Predator Press
[LOBO]
Playing a lot of Final Fantasy XII, I can only guess how many marriages and careers have been wrecked by this highly addictive game ... I’m already beginning to hallucinate little blue and red health bars hovering over people’s heads. But when Screechy (our six year old) was stricken by an unmerciful God with pinkeye, it kinda “shook me out of it.”
It was time for comedy.
A year or so ago Crackers, his oldest sister, playfully sprayed his neck with a perfume ... and as a result Screechy is also affectionately known as “Stinkneck.” Now of course with pinkeye, I say he has “Stinkeye” too. Psychotherapeutic technique is improving all the time, and he’s get a good ten years until then … let's get our laughs in early and often.
So I’m watching television and commiserating with him, and Go, Diego, Go! comes on. I’m immediately suspicious. I never trust children’s programming that wears punctuation like a two dollar whore, and in three words we have two commas and exclamation point. Is that even a sentence? Then it turns out this “Diego” character is a spinoff of another show called Dora the Explorer. So now I have huge chasms of missing information, and the first of which is their resemblance: is it a byproduct of the cartoon style, or is asking this question the equivalent of a racist comment on par with “all Hispanics look alike”?
Okay I’m like eight minutes into the show and I’m stressing out in a soiree of Politically Correct confusion. I speed-dial Terri, and she narrowly averts my cranial detonation with the news that Diego and Dora are indeed cousins -the likelihood if fast forwarding twelve years to find Dora putting a bullet in Diego’s noggin because he came home meth-addled and covered in lipstick, glitter, and Safari perfume are significantly reduced. This makes it all "come together" really: the glaring absence of Dora and Diego's parents -the ones that let their kids run around jungles and play with wild animals unsupervised- is now explainable ... they were obviously jailed long, long ago for child endangerment and neglect.
But just as I hung up the phone and the anxiety began to pass, Diego was now rescuing a Chinchilla on a breaking tree branch from falling into a waterfall with a hang glider. And even as I tried to piece together all the improbable physics required for this to occur, the Chinchilla looked at Diego and said -plain as day- “Gracias.”
Seething once again with questions, I tried to call Terri again ... but I kept getting her voicemail.
If the Chinchilla is bilingual, isn’t it fair to say that the stupid thing shouldn’t have been on that tree branch in the first place? And if I found out I just risked life and limb (and let’s face it: hang gliders are probably expensive) for a creature perfectly qualified to score a few hundred points on a SAT that I couldn't sue, I would be really mad.
And wouldn't a Chinchilla being rescued from falling into a waterfall by a kid on a hang glider be, well, freaky for a Chinchilla? This would be the human equivalent of a UFO abduction. Maybe the aliens are snatching up those people to try and explain why they should get the hell away from the trailer park before the tornado comes, but once confronted with the staggering opacity of the individuals, the discouraged aliens just anal probe the daylights out of them in sheer frustration.
Well, we’re all thinkin’ it so I’m just going to come right out and say it: we've been coddling the Chinchilla for far too long now, and it's high time they switched habitats with the trailer park people. The trailer park people would be far safer in the mountains where there aren’t any tornados, and the Spanish-speaking Chinchillas would probably know what to do with all those broken down El Caminos.
Anywho, be back soon.
“Backyardigans” is coming on.
Thursday
Destroyer
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Of the past two weeks, I could regale you with tales of how I vanquished Ragnarok the Colossus –or perhaps even discuss how, vastly outnumbered, I crushed and humiliated Thrang the Human Rototiller, leaving two hundred thousand of his highest-ranking minions decimated, smoldering husks on the beachhead of Des Moines[1]. But I’m sure you’re already inundated by these stories on CNN and Fox; I won’t bore you with more details.
What I will bore you with is the ongoing fiscal crisis. As a decorated war hero of World Wars VI, X and Pi, you would think simply finding a job would be a snap. But I have made powerful enemies, and nothing gives a Human Resources department pause like the possibility –however remote- of Martha Stewart’s armada returning from banishment in the eighth dimension and looking for swift and lethal payback[2].
Sure I could just remove that element from my résumé and thusly avoid the issue entirely, but I consider it a test of the respective corporation’s courage and patriotic fortitude; while a particularly formidable foe, I don’t want to work for a bunch of pansies afraid of Martha Stewart –not with the empires of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Oprah Winfrey always sniffin’ around for signs of opportunity and weakness. This would only encourage our would-be oppressors.
“In these precarious and tumultuous times, cowardice amounts to treason!” I says, slamming my briefcase and storming out. “This interview is over. Good day sir.”
-Assholes.
