Mom ‘N Dad: New World Disorder

Predator Press

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A little woozy and “loose” from the drugs alcohol, she suppressed a giggle; from this angle she had a rare view of not only his black socks, but the bottom of his shoes. They always appeared gigantic and comically elongated from underneath.

“Is that a new suit darling?”

“Why yes my love,” the man preened. He stood and did a half twirl. Funny, but kinda swank with the big cigar. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think we can afford it.”

“But I closed that purchase we wanted," he puffs. "You're looking at the second largest asbestos manufacturer in the Midwest. I can't go around dressed like a chump you know. Me ‘an you are going places baby. I love you. You are my oxygen.”

Sitting, he swings the metal tray back over her and pours a two shots of Wild Turkey.

“Thank you,” she replies.

“How’s about me ‘an you take a vacation? Huh baby? Maui. Italy. Australia. You name it.”

“Scotland,” she smiles.

“Cigarette?” he asks, fumbling his vest.

“Please.”

While presenting the Camel, he extends the pack to the young Doctor I. M. Nyarlathotep.

“No thanks,” says the pup lowering his stethoscope.

-Despite just graduating from medical school, there was no mistaking this diagnosis.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news," he says finally.

“That’s terrible,” says the man. “Would you like a shot?”

“I mean terrible news for you,” he replies.

The man poured himself a shot.

Taking a deep breath, the doctor sighed. “She’s pregnant.”

The man drank his shot.

“I can’t be pregnant,” laughed the woman.

“Yes,” agreed the man after a satisfied gasp. “She’s just getting really fat.”

“Nope,” says the doctor, holding X-rays up to the light. “Preggers.”

The man gasped. “How long do we have, Doc?”

“Not long,” he says studiously, turning to the man. “Those stomach cramps are actually contractions. You may want to go downstairs and pace around in an anxiety-addled state for a few hours.”

“But if I were pregnant," asks the woman, "wouldn’t I know? I mean wouldn’t he have moved or something by now?”

The doc continues to study the illuminated X-Rays. “Look, I’m not telling you the kid isn’t lazy.”

The woman grabs the man’s hand. “Baby this is wonderful!”

“Yes,” says the man, tracing his finger across the hospital Fire Escape map. “The Maternity Ward is two floors down, and there’s a set of stairs-“

“We’re way ahead of you,” says the doc. “It has been bricked up for four years now.”

“Darling,” she insists. “We’ll have the pitter-patter of little feet running across the pool deck of out summer home.” Wistfully she sighs, “And with you being an asbestos magnate, he can go learn with the greatest minds of our time at the finest of Ivy League schools.”

Exasperated, the man looked down at his her, still clasping his hand hopefully.

And after what seemed an eternity gazing into those big beautiful blue eyes, his icy heart finally melted.

“Jesus, I hope he's white,” she adds.

Keeping the Romance Aflame

Predator Press

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I have recently made the observation that the most significant appliance in my marriage is a medium-sized cast iron skillet.

See, upon occasion I lose my sense of decorum and post about, um, fisting androids and random loose allusions about pornography.

!!!WHANGGG!!!

-In a fraction of a second the "message" is delivered loud 'an clear.

Once I'm out of the hospital, several days of apologetic groveling must ensue: this typically includes flowers, chocolates, window serenades, jewelry, luxury cars -whatever it takes to trick her into thinking I have deeply-rooted “feelings” and warrant forgiveness.

Conversely, if I’m mad, she uses this exact same skillet to make my favorite food: pork chops. Pork chops -minus the time to defrost them- take maybe an hour and max out cost-wise at around $15.

This versatile utensil is truly remarkable, and when factoring in the innate marriage-saving properties it must be regarded with a certain awe … an awe that could bring an entrepreneurial blogger such as myself an assload of cash.

-Cash that can be used for the afore mentioned apologetic groveling.

As many of you longtime readers know, Predator Press has always been a blog dedicated exclusively to successful relationships and personal fulfillment. It is in this spirit I’ve contacted DuPont and –with Doctor Phil onboard as a consultant- have developed the official Predator Press Skillet of Love.

No couple that takes itself seriously should be without it.

Retailing at around $249, the Predator Press Skillet of Love is constructed of contoured space age polymers and alloys making it extremely lightweight, balanced and aerodynamic for hurling ease and accuracy*, while the virtually impervious coating provides a non-stick surface that never requires “seasoning.”

*Detachable laser targeting scope (pictured) is optional and sold separately.

