Wednesday

After Kicking the Shit out of Four Navy Seals at a Bar in Tucson, I am being Tried for Multiple Counts of Murder

Predator Press

[LOBO]

What? You fell for that title?

Really?

Well Ha-ha. O Holy crap -if you knew what I looked like, the Navy Seals would beat your ass! LOL. Shit. I don't know where the country 'Tucson' even is.

Yeah, it's been months since I've written. Or pissed off an entire branch of the US military.  Whatever.  Who knew you millions of people were so codependant?

The truth is there hasn't been much going on ... the Earth has been a bit boring really; there's finally peace in the Middle East, and I got this nifty paddle-ball game.  But while the rubber ball and the string were broken off and lost long ago, the paddle still remains as a deadly mortal threat: what if some weirdo finds it and tries to use it to make my eyes collide?

Holy shit -it was made in China!

In the hands of a true ninja, .05 of an ounce of balsa can be considerably deadly.  And you can bet your ass I, LOBO, will be back as soon as I can get this paddleball situation mitigated and the heat is off from the Goddless Yellow Hoard.

But where the fuck are your hoity-toity Navy Seals on this?

Hm?

Sunday

Bringing the Giant Down

Predator Press

Nurse Garrison pulls the curtain back with a well-practiced snap, and in my mind’s eye I can clearly see her, clipboard in hand, taking her seat. Doctor Nyarlathotep’s unmistakable tall, thin frame is silhouetted in full view.

“Why are you still in your leisure suit?” says Nurse Garrison with clearly insincere cheer. “We need you to put on the hospital gown as requested.”

“I’m sorry miss,” the man replies. “If I were anything other than polyester, I break out in hives.”

Nurse Garrison audibly scrawls on her clipboard. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well,” the man pauses, choosing his words. “You know how those Viagra commercials tell you to seek medical attention if you have an erection for more than four hours?”

“Ah,“ says Doctor Nyrlathotep in a thick accent. “When did your erection start?”

“October.”

“Really?”

“October 1991, actually.”

-I hear Nurse Garrison’s pencil tumbling on the linoleum.

“Why would you wait all this time to seek medical help?” asks the doctor.

“Because of my occupation.”

Nurse Garrison flips some pages. “It says here you are a … cruise ship captain?”

“It’s kind of a long story. You know those cruises for single senior citizens?”

“Like Seniors Meet?“ Nurse Garrison offered.

“Precisely,” the man confirmed. “I snuck aboard one -the Sea Nile to be exact- in an effort to find love and happiness.”

“Love and happiness?” says Nurse Garrison. “It says here you’re only in your forties.”

“Yep. I would seek out the most unhealthy and oldest women possible. Triple bypasses, cancer, whatever. Then I would wine them and dine them until properly seduced. Then I would have the ship captain marry us.” I could see the shadow of his hands folding behind his head. “Once geezed up on booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex, they rarely survived the honeymoon.”

“And you would inherit their fortunes,” Nurse Garrison finished.

“That’s disgusting,” remarked the doctor.

“Well the captain apparently thought so too,” the man continued. “And during the subsequent investigation he found out I was a stowaway.”

Nurse Garrison snorted. “So you were thrown in the brig I would hope.”

“Nah. Seniors -somewhat skittish by nature- tend to be touchy about security issues. The crew of the Sea Nile found the whole situation embarrassing. I was forced to work in the galley to earn my fare until we reached the next port, where I would presumably face charges.”

The doctor seemed incredulous. “So what happened then?”

“Damndest thing,” the man replied. “The whole crew came down with food poisoning.”

“Really,” Nurse Garrison breathed. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Me too. Oddly, as in naval tradition, when a captain is knocked out of commission he is replaced by the first mate. And if the first mate is knocked out …”

“Yes,” Doctor Nyarlathotep nodded. “The succession of command at sea.”

“Well at some point, as the last official member of the crew not afflicted, eventually that succession came all the way down to me.”

I could see the shadow of Doctor Nyarlathotep’s head shaking. “So as the only unpoisoned member of the crew, you became captain.”

“Well, acting captain I suppose. But I did get me one of those cool hats.”

“You were never caught?”

“I assigned a passenger task force of little old ladies to solve the crimes, but they all turned up dead.”

“What did they die of?” the nurse asked.

“Booze, cocaine, meth, and wild freaky sex. It was all very mysterious. My First Mate -Noodlecakes- was concerned-

"Noodlecakes?"

"He is a Yorkshire Terrier, I think.  But anyway, Noodlecakes was concerned the seniors might mutiny.  We decided to, uh, distract them somehow.”

Sensing an uncomfortable pause, the doctor prompted the man. “What did you do then?”

“I started marrying the passengers to each other. Randomly at first, then alphabetically. Soon I had the system pretty refined based on size, race, religion …”

“Oh my God,” Nurse Garrison moaned.

“But it was going really smoothly,” the man insisted. “Except when the already married couples were married to other people. They kept going back to their original spouses! I don’t run a ship of debauched sinners, and have a very strict policy when it comes to adultery on my watch.”

