Blitzkrieg

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Many beers.

Many, many beers.

-My memories kinda stab in in bright painful flashes. I vaguely remember making a game of yelling obscenities at the neighbors while peeing behind the shed –a concession we made to minimize tracking dirt in the house.

“Where’s Joe?” someone would ask.

-From behind the shed: “Kiss my ass you filthy butt-ugly rat-faced …!”

“Oh there he is.”

-And so it goes.

In spite of my initial dread the barbeque was mostly fun, marred only briefly by something enormous rudely crashing into me. It turned out to be the ground.

-I was in no condition to fight the entire Earth, but I intuitively knew the Earth was a pansy that would back down if properly challenged: we trash-talked each other for a few minutes, but things smoothed over fairly quickly.

This was the biggest social event I’ve attended since the welcoming party when Terri and I moved out here. Again there was a nice big bonfire. The weather was perfect, and air was thick with the delicious smells of one fabulous food after another.

I like these people too. On a whim, two of them blew in from Spokane.

-Picture a well-armed redneck ski patrol.

"You’re mama is so fat, ... !"

Maintaining a good stream of obscenities while, eh, “marking your territory” isn’t as easy as it sounds. Still I highly recommend it. It’s cathartic.

“You should try it,” I explained to Terri.

She glowered.

Priss.

Too Many Secrets

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When unfairly cursed by fame such as I have, one must take precautions when going into public.

-Luckily, Predator Press scienticians have devised a series of subtle prosthetics that I may use to walk amongst you undetected –that I may slide “under the radar” so to speak, and drink in the real Americana that most fabulously rich and successful celebrities such as myself often never see.

And it’s true: mine is, as far as I know, the first case in human medical history of actually having sprained his pupils contracting due to sunlight exposure ... but I have been assured this condition is quite temporary, and curable by physical therapy consisting of gradually-increasing increments of the ultraviolet spectrum.

Once this adaptive process is complete, I will be prowling around unobserved and writing stories about “Regular Joes.”

But it might take me a few weeks.

-The television gave me a sunburn.

Daisy the Curly Shark

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Last night, while Terri and I were going through our scrapbook, it occurred to me I’ve never blogged about how we came to adopt Daisy -our 47 foot Great White Shark.

I remember that stormy evening like it was yesterday. Answering a soft knock at the door, at first I didn’t think anyone was there ... but glancing down, there she was in a tiny little pink basket. Attached was a note that said “I can no longer care for my baby. Please help.”

Immediately our hearts melted.

We have treated her as our own ever since, and -despite Terri’s stubborn refusal to breastfeed- we built as normal a life for Daisy as we could provide: I was there for her first steps. We played catch and Hide-N-Seek in the backyard. I built a huge elaborate treehouse where we would leisurely fritter away our summers eating marshmallows and reading comic books.

High school was tough for her. She always seemed to have trouble “fitting in” and we had to encourage her to participate in school-related activities. Eventually her natural athletic abilities began to shine through, and she became the first female fullback on her football team and earned a full scholarship to NYU.

We never told Daisy she was adopted, and trust you to help us keep this dark secret.

-One only has to look into those beady little eyes to understand why we have spared her this painful revelation.

Eye Candy

Predator Press

[LOBO]

A recent post I did plugging Steam Powered Rings has resulted in a genuine interest in an art, eh, "motif" called Steampunk.

I really dig this stuff. Indeed, I’ve considered working the theme into Predator Press.

Exploring this possibility, I Googled some images -and some of them just leapt off of the screen.

There's something about the sheer inventive elegance and the retro-campy feel that appeals to me.

-And like this blog, it's irresponsibly impractical and utterly useless.

I’m using these pictures without permission, but you can click on them to go to the respective sites. I highly recommend checking them out if you have a few minutes: all three of them are fantastic.^[1]

This concludes our "art" lesson today.

-Tomorrow I'll be over it, and back to my pornographic Skittles mosaics.

^[1]See also: Skwib, The

Origami as Self Defense

Predator Press

[LOBO]

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

[LOBO]

“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

[LOBO]

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.)