Ask LOBO: How to Blog Part III

Predator Press

[LOBO]

This installment of How to Blog is dedicated to increasing traffic by utilizing Blogger-Oriented Observations and Bold Statements.

-"BOOBS" for short.

As the primary author of Predator Press, I can’t say enough about BOOBS. Nothing attracts new readers like them, and there shouldn’t be an inch of your blog that isn’t completely devoted to them. BOOBS have forever been the life’s blood of the internet, and without them none of us would be here.

But be warned: you can’t just use any BOOBS. No matter what kind of creative savvy you command, spongy lifeless sulky BOOBS will drag your blog down into depressing obscurity. You want new and upbeat perky BOOBS. Hard BOOBS. Firm, well rounded BOOBS. –BOOBS that when called upon can slam home an exciting and informative lifestyle like a railroad spike.

And don’t get locked into specific BOOBS either: they might make your blog trite and repetitive seeming. The biggest mistake you can make is to climb up onto BOOBS you find perfect and proselytize joyously down upon your readers: while they might be hypnotized briefly by the gigantic mighty weight of your respective views, they will eventually feel alienated.

One must be open to new BOOBS occasionally. There’s nothing worse than focusing too hard on one set of BOOBS, because pow you’re likely to get blindsided by someone else’s BOOBS. You could lose an eye like that! Remember variety is good: Predator Press, for example, often features BOOBS that go in completely different directions; while this might seem self-defeating, the occasional violent collision of BOOBS is a spectacle no avid blog reader would ever want to miss out on.

And that concludes How to Blog Part III. Please put this information to good use, and stay tuned for Part IV: a riveting discourse of the next phase of good blogging, “Topical Information To Surf.”

Now go!

Blog!

Internet Swag

Predator Press

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Limbaugh “Spears” New Republican Direction

Predator Press

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To address flagging confidence in the Republican Party, Rush Limbaugh hopes to reinvigorate the American conservative youth by taking a page out of iconic pop culture.

-Limbaugh cites his only regret in this audacious new strategy “The Brazilian wax. O Holy Christ that hurt.”

Predator Press Announces Ten-Year Middle East Peace Plan

Predator Press

[LOBO]

-See I’m not thinking of it as a Holy war or a charitable contribution to either side.

To the contrary, I’m sick of reading about every last one of ‘em.

But if we get the Israelis out of there for a while, the other lunatics will start killing each other instead: in ten years and nobody'll be left, and then we send the bastards back one happy Hanukkah with explicit instructions:


Stay the fuck out of the news for a few centuries, capiche?-so's we can get back to Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan.

So picture: around 2:00 am one fateful morning we use a bunch of low-tech cropdusters and sedate the entire population of Gaza and the West Bank or whatever.

In fact we'll get that East Bank too.

-just to show those pricks we can.

Once out cold we round the whole Israeli population up, transport them via military cargo jets, and arrange them carefully over our exact replica of the Gaza Strip currently known as New Mexico.

This “New Gaza” is far too ambitious to be perfect: doubtlessly some Israelis will occasionally grow suspicious. Perhaps even homesick. But here's where the true genius of my plan comes in: we don’t give the Israelis any time to figure anything out.

Everything in “New Gaza” is rigged to detonate at some random point when no people are within a certain radius. Thus, just as they are starting to wonder where their enemies are, boom, an empty bus explodes. Sure you’re your map seems a little off … but just as you’re trying to locate the North Star, a cactus immediately to the left goes kablooey.

And every night as they curl up to sleep, the distant horizon will be a violent and spectacular pyrotechnic symphony.

For ten years, the Israelis'll sleep like babies.

We don't have to do this for free, either: over the years the disoriented Israelis are our "guests" we can put a great big magnet on a semi or a rail car and “steer” them geographically: by carefully changing the magnetic north on their compasses we could convince them their enemies are actually to the south, surreptitiously putting the Israelis on our Mexican border patrol -all without paying them a dime.

Oh come on ... what's one more measley desert to wander? Moses had 'em goin four times that long, and this one has gas stations!

Just think if Moses had scratch-off lottery tickets and microwave burritos: that whole "New Testament" thing might've been real different.

-I'm just sayin'.

Bits of Tid

Predator Press

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"-that I'm sent from above. I'm not that innocent! Oops I did it again ... I played with your heart-"

Nurse Garrison lowers her stethoscope.

"You swallowed your iPod again, didn't you?"

"Maybe," I reply.