The Westward Ho Bag

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Yes, it is true that Terri and I are indeed are headed to California.

I mentioned it before on this blog.

But I have also mentioned conspiring with space aliens for the overthrow of Humankind, indestructible fusion-powered robotic ex-girlfriends, and a dragon that plays spectacular Scrabble.

-If you weren’t taking me seriously then, I don’t think you people will take anything seriously.

I must say a tearful goodbye to my beloved Pianosa.

I will miss this place.

My initial reaction was what some people might call a bit selfish: If I can’t continue to enjoy Pianosa, why should anyone else?

I figured by nuking Pianosa to smithereens and starting Pianosa II in California, I would be doing everyone a favor.

-It is, after all, the most practical course of action. Instead of moving, I could just collect the insurance money and start all over with brand new stuff!

Unfortunately, some of my favorite people live in Pianosa I.

Bastards.

I would like to assure the following “former Pianosians” that they will not be burned to cinders:

1) Dantheinventoryman: Oh man, if anyone deserves to be burned to cinders, it’s you.

But I also intuitively know you would somehow survive the radioactive fallout and find us.

You are a map slut, and billions and billions of phone books would have to be recalled and reprinted to correct your reckless and wanton geographical infidelity.

Well I like trees, and I will have no part of this.

2) HST: I’ve been a member of the band Hot Sauce Tamales for over two years now. We do Red Hot Chili Peppers cover tunes backwards-masked with Satanic messages on six rubber bands stretched to varying lengths, an oscillating weed-whacker and a slide whistle.

Way ahead of our time.

We were far and away the most innovative music space-age polymers, a two-stroke engine, latex and Spandex could possibly provide.

The people just weren’t ready for us yet.

3) Ethan: Far and away the person I’ve least fantasized about killing with an ice pick. What am I going to do without my oldest, dearest friend and mentor?

[*sniff*] And what will I do with this ice pick?

Anywho, soon I’ll be engaged simultaneously in the three most hideous and horrible experiences ever known: moving, applying for jobs, and taking acting classes.

I'm taking acting classes are just in case I can't get any other type of work.

-But I sure hope Pianosa II has a Space Program.

Predator Press: Exposed!

Predator Press

[Bill Curtis]

We’ve all watched the meteoric rise of Predator Press in the lucrative field of blogging, and the vast, glorious empire founded on this historic document by Ethan and LOBO.

But what do we really know about the origins of Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to go deep inside the seedy underbelly of what might be the most popular blog in the universe: Predator Press.

And what we found may shock and horrify you.


***

By appearance, Flandsa Ha’asasanba might have seemed like any other immigrant worker. When he arrived on Ellis Island with only eight dollars in his pocket, he was in pursuit of the American Dream: to work honest and hard until he encountered a situation where he could sue someone, thusly retiring in style and with a steady flow of Disability checks.

But Flandsa Hasasanba had an unrecognized talent for both turnip farming and writing; in his battered suitcase was a 600 page manuscript entitled The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

What do these seemingly disparate events have to do with Predator Press?

I’m Bill Curtis. And today we’re going to explore the strange twist that would entwine the dark fate of Flandsa Ha’asasanba to it forever.


***

June 6, 2003

LOBO, reputedly trying to peek up the dress of “that great big chick holding the torch,” found himself stranded on Ellis Island without the eight dollars required to ride the ferry back.

Time wore on. With a flowing unkempt beard and clothes reduced to frayed tatters, he spent the entire two hours demanding to speak to ‘Ellis’ to no avail.

Flandsa Hasasanba –who spoke no English- only smiled politely as LOBO barked madly. In turn -concluding quickly that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was one of those “Special People”- LOBO decided that Flandsa Ha’asasanba was safer as his own 'personal assistant' than he was wandering the dangerous and uncharted regions of greater New York City.

“Look at that, Friday,” said LOBO, pointing to the nearby coast with a large piece of driftwood.

“Flandsa,” Flandsa Ha’asasanba corrected smiling.

“Friday, you know I hate it when you interrupt me,” says LOBO. “Listen. Someday we are going to get off this rock. I promise you. As God as my witness, we will see civilization again!”

Flandsa Hasasanba grinned. Whatever this American hobo was saying, he certainly seemed very animated about it. Hungry, he pulled out his eight dollars and got in line behind other tourists at the hot dog stand.

-Flandsa Ha’asasanba woke several hours later with nothing but a headache, a piece of broken driftwood, and shattered hopes and dreams.

So just what happened on that fateful day of June 6, 2003?

I'm Bill Curtis.

Stay tuned.




***

This mystery might have died out completely had LOBO not emerged that very next year and started publishing on Predator Press.

-Publishing things that were raising some eyebrows.

