Origami as Self Defense

Predator Press

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I know it’s hard to believe with a physique such as mine that I was once picked on by bullies.

-But believe me, no one knows the anguish of going to the beach and having a zombie kick sand in your face and steal your girl better!

I don't know about you, but I hate getting sand kicked in my face. And since I've selflessly dedicated my entire career to helping people, I can't just ignore you pipsqueaks and puny wimps: that's why I came up with Origami: the Art of Self Defense.

Why let all those useless and boring Geometry classes go to waste? With this 56 DVD set I’ll teach you step-by-step how after MONTHS of being brutally terrorized, I folded my high school bully into a teeny swan and then torched the evil hostile with hair spray and some matches.

-Her wheelchair melted instanly.

It was awesome.

Democracy

Predator Press

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“Mom,” says Screechy, our six-year old. “If you make one big plate of pork chops a week, it’s .08% less cholesterol. Plus dad will be awake 42% less, thereby mitigating our entire deductible.”

Terri whirls.

“Did he trick you into doing our insurance paperwork again?”

"He's taking out the garbage next month."

And Another Thing

Predator Press

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Oh yeah. And I also wrote a book in my spare time. It’s called “The Ingredients of a Good Thriller Part II: The Revenge.”

It’s essentially The Ingredients of a Good Thriller with all the “Chris Woods"-es exed out and replaced with “LOBOs,” sprinkled lightly with additional hand-written profanity in the margins.

-Mine is half the price, but it costs $600 in shipping.

(And there's nudity.)

Defenders of The Faith

Predator Press

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For deep, restorative healing of the soul I can’t say enough about church: if Terri ‘an the kids didn’t go every Sunday, I wouldn’t be able to sleep in or bask in the gloriously quiet solitude leisurely drinking coffee in my bathrobe and slippers.

-But being the sole guardian of an important and historic document such as Predator Press can be fraught with unseen peril.

And this Sunday started off like any other. I sat down at the computer, booted up, and navigated to my Blogger login screen.

“You don’t want to do that,” my computer warned.

“Why?” I ask.

Silence.

I continue punching in my URL.

“Seriously,” the machine drones. “I would reconsider this action.”

“What’s wrong?” I inquire. “Is MyBlogLog down?”

“No.”

“Entrecard took a crap?”

“No.”

I drum my fingers anxiously. What could possibly be so wrong, my computer doesn’t want to go to my blog?

After considerable hesitation, I reluctantly inquire “Did Diesel do another upgrade to Humor-Blogs?”

“Bingo.”

Uh-oh.

"Widgets too?"

"Couldn't tell you."

Ah, Christ.

“Well how bad could it be?” I defend. “As the creator of Humor-Blogs and Blog-Storm, Diesel has demonstrated radiant braniosity -comparable perhaps even to myself! And he’s done numerous upgrades before. Surely he has things well in hand at this point.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hmmmm.

Taking a deep breath, I complete the URL.

-R-E-S-S-.-C-O-M

Then, backing as far from the monitor as I can reach, I stretch forward and tap the ‘Enter’ key.

Predator Press leapt from the screen, and within a fraction of a second swallowed my entire head.

I screamed.

-I'm almost sure of it.

Overbalanced, I reeled backwards while helplessly grasping for purchase -but sensing me struggle, Predator Press coiled powerfully around my neck as to weaken me and cloud my cat-like faculties.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed my hot cup of coffee and splashed it right in Predator Press’ face. But this only infuriated the beast: it threw me to the ground and started punching me in the kidneys.

Frantic and gasping for air, I spotted a pencil that had rolled under my desk; clutching it desperately, I plunged it deeply into the Predator Press RSS.

Predator Press shrieked in furious agony, and scampered up into the upper southeast corner of the room –well out of reach.

“Bull shit!” I cried. Grabbing a handy broom, I began swinging wildly at Predator Press. But Predator Press was too fast, and the blows whistled by harmlessly.

-Well “harmlessly” if you’re not my trophy shelf.

Or the lamp.

Or the china hutch in the living room.

-For what seemed like an eternity, Predator Press zigged to my zags.

But then it made a fatal mistake: I cornered it in the laundry room, and a wild grab found my fingers around it’s neck. I hurled it hard against the dryer, and this stunned it: soon I was strangling it on the floor as it floundered and twitched.

“But,” it choked, flopping slightly. “I … love … you!”

It was at that moment I realized that I was succumbing to my own personal rage.

Slowly, I released my grip around it’s neck.

-And Predator Press kicked me square in the nuts.

Twice.

Moments later, staggering to my feet, I could hear Predator Press working the deadbolt to the front door.

Oh, this ain’t over Mister Smarty-Blog I thought, throwing open the cover to the breaker box.

-Not by a long shot.

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!