Still, the Predator Press Trust Fund -the one established from the lawsuit when Britney Spears was clipping her toenails and the shrapnel slashed deeply into my shoulder and nearly cost me an eye- ever dwindles. Unless I magic me up some solutions pronto, concessions must be made.
Luckily Kung Fu Master David Carradine’s private phone number is listed in the phone book. Surely he -a wise, world renown forward-thinking philosophical intellect- can advise me on these matters.
I left him a few dozen messages yesterday.
He’ll know what to do.
[1] Remember Thrang, we're not laughing at you -we're laughing in your general direction about the dumbass crap you always try and pull plus the fact that you're an idiot.
[2] Martha’s Stewart’s culpability should not be ignored here either: she tried to seduce me wearing nothing but a thong, Latex pasties and a gimp mask in an effort to acquire my recipe for Christmas cookies shaped like the ‘Peanuts’ characters in pornographic positions.
-When my wife Terri found out, intergalactic bloodshed was, well, inevitable.
[LOBO]Of the past two weeks, I could regale you with tales of how I vanquished Ragnarok the Colossus –or perhaps even discuss how, vastly outnumbered, I crushed and humiliated Thrang the Human Rototiller, leaving two hundred thousand of his highest-ranking minions decimated, smoldering husks on the beachhead of Des Moines[1]. But I’m sure you’re already inundated by these stories on CNN and Fox; I won’t bore you with more details.
What I will bore you with is the ongoing fiscal crisis. As a decorated war hero of World Wars VI, X and Pi, you would think simply finding a job would be a snap. But I have made powerful enemies, and nothing gives a Human Resources department pause like the possibility –however remote- of Martha Stewart’s armada returning from banishment in the eighth dimension and looking for swift and lethal payback[2].
Sure I could just remove that element from my résumé and thusly avoid the issue entirely, but I consider it a test of the respective corporation’s courage and patriotic fortitude; while a particularly formidable foe, I don’t want to work for a bunch of pansies afraid of Martha Stewart –not with the empires of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Oprah Winfrey always sniffin’ around for signs of opportunity and weakness. This would only encourage our would-be oppressors.
“In these precarious and tumultuous times, cowardice amounts to treason!” I says, slamming my briefcase and storming out. “This interview is over. Good day sir.”
-Assholes.
Still, the Predator Press Trust Fund -the one established from the lawsuit when Britney Spears was clipping her toenails and the shrapnel slashed deeply into my shoulder and nearly cost me an eye- ever dwindles. Unless I magic me up some solutions pronto, concessions must be made.
Luckily Kung Fu Master David Carradine’s private phone number is listed in the phone book. Surely he -a wise, world renown forward-thinking philosophical intellect- can advise me on these matters.I left him a few dozen messages yesterday.
He’ll know what to do.
[1] Remember Thrang, we're not laughing at you -we're laughing in your general direction about the dumbass crap you always try and pull plus the fact that you're an idiot.
[2] Martha’s Stewart’s culpability should not be ignored here either: she tried to seduce me wearing nothing but a thong, Latex pasties and a gimp mask in an effort to acquire my recipe for Christmas cookies shaped like the ‘Peanuts’ characters in pornographic positions.
-When my wife Terri found out, intergalactic bloodshed was, well, inevitable.
The "Home Grown" Terrorists
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Regarding the still-emerging story about the local boys in New York who were thwarted by the FBI from destroying synagogues and planes, I’m just as intrigued as anyone else.
-But I can’t finish reading msnbc.com’s version (linked here); every time I get to the line in the story that asserts one of them “smoked marijuana the day the plot was to be carried out,” my brain just strokes off.
Am I the only one here impressed that guy even showed up? And why couldn’t he just eat frozen Snickers and play XBox like everyone else? Did he even have an Xbox?
Cripes, you can’t start a Holy War if you can’t get a damn Xbox -Osama would laugh at you and send you home with a note pinned to your shirt! And perhaps justly so; The FBI arranged for these guys to be given useless explosives ... the real Al Qaeda probably drug tests their members to ensure they don't try to detonate tapioca or, stricken with "the munchies," eat half the explosives before arriving at the target.
Anywho, as mentioned earlier, they intended to shoot down planes as well. Where do you get stuff to shoot down planes in New York of all places? I don’t remember seeing bazookas and so forth readily available there, so I suspect you have to order them out of a catalog or something.
-So now I’m stuck with this image in my head of the guy calling a weapons company customer service rep:
Rep: Thank you for holding sir, my name is Frances. May I help you?
Terrorist: Yes, um. I would like to order the M-950. Does it come in black?
Rep: No I’m sorry sir. It does not.
