessly. "Want it? I just finished."
We build speed, and safely leave the I-15 shoulder into sparse traffic.
"What did you think of it?" asks Paul.
200 lousy pages. No pictures, ninjas, car chases or robots. Just some weird punk who doesn't even kill anybody. "What a turd," I complain. "This book was crap."
"It's the devil's work," Paul agrees.
"Well I don't know. I wouldn't have thought the devil would be that boring."
"There's only one book worth reading Fredrico," Paul says confidently.
"Is it Antisocial Commentary?""No, Fredrico. It's The Bible."
Uh oh.
"Oh yeah," I agree thinking quickly. "That's my favorite too."
"Then why were you coming out of a strip bar?"
"I was, uh, tryin to Save all those lost souls." Looking out the window, I wince as I hear my own words fall out. "I'm a missionary."
"Really?'
"Yes," I groan painfully.
"Well that's fantastic. This whole world has just sunken into a briny cesspool of sin and debauchery. There'll be a lot of blood spilled when Jesus returns."
"That's not today, is it?"
"Could be," smiles Paul. "Say, that's a pretty heavy suitcase for a missionary. What's in it?"
"Oh you know. White collars. Bibles. Holy cinderblocks-"
"Which Bible?"
"The thick one."
"No, I mean is it the King James?"
"King Jesus," I correct.
"Halleluiah!" says James, still grinning. "I like you Fredrico."
"I'm glad," I says.
"Say," says Paul. "Can you hand me that black bag in the back seat?"
"Sure" I says, struggling to twist under my own luggage. "But I don't see it. Hey, why do you have so many chainsaws?""I'm a chainsaw salesman," he replies.
"No way."
"Yep. That's how I lost my hand."
Drawing his left hand into full view for the first time, I see it's been replaced by a large sharp metal hook.
"Wow!" I says. "That's totally cool!"
"That bag's back there somewhere," he assures.
Twisting back again, I repeat the search. "I don't see it."
"Maybe it's under all the pictures."
"You mean the ones with all the eyes cut out?"
"Yep. I was making tiny little masks."
"You're very precise." I says. "But no bag."
"How about under the machetes?"
Grunting, I clang them about a bit. "Nope. Oh. Wait. Is it the big black one?"
"Yeah," says Paul. "The one with the gun in it."
"What do you need a gun for?"
"I'm a very successful chainsaw salesman. You can't be too careful these days."
"That makes sense," I agree. "That explains the infrared scope. You could easily be jumped by like 700 well-organized deer if you demonstrated the foliage-cutting prowess of these beauties at night. You want me to load it for you?""It's already loaded," says Paul. "But I wouldn't worry. I doubt we'll be needing it where we're going."
"Were are we going?"
"Someplace untouched by the sin and perversion of humanity."
"But I kinda like Earth."
Holding the wheel with his hooked hand, he cocks the rifle with the other.
"We're goin to Utah!"
Sunday
Wild, Wild West
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Just a short Wi-Fi note; the relentless old bat I mugged for this laptop is really upset and won't leave me alone.
But before you go on all 'judging' me, keep in mind this is LA; the law has long since abandoned any hope of reclaiming it.
I really should break down and buy my own laptop someday. These are nice!
... Besides, I don't seem to be able to run as fast as I used to.
More exploits about this trip can be read over at .45 Caliber Headspace.
[LOBO]Just a short Wi-Fi note; the relentless old bat I mugged for this laptop is really upset and won't leave me alone.
But before you go on all 'judging' me, keep in mind this is LA; the law has long since abandoned any hope of reclaiming it.
I really should break down and buy my own laptop someday. These are nice!
... Besides, I don't seem to be able to run as fast as I used to.
Friday
Hollywood
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"Cut, cut, cut!" I yell into the megaphone.
-LOBO: The Motion Picture has thus far been nothing but headache after headache.
"C'mon Jackie," I says, rubbing my temples. "The line is, 'You pullb my tond through my keythter!'"
"But why would I talk like that?" asks Jackie Chan.
I should've gone with Stallone.
Once again, I calmly explain. "You would have to talk like that if Lindsay Lohan pulled your tongue through your keyster!"
"Lindsay Lohan is in this movie?"
"Yes. Sort of. But due to various licensing liberties and an explicit lack of consent, we're to referring to her as 'Bindsay Bohan.'"
"Really," replies Jackie.
"Yeah. And she's being played by Chris Tucker."
"Well, what's my motivation?" smiles Jackie politely.
