Milestone 1/999,999,999% of Goal Achieved

Associated Press

Amidst rumors to the contrary, the Predator Press-sponsored “Feed LOBO” charity resulted in what Editor-in-Chief LOBO referred to as an “encouraging start”.

“Now that the seal has been broken,” LOBO explains, “some serious coin will start rollin in. And those fat sacks of cash are gonna get me some kickass bling.”

Acts included Pat Boone performing the Tool classic “Prison Sex” with the Pianosian Symphony Orchestra, Corey Haim’s two hour lecture on “The Cultural significance of Hair Gel and Why it is Soooo Cool”, and rap artist 50 Cent -via satellite- explaining how LOBO's assertion that "I'm With Stupid T-shirts are bling!" is technically not correct.

While spectacular overall, the telethon was marred early on when during the Riverdance segment Michael Flatley snapped his knee backward and kicked his own forehead.

“That was the coolest part!” said LOBO, who did not attend. “When I woke up, I just fast-forwarded through all the bullshit on TiVo. But I've watched that scene like a dozen times.”

Slowing down the footage, he demonstrates. “See? Wait for it … wait for it … clacketty clacketty clacketty-POW!!!"

"Ah god," he adds, wiping back a tear. "That just slays me."

Jerry Lewis, host of the event, concluded the evening with an emphatic, “LOBO is far and away the most handicapped person I've had ever met. Please help!”

This is widely believed to be what triggered the only donor of the day -It’s a Funny Thing author Don Lewis- into action.

“We were going to send the first donor a plaque," commented LOBO. "But then we realized the daily ‘take’ would actually be negative $498.99 ... and that it was Don Lewis. Instead, we sent a slightly-warped Tupperware lid crawling with the ebola virus."

"Plaque, plague -it’s all semantics,” insists LOBO. "And do you have any idea how difficult is is to scratch 'Thanks Don Lewis' in cursive with a key on space-age polymers?"

Predator Press Declares War on Environmentalism

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Bee at Bee's Musings has the noble distinction of being the first blogger to notice my new fundraising effort, "Feed LOBO".

See, if you look in my sidebar you will find a handful of fine bloggers that have gone through a lot of trouble writing brilliant and/or funny books so they can earn an income.

But books have an insidious tendency to wind up in libraries, being studied, and, well, read. Remember school? It just makes me sick. I don't know exactly why those guys are being so mean to the Future Children of America by writing more of these 'books', but I'll have no part of it.

Hence my fundraiser: I, LOBO, solemnly swear that if I reach my modest goal of $999,999,999 by May 16, 2009 I will never write a book.

Probably wouldn't read one either.

And who has time to read and write books when -even as we speak- hemp-addled smelly hippies are treacherously allying themselves with 'environmental causes'?

Don't they realize this 'Environment' is tryin to kill us every day with deadly bacteria, disease, hurricanes, tidal waves, killer sharks, tornados, earthquakes, MicroSoft, catastrophic meteor strikes and X-rays from space?

I think most scientists would agree, "Mother Nature" would like nothing more than to dance barefoot in our slippery entrails ... and as Nietzsche probably said, "That which does not kill me is either lazy, or just waiting for the chance."






Tell those hippies to roll over, 'cuz this
thermometer is goin in the plooptionary.

Entre's Inferno

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Entrecard went down over the weekend.

So rather than skimming hundreds of sites, many of us were forced to work around the house, landscape, and perform automotive maintenance or whatever.

But I forgive Entrecard.

In fact, I'm flatly impressed by their calm and polite manner:

“We’ve had an electrical fire. Things should be back up in a few hours. We’re terribly sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused.”

Wow.

That's pretty classy if you ask me … ‘cause if Predator Press has an electrical fire, ”FIREFIREHOTHOTHOTEEEEYAAAAHHHHH!!!” would be all you get -and that's if I can find the presence of mind to blog instead of running around in panicky circles while flailing my arms and screaming.