Terrorist: How about the A-75?
Rep: Well, yes we have the A-75 in black. But may I ask what you want to use it for?
Terrorist: Hunting.
Rep: You are hunting with an anti-aircraft weapon?
Terrorist: Let’s just say I don’t mess around with ducks and quail pal.
Rep: How big is the game?
Terrorist: About 900,000 pounds.
Rep: You don’t want to use an A-75. I would still go with the M-950.
Terrorist: Yeah, but those only come in pastels.
Rep: They're very popular in Hawaii.
Terrorist: What would shipping come out to?
Rep: We ship free of your order is for ten or more. You could take your friends hunting too.
Terrorist: Hmmm. Okay. But I want a tracking number when they ship. It’s really depressing when you are watching for the mailman everyday and he doesn’t have your stuff.
Rep: I understand completely. Are you ready to give your credit card information?
Terrorist: Uh yeah. It’s in this here purse. Hang on.
Rep: Purse?
Terrorist: I mean wallet. My wallet. Here it is. The card is a … VISA, and my name is Nancy Zimmerman. You know what? It was a purse after all. Nancy Zimmerman. I have a very deep voice for a woman. I hear that all the time.
Rep: Nancy, can I get you any ammunition?
Terrorist: Twenty cases.
Rep: Nancy if you order twenty-five cases, you get a free set of Franklin Mint Charlton Heston commemorative plates ...
[LOBO]
Regarding the still-emerging story about the local boys in New York who were thwarted by the FBI from destroying synagogues and planes, I’m just as intrigued as anyone else.
-But I can’t finish reading msnbc.com’s version (linked here); every time I get to the line in the story that asserts one of them “smoked marijuana the day the plot was to be carried out,” my brain just strokes off.
Am I the only one here impressed that guy even showed up? And why couldn’t he just eat frozen Snickers and play XBox like everyone else? Did he even have an Xbox?
Cripes, you can’t start a Holy War if you can’t get a damn Xbox -Osama would laugh at you and send you home with a note pinned to your shirt! And perhaps justly so; The FBI arranged for these guys to be given useless explosives ... the real Al Qaeda probably drug tests their members to ensure they don't try to detonate tapioca or, stricken with "the munchies," eat half the explosives before arriving at the target.
Anywho, as mentioned earlier, they intended to shoot down planes as well. Where do you get stuff to shoot down planes in New York of all places? I don’t remember seeing bazookas and so forth readily available there, so I suspect you have to order them out of a catalog or something.
-So now I’m stuck with this image in my head of the guy calling a weapons company customer service rep:
Rep: Thank you for holding sir, my name is Frances. May I help you?
Terrorist: Yes, um. I would like to order the M-950. Does it come in black?
Rep: No I’m sorry sir. It does not.
Terrorist: How about the A-75?
Rep: Well, yes we have the A-75 in black. But may I ask what you want to use it for?
Terrorist: Hunting.
Rep: You are hunting with an anti-aircraft weapon?
Terrorist: Let’s just say I don’t mess around with ducks and quail pal.
Rep: How big is the game?
Terrorist: About 900,000 pounds.
Rep: You don’t want to use an A-75. I would still go with the M-950.
Terrorist: Yeah, but those only come in pastels.
Rep: They're very popular in Hawaii.
Terrorist: What would shipping come out to?
Rep: We ship free of your order is for ten or more. You could take your friends hunting too.
Terrorist: Hmmm. Okay. But I want a tracking number when they ship. It’s really depressing when you are watching for the mailman everyday and he doesn’t have your stuff.
Rep: I understand completely. Are you ready to give your credit card information?
Terrorist: Uh yeah. It’s in this here purse. Hang on.
Rep: Purse?
Terrorist: I mean wallet. My wallet. Here it is. The card is a … VISA, and my name is Nancy Zimmerman. You know what? It was a purse after all. Nancy Zimmerman. I have a very deep voice for a woman. I hear that all the time.
Rep: Nancy, can I get you any ammunition?
Terrorist: Twenty cases.
Rep: Nancy if you order twenty-five cases, you get a free set of Franklin Mint Charlton Heston commemorative plates ...
Wednesday
The Piltdown Clan
Predator Press
[LOBO]
”LOBO,” says God.
“What?”
”I see you’re reading the story on CNN about-“
“God, can you please crank it down a notch?” I says. “You’re making my teeth vibrate.”
”Oh, eh, sorry. How’s this?”
“That’s perfect. What’s up, G?”
”I see you’re reading the story on CNN about those 47 million year old fossilized remains.”
“Yeah,” I says. “They’re speculating it might be an ancestor of humans.”
