Sunday

LOBOSCOPES

Predator Press

[LOBO]

You are the only sane one left. All the other signs of the Zodiac have gone crazy and are out to get you.

It's kill or be killed, you poor bastard.



It is a tumor.

-I don't know how you did it, but you got testicular, prostate, ovarian and breast.

On the bright side, those things incubating on your itchy genitalia won't be succesfully diagnosed until after the autopsy.



You are shrewd and ruthless: upon reading these horoscopes, you immediately buy life insurance on every Cancerian you know.

To enjoy your bountiful destiny, it is a Cosmic imperative you eye your insurance broker strangely ... He's a Taurus. They like that.

It makes them respect you more.

Your lucky number today is "-1."



You are intelligent, amiable, charming, and good looking.

Nobody can stand you.



You are a complete loser, and the only person in the world that doesn't know it. Your own mother has to refrain from signing it on your birthday cards. Even your pets know it; your dog hides on walks when other dogs are around, and your goldfish are trying to spell it in the aquarium gravel.

Don't feel too bad, however; you could have been a Cancer ...



If you were never born, world hunger, famine and poverty would have abruptly ceased long ago; peace and harmony would've been the hallmark of all humankind.

Other than that, your outlook is great.



Still waters run deep.

Unfortunately, you are about as 'deep' as the Spice Girls.

Geminis should avoid careers that involve operating heavy machinery, explosives, basic math, spelling, and speaking out loud.



There's nothing wrong with your sexual appetites a little "Liquid G" can't handle.

Otherwise, just conduct your sermons as normal.



You will meet a tall, dark stranger. Carry a can of mace, and you might be able to get away eventually. After prosthetics and several years of rehab, psychiatry, and heavy medication you might even be released to the family on weekends.

-But don't count on it.



You Leo, are the lion of the Zodiac. This means you are as fat, lazy and worthless as the ones in the wild kingdom. While you sleep all day, your concubines run around hunting to feed you during the brief debacle of your slothful consciousness.

Well done!



Your wonderful and generous nature is rewarded rather ironically by Fate when you 'Realize' you were killed by one of Colbie Caillat's tour busses.



You Pisces, are the fish of the Zodiac: your only claim to history and fame will be an indirect and unfortunate association with the invention of tartar sauce.

Fish are ultimately animals that swim in their own urine and get hooked, beheaded, flayed, gutted, and deep-fried by the billions everyday. That having been said, do you really want to know your future?

As if your horoscope will say "You will wake up tomorrow a Scorpio" ... ?

Duh!!


Saturday

The Skittish Invasion

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The Butterbean kid and I step out of the courthouse, and into the cold and harsh-seeming sunlight.

He looks up from his notepad. “So you do this every day?”

“No,” I says. Squinting as my eyes adjust, I hold the paperwork over my eyes. “The only have these hearings once a week.”

As we descend the stairs, I spot the Unfinished Rambler getting into his car.

“Hey!” I yell complaining. “It’s only for 100 feet!”

“I know,” calls Unfinished Rambler. “It’s a typo. I’ll get the lawyers to correct it to 100 yards as soon as they can.”

As he drives off I give him an informal salute, and me and Butterbean head down for my own car.

Butterbean is leafing through his notes. “So your plan is,” he restates, “to get everyone to take out a temporary restraining order on you so they have to move, therefore enabling you to keep the whole city for yourself?”

I unlock the back door. Pausing for a second, I kiss the document for effect. “These things are like gold.” As I toss it in the car, Butterbean now realizes there are thousands of TROs piled back there.

He scowls thoughtfully. “But if they are taking out restraining orders on you, wouldn’t that mean you have to move?”

I look at him, and then the documents.

And then back at him.

“Of course not!” I says climbing into the driver’s seat. “Look. You’re just a dumb kid. These legislative matters are very complex.”

"You told the judge her hair looks like three cats fighting."

"Chicks dig compliments," I says starting the car. "And it was far and away the coolest hair I've ever seen."

He swings the seatbelt around his rather impressive girth. “Where are we going now?”

I turn to size up the mountains of paperwork.

“Someplace to get a lot of Liquid Paper.”


Friday

Steampunk

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don't do product endorsements.

-mostly because no one will pay me to do them.

Still I think this stuff is really interesting and worth a look.

Neat!

Thursday

Thought for Food

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When did grocery store cashiers start informing people ‘how much we saved’?

It irritates me. If I hear an enthusiastic “You saved $6.32!” one more time I’m going to freak out.

If you’re going to bother and artificially inflate a price temporarily to impress me, just go crazy.

“You saved $1,456,042.48!”

-At least that way my mac ‘n cheese coupons wouldn't seem so emasculating.


Tuesday

Retox

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The kid –who looks a little like a pint-sized Butterbean- just kind of slips into the kitchen as I’m pouring milk into my bowl. The food, inspected under a black light only moments before, is presumed safe for my consumption.

But I’m still pretty groggy and not 100% I’m not dreaming the kid up: I decide to say nothing and try and ignore him in case.

-The possible illusion is shattered moments later as he loudly slides into a chair at the table.

“Hi,” he says shyly, averting my gaze.

“Hi,” I reply, chewing.

A few uncomfortable moments of silence follow.

“Is that cereal?”

“No,” says me, eyeing him warily. “It’s Peanut M&Ms.”

“Huh,” he says. "Do you always wear welding goggles at breakfast?"

"Son, you ever get hard candy shell in your eye?"

"No."

"Well then don't knock good protective gear. This isn’t some bullshit caramel nugat: this stuff is engineered to melt in your mouth. Not in your eye."

More silence. He starts uncomfortably looking around the kitchen. “Miss Terri said I could come in and talk to you.”

“Are you done?”

“No. See I have this school project where I have to interview people of different occupations.” He flips open a notepad. “I have you here as an ‘Author.’ Is that correct?”

I examine his beady little eyes for signs of sarcasm.

“You want to interview me?” I ask.

“Well my dad thought it was a good idea. Since you don’t actually have a job, he figured he wouldn’t have to drive me anyplace.”

I drop my spoon into the bowl -now empty except for discolored milk- and lean back in my chair. “Who is your dad again?”

“We live next door.”

I scowl without recognition.

“You killed my gramma with a Lawn Jart last summer,” he adds helpfully.

My eyebrows furrow. I gesture for him to stand and turn around. And sure enough, there’s that distinctive blocky skull shape.

“Oh yeah,” I says. “Man, your mom was pissed."


Monday

Post-Apocalypse Blogging

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Kathy: “And today archeologists uncovered even more writings by LOBO of Predator Press.”

Jeff: “Were they more posts complaining about what jerks people were?"

Kathy: “Why yes they were Jeff.”

Diesel: “That LOBO was such a visionary …"

Speedcat: “Yes he was, Diesel. Yes he was. And now in sports news … "


Sunday

Ask LOBO: Where Do We Get Predator Press Merchandise?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, why can’t I get Predator Press merchandise?"

Well I’m glad you asked me that.

You can all stop setting yourselves on fire demanding it. You can all stop jumping off of buildings demanding it. You can all stop setting yourselves on fire and then jumping off of buildings demanding it!

They are here:




Now I’ve noticed a slight problem with the first 150,000 I had made, and this brings me to my first disclaimer: Predator Press t-shirts do not come with Spellcheck installed.

These were intended to be $9.99. But I had to send them back and get them corrected:




Now, correctly stenciled, they came in at $26.99 apiece.

But that looks kinda weird, right? So I had them sent back a third time. And for the low-low price of $69.50, I give you the Official Predator Press T-Shirt:


Click on it to enlarge!




It’s 100% polyester!