It seems that numerous Predator Press posts bear a remarkable resemblance to Flandsa Ha’asasanba's opus The Turnip: Nature's Miracle Vegetable.

Obesrve the following excerpt from Flandsa Ha’asasanba's work:

"The turnip (Brassica rapa var. rapa) is a root vegetable commonly grown in temperate climates worldwide for its white, bulbous taproot. Small, tender varieties are grown for human consumption, while larger varieties are grown as feed for livestock."

-And compare it to the following uncannily similar Predator Press quote:

"Fat tourists should not tan in temperate climates worldwide. Their pasty, white bulbous flesh should not be exposed to human eyes under any circumstances. The really fat fucks should be used strictly as livestock."

-It's almost as if all the nouns and verbs have been simply erased, and replaced at random.

The similarities are unmistakable.

So did Flandsa Ha’asasanba, a clearly insane and homicidal turnip-farming immagrant prodigy, murder LOBO and steal his blog and identity?

I'm Bill Curtis.

And we may never know.

Internet Swag

Predator Press

[LOBO]




Custom Motel Sign Generator found here.





More Sign Generator fun found here.

A Gender Crossed

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Friday I overheard a co-worker describe a nearby nightclub as a “fantastic place to meet members of the opposite sex."

-clearly referring to women.

Now it seems to me if sex is something healthy done for pleasure and procreation, the opposite would be something like a gigantic carnivorous banana that roams city streets at night in search of hapless and easy mortal prey, picking it’s teeth with car doors and radiator grills between victims.

Numerous women were within earshot of it, and I was shocked that none of them rose to stab him in the neck with any of many readily-available letter openers.

Indeed, they seemed to miss the offensive comparison entirely.

And despite this single sentence setting back the Feminist movement fifty years, all the women just continued on about their business. Is their oppression so complete they don’t even notice when explicitly slurred? I don’t know about you, but as a guy if someone called me a gigantic carnivorous banana that roams city streets at night in search of hapless and easy mortal prey picking it’s teeth with car doors and radiator grills between victims, I would totally kick his ass!

As a sophisticated and enlightened Twenty First Century gentleman, I feel we -as men- need to lead the charge. And we should start by no longer tolerating chicks bein’ called gigantic carnivorous bananas, et cetera, in the workplace.

Where There's Smoke, There's ART

Predator Press

[LOBO]

One of the most intriguing sites I've found tooling around on the web is PaperKraft.net.

It claims that you can take this:



And make it into this:



Unfortunately, I can't confirm the veracity of the site because I always end up with this:


and occasionally this:


-It always seems to come apart during the flight stick assembly.


***

Woe to thee PaperKraft.net -if in fact that is your real name: you have cost me 17 hours of life, eighty pounds of construction paper, four gallons of Elmer's glue, and caused countless paper cuts resulting in $1,457 worth of hospital bills my insurance will not cover.

For this I'm directing the full and mighty vengeful force of Predator Press to inflict swift, lethal payback by beating you at your own game.

Jerks.

Tune in next week, 'O Loyal Reader. For then Predator Press will launch our own series of fantastical origami art tutorials.

We will teach you to take this:



And make stuff like this:

Throb

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Are you ready to give your presentation?” asks my boss.

I have no idea how to work the PowerPoint thingy.

“My presentation,” I reply coolly.

He leans on my file cabinet. “The one I assigned you last Tuesday. On how the company is moving toward full ISO compliance.”

I also haven't the slightest clue what the ‘International Organization for Standardization' or whatever is or does.

“Sure I am,” I says.

“Care to give me some highlights?”

“Well," I says, "I figure we have to retool the whole company for it.”

“Really? Can you give me an example?”

Standing and looking around I says, “How many do you need?”

"How about just one?"

"For starters," I reply, "take for instance ... these … cubicles.”

“What about the cubicles?”

“Why hire average and large-sized people? We could fit four times as many people in here if we started hiring midgets.”

I see the temple on the left side of his head swell.

“And,” I continue, “we could stack the cubicles three-high, thusly tripling that number.”

-The right side temple pops forth, and I can clearly see the heartbeat surging through it.

“The Fire Marshall,” he replies, (thup-thup, thup-thup) “would never allow us to stack midgets in cubicles due to the lack of access to the fire escapes.”

“That’s what the tornado slides are for.”

The Legend of Testicles

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Sure we’ve all heard the fantastic adventures of Hercules. But Predator Press scienticians have unearthed archeological evidence that Hercules had an evil twin brother, Testicles.

Testicles wasn’t as quite as large as his legendary sibling Hercules –and frankly he wasn’t all that bright either. But in their youth, Testicles often ran the show.

Hercules and Testicles eventually became bitter rivals, and Hercules often beat Testicles severely.

One day finally Hercules beat Testicles so badly, Testicles shrank off into obscurity forever.