Monday

When All Else Fails

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“I told you to stop applying for psychiatrist jobs!” says Terri, scowling into my CareerBuilder account.

“It’s not just any psychiatrist job.” I explain. “It’s Director of Psychiatry. I would run, like, a fleet of psychiatrists. Those cats make like $250,000 a year.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“How hard could it be?” I shrug. “I carry around a clipboard, and make all the patients in my asylum smoke cannabis while listening to old Beatles records. Hell people will be trying to break in.”

“You’re not qualified!

“I get my second interview tomorrow.”

“Really?”


Sunday

Snarquis de Sade

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I know you all have seen this image in the past, but I wanted to update my screenshot on various services: this is my all-time favorite Photoshop –a pic originally spawned by my buddy Speedcat Hollydale. (You can see his original version by clicking the pic.)

For me, today is general blog maintenance: I’ve added a “Top Commenter” widget (see ”Pack Mentality,” right), and Twitter –although I’m not 100% on Twitter yet. While currently unfamiliar and purely experimental, please feel free to add me as a Twitter follower [@SnarquisDeSade] and I’ll return the favor.

-I don’t really foresee being able to devote a lot of time to Twitter, but at the very least I regard it as a handy little shorthand tool for keeping track of some of my favorite people.


Saturday

What if our Alien Visitors are Delicious?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Oh, come on ... you're all thinking it, you're just too chicken to ask.

And I can already hear you bleeding heart liberals complaining, 'But LOBO, aliens capable of interstellar travel would be super-intelligent!' blah blah.

Oh please ... ridden a bus lately? What if these are celestial losers tryin to get a picture of themselves next to the intergalactic equivalent of the 'World's Biggest Ball of Yarn?"

Pthbttt!

The capability of travel doesn't impress me. In fact non-intelligent beings travel every day (see photo, right).

And frankly, these rude and unannounced tourists being 'intelligent' only makes the idea more attractive: what could be better than a meal that preheats the oven, sets the timer, lathers itself in a fine Mornay sauce and is fully cooked to a succulent golden-brown before you even get home?

As far as I'm concerned, the only question is whether to serve them with a white wine or a red.


Friday

Playing With Matches

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.

See, nowadays new blogs are poppin up everywhere and all the time. I’m willing to bet at this point there are like fifteen or twenty of them -all industriously ripping off my idea to have an online diary, and paying me, um, zero in royalties.

And I'm fine with that really. There is no real need to thank me ... from the very conception of the concept of “blogging,” I knew it was too great a gift not to share with the rest of Humankind.

-But I cannot, in good conscience, let said Humankind forget the history behind it.

As an example, I invite you to take the following quiz:


HINTS
v


One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.

The other will only write about it.


One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.

The other is made of Latex and rubber.



One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.

The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.


One of these two was in a TV series.

The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.



One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.

The other is somehow cashing in despite "Pet Detective", and Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Budget Surpluses."



One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.

(In this case, both answers are correct. I can't tell the difference either.)



***


Now for any of you that took this quiz and didn’t score like four million points, I think you really need to do some homework. You know, like, “study” or something. Don’t write a blog without knowing the cold hard facts surrounding the glorious history of blogging: it would just embarrass us both.

So where was I?

Oh yeah.

Diesel.


***


See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.

“D,” I says. “You have to scale back the awesomeness of this book. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you write another one.”

But Diesel can be pretty stubborn when it comes to advice.

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says smugly.

“D, I’m serious,” I insist. “They made this guy Hemingway write like three books.”

“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“Have they made you write any books?”

“Hell no,” I smirk. “I’m on to those pricks.”

“What’s your secret?” he asks.

“Bad punctuation, grammar … the occasional smattering of misspellings. All buried deeply in unreadable pedantic and wordy nonsense."

I pause.

“I think it’s more of a gift, really.”


Thursday

Well I Looked Up "Misogynist," And It Turns Out That Bitch Couldn't Be More Wrong

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I thought a "Misogynist" might be a cool thing, like "Macho-Handsome Karate Fighter."

-But no! Merriam-Webster defines Misogynist as "One who harbors a hatred of women."