“What do you think about humans being descended from apes?”
“Have you met my parents?”
[Holy Pause]
“Touché.”
[LOBO]
”LOBO,” says God.“What?”
”I see you’re reading the story on CNN about-“
“God, can you please crank it down a notch?” I says. “You’re making my teeth vibrate.”
”Oh, eh, sorry. How’s this?”
“That’s perfect. What’s up, G?”
”I see you’re reading the story on CNN about those 47 million year old fossilized remains.”
“Yeah,” I says. “They’re speculating it might be an ancestor of humans.”
“What do you think about humans being descended from apes?”
“Have you met my parents?”
[Holy Pause]
“Touché.”
Tuesday
Monday
Tammy Faye Pillowcases to Hang at Louvre Amid Controversy
Predator Press
[LOBO]
From the moment the Louvre announced it’s intent to display all sixteen pieces of “Rhapsody in Linen” this June, protesters lined up in the streets of Paris.
“This is disgraceful,” marked one picketer. “The idea these pillowcases should hang next to great works such as the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa is simply outrageous!”
Aside from her rather striking makeup style, Tammy Faye Messner is probably best remembered for her doomed marriage to television evangelist Jim Bakker who, due to his extramarital affair with Jessica Hahn, was subsequently exposed and found guilty of numerous crimes including mail fraud and conspiracy.Director Henri Loyrette concedes that that display is unlike any other displayed in the Museum’s illustrious history, but defends his decision.
“All art is suffering,” says the aficionado. “Michelangelo had censoring detractors. Van Gogh had depression. I don’t see how Tammy Faye running out of cold cream at 3 am at a Holiday Inn would be any different.”When asked to comment, the InterContinental Hotel Group [IHG], owner of the Holiday Inn franchise issued only the following statement: “We have no interest in exploiting the late Tammy Faye’s good image. But we washed and bleached the damn things like 50 times. We have a right to recoup our losses in any way we see fit.”
Sunday
LOBO 1, Nature 0
Predator Press [LOBO]
While being convinced to move here, a mystifying, eh, 'economy of words' were employed when describing native Californian wildlife -in fact I don’t think the phrase “spiders that can kill you” alighted my ear a single time. Hence my eye-rolling when Terri picked up a bite a few weeks ago ... What do I look like? Some kind of spideronomist? Blech! I simply hadn’t yet been briefed on the matter.
“Why didn’t you kill it?” I says, twisting the jar as to eye her tiny assailant better.
“Because I need to find out what kind it is,” she says, already on Google.
“Haw, look at this teeny thing,” I guffaw, tapping the glass. “Should I call the life insurance company and triple your policy?”
“It’s not funny,” she insists. “I once saw a woman in the hospital with her leg almost rotted off from the venom.”
I’m willing to bet I had dug through the plaster, six inches of fiberglass insulation and two inches of floorboarding clear to the ceiling joists before that jar even started to shatter.
SO I’ve been a little edgy lately, but I seriously don’t think it’s paranoia; I think it’s due more to sleep depravation from imagining those crawly things moving ever closer in the quiet darkness, chattering in increasingly brazen sub-human (perhaps telepathic) frequencies, and drooling insatiably for human flesh, blood and bone.
Technically that's insomnia.
Unfortunately I saw another one this morning.
In the kitchen.
In the house.
And –I swear upon various gods this is true- the thing ran at me when it saw me.
As I stepped back reflexively, it dawns on me that I’m in socks and shorts. Worse, my bandoleer of alphabetized aerosol pesticides -carelessly set aside in a moment of reckless bravado- is on the counter several feet away.
This little bastard had it all planned out, didn’t he? I’m smirking to myself. Just be cool LOBO. Don’t show it any fucking fear. That’s what it wants. You can't let something the size of a quarter push you around when your bandoleer of alphabetized aerosol pesticides is just a few ... more ...
It moved forward –to me- again.
I moved back, creeping closer to the bandoleer.
... inches ...
Another advance by the spider.
... away ...
And just as I got my fingers around that leather belt, the spider -from a distance of maybe a yard or so- jumped on my leg.
These aren’t Infantry! I realize in horror. I got Airborne! I got Airborne!
But I was prepared for this eventuality: with cunning and guile, I begin flailing my arms wildly while running in circles and screaming exactly as I’d drilled so many times already ... and the second that thing dropped to the floor again WHAMMO I smashed it under the swift, lethal Justice of my microwave oven. Unconvinced my foe was truly vanquished, I then toppled the refrigerator over that wreckage.
-It's a good thing we rent, or fighting these things would be expensive.
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