"Your 'motivation' is that Lind -I mean Bindsay- has sent her time traveling ninja bodyguards out to assassinate you, and you're disguised as a giant cicada. Jesus, do I have to explain everything? I mean you read the script presumably."
Frustrated, I walk back to my chair. Sitting heavily, I raise the megaphone to my lips.
This is what I get for flying out to Hollywood to make a documentary.
"Alright. Take two." I command. "Cue the robot dinosaur. Aaaaaaaand action!"
Jackie bounds up the six-story mechanical reptile, skewering stunt ninjas left and right. When he reaches the upper-left shoulder, he does a summersault flip and balances gracefully on the radiator of a car it was crushing in it's giant claws.
Howling in fury, the robot dinosaur unleashes it's full arsenal of laserbeams and missile batteries, and Jackie dances and twists impossibly to avoid them.
For a full thirty seconds, the sky is a thunderous inferno alive with fire, explosions and shrapnel. But soon the robot's howitzers cease their deadly hail of steel, and one by one the metallic clicketty clicketty clicketty of empty chambers replace the deafening storm.
-Jackie Chan had kicked all it's claws off.
The smoke slowly clears, revealing Jackie perched on the beast's nose.
It's eyes lock on him, and the pupils expand.
With a serene look, Jackie pounces into the air and severs the beast's head off with a single stroke of his lightsaber.
But even as the screaming monster's head slides off in a horrible shriek of grinding steel, Chris Tucker appears behind him on a hovercycle:
Bindsay Bohan: "You have fallen right into my trap LOBO!"
Jackie Chan: "Don't sing it Bohan. Bring it."
[blinding flash]
Jackie Chan: "You purred my tongs through my keystone!"
"Cut!" I scream, hurling my megaphone. "God dammit Jackie. If I was okay with plain English bein butchered, I woulda got Schwarzenegger!"
[LOBO]
"Cut, cut, cut!" I yell into the megaphone.-LOBO: The Motion Picture has thus far been nothing but headache after headache.
"C'mon Jackie," I says, rubbing my temples. "The line is, 'You pullb my tond through my keythter!'"
"But why would I talk like that?" asks Jackie Chan.
I should've gone with Stallone.
Once again, I calmly explain. "You would have to talk like that if Lindsay Lohan pulled your tongue through your keyster!"
"Lindsay Lohan is in this movie?"
"Yes. Sort of. But due to various licensing liberties and an explicit lack of consent, we're to referring to her as 'Bindsay Bohan.'"
"Really," replies Jackie.
"Yeah. And she's being played by Chris Tucker.""Well, what's my motivation?" smiles Jackie politely.
"Your 'motivation' is that Lind -I mean Bindsay- has sent her time traveling ninja bodyguards out to assassinate you, and you're disguised as a giant cicada. Jesus, do I have to explain everything? I mean you read the script presumably."
Frustrated, I walk back to my chair. Sitting heavily, I raise the megaphone to my lips.
This is what I get for flying out to Hollywood to make a documentary.
"Alright. Take two." I command. "Cue the robot dinosaur. Aaaaaaaand action!"
Jackie bounds up the six-story mechanical reptile, skewering stunt ninjas left and right. When he reaches the upper-left shoulder, he does a summersault flip and balances gracefully on the radiator of a car it was crushing in it's giant claws.Howling in fury, the robot dinosaur unleashes it's full arsenal of laserbeams and missile batteries, and Jackie dances and twists impossibly to avoid them.
For a full thirty seconds, the sky is a thunderous inferno alive with fire, explosions and shrapnel. But soon the robot's howitzers cease their deadly hail of steel, and one by one the metallic clicketty clicketty clicketty of empty chambers replace the deafening storm.
-Jackie Chan had kicked all it's claws off.
The smoke slowly clears, revealing Jackie perched on the beast's nose.It's eyes lock on him, and the pupils expand.
With a serene look, Jackie pounces into the air and severs the beast's head off with a single stroke of his lightsaber.
But even as the screaming monster's head slides off in a horrible shriek of grinding steel, Chris Tucker appears behind him on a hovercycle:
Bindsay Bohan: "You have fallen right into my trap LOBO!"
Jackie Chan: "Don't sing it Bohan. Bring it."
[blinding flash]
Jackie Chan: "You purred my tongs through my keystone!"
"Cut!" I scream, hurling my megaphone. "God dammit Jackie. If I was okay with plain English bein butchered, I woulda got Schwarzenegger!"
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