So before your eyes glaze over with welling tears at the thought of losing this historic document, we should go over the Official Predator Press Fire Safety Plan.

It is as follows:

1) Rescue LOBO,
2) rescue LOBO’s expensive stuff,
3) rescue all other tangential LOBO-related personnel such as family, pets, friends and/or coworkers, and then
4) rescue LOBO’s inexpensive stuff.

I’m not really a hard-ass about rule #4. I don’t expect you to go into an inferno for, say, my stapler: your personal safety is of utmost importance to me. Use your judgment.

But lots of little things like staplers add up, and it just might make the difference as to whether you get an iPod or a fruitcake at Christmas.

I'm just sayin.

This plan was Cultivated by Design.

In the Beginning

Predator Press

[LOBO]

God made man in His image.

But man was a slob. First he stopped shaving. Then he blew far past ‘love handles’, and went straight into full-fledged ‘Wisconsin Goiter’.

“Adam,” says God. “You look terrible!”

“Well gee thanks God,” replied Adam. “Be sure you sign me up for your self-esteem seminars.”

“Adam, I’m going to make you a woman.”

“But what will all my friends say?”

“No. I mean I’m going to create you a companion.”

Now Adam wasn’t all that bright. He imagined animated conversations about football and endless ‘pull my finger’ jokes.

“Cool,” he says.

“Give me one of your ribs,” says God.

“Here you go,” says Adam.

“Ugh,” says God. “You’ve got barbeque sauce in your beard.”

Adam wiped his beard with a napkin. “Do you want some of this coleslaw? This coleslaw rocks.”

“No. Just the rib, thanks.”

And from Adam’s rib sprung Eve.

“What a dump!” Eve complained.

“Okay,” says God. “My work here is done. You kids have fun now.”

“Thanks God,” says Adam.

“It’s filthy,” says Eve.

“Oh yeah,” says God as He recedes into the clouds. “One more thing. Stay the hell away from my apples, or I’ll invent the tire iron and beat you to death with it!”

“Okay God!” says Adam waving.

“Ugh,” says Eve. “Is that barbeque sauce?”


***

Within a month, Adam had lost 50 pounds.

-Because Eve had eaten everything in sight.

Eve had gained so much weight that he didn’t fit on the bed anymore and slept on the floor. He got up and stretched carefully; his back was now completely wrecked.

He surveyed the devastated remains of the garden as his stomach growled. The crops were gone, and a huge pile of animal bones by the fire pit were all that remained of the wildlife.

Adam was scratching his head wondering how Eve had even gotten the leaves off of the top of the trees when he heard a rustling sound.

A squirrel.

“Oh thank heavens,” said Adam.

But the scrawny animal had no intention of becoming Adam and Eve’s breakfast so easily. It scampered, ran and bounded out of Adam’s reach, and finally up the Tree of Knowledge. And there were those glorious apples: round and firm, an impossibly deep crimson, and so heavy the branches arched under their burgeoning weight.

“Come down from there squirrel,” Adam cajoled, “and I’ll make it quick and painless!”

But the squirrel wasn’t listening. It was sniffing an apple excitedly.

“I wouldn’t do that if-“

Crunch

Suddenly there was thunder and lightning, and God’s voice boomed from the sky. “What the hell,” He says, “did I tell you people about eating my damn apples!?”

Frightened, the squirrel dropped the apple, and Adam caught it.

Adam looked at the apple, and then at the squirrel. If God catches me with this, he thought, I’m screwed. And if I explain that the squirrel did it, I’ll have no breakfast.

Looking around and thinking quickly, he spotted Eve, still slumbering and snoring loudly.

“Who dared?” demanded God.

Thinking quickly, Adam hurled the apple, and it rolled to rest right by her.

“Eve!” yelled God.

“Wha-?“ she said, starting to wake.

“Eve, what happened?” demanded God.

“She really let herself go once you left,” said Adam.