Well, who needs a Dictionary now, lil Miss Hoity-Toity Stephanie B -aka Rocket Scientist?

-I happen to love women, as evidenced by all the pornography my wife made me throw out when we got married.

Take that, "Science."


Wednesday

In the Beginning

Predator Press

[LOBO]

God made man in His image.

-But man was a slob. First he stopped shaving. Then he blew far past ‘love handles,' and went straight into full-fledged Wisconsin Goiter.

“Adam,” says God. “You look terrible!

“Well gee thanks God,” replied Adam, chewing. “Be sure you sign me up for your self-esteem seminars.”

“Adam, I’m going to make you a woman.”

“But what will all my friends say?”

“No. I mean I’m going to create you a companion.”

Now Adam wasn’t all that bright: he imagined animated conversations about football and endless ‘pull my finger’ jokes.

“Cool,” he says.

“Give me one of your ribs,” says God.

“Here you go,” says Adam.

“Ugh,” says God. “You’ve got barbeque sauce in your beard.”

Adam wiped his beard with a napkin. “Do you want some of this coleslaw? This coleslaw rocks.”

“No. Just the rib, thanks.”

And from Adam’s rib sprung Eve.

“What a dump!” Eve complained.

“Okay,” says God. “My work here is done. You kids have fun now.”

“Thanks God,” says Adam.

“It’s filthy,” says Eve.

“Oh yeah,” says God as He recedes into the clouds. “One more thing. Stay the hell away from My apples, or I’ll invent the tire iron and beat you to death with it!”

“Okay God!” says Adam waving.

“Ugh,” says Eve. “Is that barbeque sauce?”


***


Within a month, Adam had lost 50 pounds.

-Because Eve had eaten everything in sight.

Eve had gained so much weight that he couldn’t fit on the bed anymore, and often slept on the floor.

He got up and stretched carefully.

-His back was now completely wrecked.

He surveyed the devastated remains of The Garden as his stomach growled; the crops were gone, and a huge pile of animal bones by the fire pit were all that remained of the wildlife.

Adam was scratching his head wondering how Eve had even gotten the leaves off of the top of the trees when he heard a rustling sound.

A squirrel.

“Oh thank heavens,” said Adam.

But the scrawny animal had no intention of becoming Adam and Eve’s breakfast so easily. It scampered, ran and bounded out of Adam’s reach, and finally up the Tree of Knowledge. And there were those glorious apples: round and firm, a deep crimson -so sweet and heavy, the branches arched painfully under their burgeoning weight.

“Come down from there squirrel,” Adam cajoled, “and I’ll make it quick and painless!”

But the squirrel wasn’t listening. It was sniffing an apple excitedly.

“I wouldn’t do that if-“

Crunch

Suddenly there was thunder and lightning, and God’s voice boomed from the sky. “What the hell,” He says, “did I tell you people about eating My damn apples!?

Frightened, the squirrel dropped the apple, and Adam caught it.

Adam looked at the apple, and then at the squirrel. If God catches me with this, he thought, I’m screwed. And if I explain that the squirrel did it, I’ll have no breakfast.

Looking around and thinking quickly, he spotted Eve, still slumbering and snoring loudly.

“Who dared?” demanded God.

Thinking quickly, Adam hurled the apple, and it rolled to rest right by her.

“Eve!” yelled God.

“Wha-?“ she said, starting to wake.

“Eve, what happened?” demanded God.

“She really let herself go once you left,” said Adam.

“No, I mean why hast thou disobeyed my Word and eaten of the Forbidden Fruit?’

“But I didn’t!” insisted Eve.

“I tried to stop her,” said Adam.

“Begone from my garden!” said God.

And poof she was gone.

Adam sighed. “You know, you give some people an inch ...”

“Yes,” said God disappointedly. “I guess so. Say Adam, when are you barbequing again?”

“You like squirrel?”

Tuesday

Obama Gets Gay Dog

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Now before all you homosexuals get upset because I used the word “gay,” remember that Predator Press is a very, eh, alternate lifestyle-friendly publication: I’ve always treated you people committing wanton abominations against God and Nature with nothing but the utmost respect and dignity.

-Let's just say that doghouse better be Feng Shui compliant.