Doctor Nyarlathotep, rubbing his temples, turned to Nurse Garrison and articulated exactly what I was thinking.

“Doesn’t this all sound strangely familiar?”

I could resist no longer. Leaping up from my own hospital bed, I threw the curtain wide on the startled three that I may lay eyes on this singular man, this patient who could be no other than-

“Dad!” I cried.

Tuesday

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Twas the night before Christmas
and I’m wide awake,
arraying the chimney
with bear traps and snakes;
the booby-trapped stockings
set with infinite care,
in hopes that the fat man’ll
blow his hand off in there.

There arose such a clatter
up on my roof,
-and I’m sick of cleaning up
piles of froze reindeer poop!
I let loose a war cry
-a blood curdling scream-
and empty the contents
of my AR-15.

One, two, three, four,
five six seven, eight nine
thumps from above tell me
I missed one this time.
“Oh Dasher, Oh Dancer”
cries a loud booming voice,
“LOBO this tears it.
You give me no choice!”

I empty a blast
at the source of the sound
-and another at a spot
I think he might bound
-but the fat man is spry
for all that it’s worth-
he evaded hot lead,
belying his girth.

Not a creature was stirring
as I reloaded my shells,
“I don’t want any trouble!”
I finally yells.
“Just leave all the toys,
and get the hell out
I don't want to send cops
on that long North Pole route!”

The back door exploded
in splinters and slag
and a blood-splattered Santa
in smoldering rags
was removing his coat
and rolling his sleeves
“This time,” says Santa,
“Only one of us leaves.”

We circle each other,
and I’m very alarmed.
I can’t believe
the size of his arms!
“Hey what gives?" I says stunned.
"You’ve been working out!
Where’s the ‘bowl full of jelly’
you trespassing lout?”

With a wink of an eye
and a twist of his head,
I know within moments
I will likely be dead.
Santa flicks his nose,
“You dumb blogging hack!
I’ve lost two hundred pounds
on my Nordic Track.”

"Old Mrs. Clause
must thing you're a riot"
I says, "and that Stetson cologne?
I'll bet she don't buy it."
"I wear nothing but Polo," he says.
"Don't even try it.
Now I'll pound you to pulp,
and then leave here real quiet.”

"If you think that's Polo,
age is taking it's toll,"
-that's when I did
a slick ninja-like roll,
and from under the sugar-plums
grab the control,
“Bring a knife to a gunfight?”
I says laughing. “How droll!

Missile TOW missiles launched
from tubes placed discretely,
but Santa danced deftly
–they missed him completely!
One of them arched
so high and so true
It blew the poor neighbor’s place
clear out of view.

“LOBO let’s stop this.
You’ve blown up the Burkes!”
“To Hell with you Santa!
Those people were jerks!”
“I don’t understand
why this is unpleasant,”
Santa opens his arms.
“Especially since I brought you a present.”

“Really?” I says,
resisting suspicion.
I lower my bazooka.
That was your mission?”
“Why sure!” says Santa.
“It’s from your mother.”
And when I looked in that hand,
he punched me with the other.

Electric pain flashes
all through my cap,
My nose must be broken,
completely smashed flat.
I stagger backwards.
“Santa, you’re dead!
… But Rudolph, behind me,
clean kicked off my head.

It landed on a spike
three blocks away
and I could see where my body
dropped and lifelessly lay.
Up on the rooftop,
the reindeer all raised
to resume the mantle
of pulling The Sleigh.

As I lay dying
I heard Santa fly off
-and I spat blood and teeth
in my last final cough.
“On Dasher on Dancer,
and to Mrs. Clause praise!
-We need bulletproof vests
for the reindeer these days.”

Santa, still climbing,
resumed his long flight
-his sleigh silhouetted
against the cold lunar light-
and as it grew distant
and faded from sight,
I heard "Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good ... "



... I dunno ... I couldn't make out the rest.


Monday

Christmas? AGAIN!?!

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I told Terri we shouldn't take last year's Christmas tree down -and just like I predicted, pow, they're havin another one already.

[*sigh*]

... Our lives would be so much easier if she just listened to me once in a while.

Sunday

1001 Ways for Santa to DIE

Predator Press
[LOBO]

As I have already intimated on facebook, I think -to get over my holiday blues- I'm going to encourage you all to set Santa's beard on fire again.

1)  There's nothing more funner than stealin all the Christmas crap by punching the frantic elves in the back of the head while they try and extinguish the fat bastard with egg nog.

The elves fall for it every time!

HAW!

B)  Some places have really good smoke detectors: for mall Santas, while sitting in his lap, chain the 'Up' escalator to his belt buckle: hilarity ensues.

3) One time I superglued a laxative-laden White Castle hamburger to his greasy Pabst-smelling beard: the next day he had crapped himself completely inside-out.

-All they found was a skeleton on a toilet full of bloodied white beard tufts in an alternate universe.

N) This one is a bit elaborate: I call it the ‘Reversed Wolverine.’ Instead of adamantium, we replace Santa’s skeleton with glass.

Then we take him to the opera.