“No, I mean why hast thou disobeyed my Word and eaten of the Forbidden Fruit?’

“But I didn’t!” insisted Eve.

“I tried to stop her,” said Adam.

“Begone from my garden!” said God.

And poof she was gone.

Adam sighed. “You know, you give some people an inch …”

“Yes,” said God disappointedly. “I guess so. Say Adam, when are you barbequing again?”

“You like squirrel?”

A Fine Whine

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Poink!

“Ouch!”

Scowling, I turn to LadyTerri.

“What the heck was that?”

Smiling coyly, she dangles a tiny stiff fiber in my face.

A gray hair.

“LIAR!” I scream, seizing at the damning evidence.

But she’s the picture of health and prepared for my reaction; scampering deftly out of reach, she’s fully exited the room before I can even rise to my feet.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” she singsongs from the kitchen.

Exhausted from rising suddenly, I slump back into my computer chair and try to catch my breath.

“That’s not funny,” I call. “There’s no proof that that came out of my head. You coulda pulled out any hair and swapped it with that monstrosity!”

But I know the truth.

And now she knows it too.


***

An impulsive murder-suicide plan is quickly ruled out: with both of us dead, who will raise the kids? And for that matter, what if the kids spot another gray on my corpse? Then I won’t be around to kill them too; my secret will get out, and I’ll be the laughing stock of the blogosphere anyways.

No, that plan has just too many flaws to be taken seriously.

The obvious alternative was readily available online. This little beauty [pictured left] retails at $18.99, and provides the perfect solution to hide my hideous deformity ... but it looks a bit like steel wool, and I'm staunchly against the abuse of robot sheep.


***

Why, O cruel God, hast Thou afflicted me thusly? Do I not go to church in disguises so Father Fritz won't kick me out anymore?

Why not pick on Diesel instead? We're exactly the same age, and -aside from you Divining me with a serious infusion of talent- Mattress Police will always have a lot more readers: he would totally blog about hoary flaming death toads raining down on him amidst Your mighty wrath! And as a self-taught linguistic expert, I'm almost certain he lives in New Jersey based on his dialect.

O Vengeful One, is smiting New Jersey with a few flaming toads too much to ask from your most faithful of followers?

I'll be in Slacker Heaven before you know it.

Clash of the Titanics

Predator Press

[LOBO]

As a rule, the LOBOnian Nation is fairly enlightened; therefore Democracy is tolerated as long as the decisions made are ones I would agree with.

But Democracy makes for really boring television.

God I’m sick of it ... Hillary complaining about this. Barack complaining about that. Blah blah blah blah blah. It’s getting so bad I have no idea what Britney and Lindsay are doing at all anymore.

Would you people elect somebody already? How long can I be expected to quietly sublimate your Will under mine if you won’t shut up about this meaninglessness?

Face it: they’re all lame. I can no sooner imagine Hillary rappelling down an Afghanistanian fortress wall to beat Osama to death with a tire iron than I can McCain playin’ a rockin guitar solo during a surprise cameo at a U2 concert.

If you’re going to bother with it at all, go with a winner.


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Liquid Lunch

Predator Press

[LOBO]

" ... attach the color coded cables on the side with magnetic plates, unless it's Wednesday during a month with an 'M' in it.

In this case, define the corresponding animal of the current Chinese New Year and add the numeric values of the letters as per a regulation Scrabble board on Double Word squares with Triple Letter Score on the first vowel.

If the sum is greater than the last three digits of your salesman's birth year, affix the 1/8" bolts to the non-finished sides of parts N12, AAX and 1Q3 unless it's 1966*, then A44, N12, V2L and Q must be completely parallel to themselves, and perpendicular to Alpha Proxima.

* IMPORTANT: If it's model 99Av0441, please be sure to refer to illustrations 987.01 - 15111.a04."



If LadyTerri makes me assemble anymore
IKEA furniture, I'm just going to get a job.