Punch-Drunk Drunk

Predator Press

[LOBO]

ADAM Sandler will doubtlessly be suing me after this post.

No, I’m serious. I spent all of Saturday and Sunday poring over dizzyingly-long subpoenas, and it turns out he is among the proud and few not suing me yet. And I can't counter-sue until Adam Sandler sues me first.

What does this all mean? This means Adam Sandler has completely lazy and worthless lawyers: they are overpaid and pasty gelatinous SLOBS swishin’ around in lil skirts.  Soon we will hear grizzly shrapnel as half-full Chinese take-out boxes, chicken bones, and small unfortunate animals tumble through air pockets trapped in mountainous, groaning layers of Adam Sandler lawyer flab in effort to roll over one last cheerleader before the fire department hoists their STD-riddled, flea-infested fat asses out of pricey condominiums via numerous helicopters and cranes as rotting dead hookers flop lifeless out from under ample bedsore-covered acres of greasy cellulite and acne once-rumored to be human Adam Sandler lawyer flesh.

The universe has no place for idle, dawdling Adam Sandler Lawyers, and I'll bet Adam Sandler himself would agree!

See, I am losing huge in all my countersuits on average too … and I figure Adam Sandler is easily worth $1,000,000 in fat countersuit greenbacks: that is exactly what it will cost to burn the memory of Eight Crazy Nights out of my brain.

But what do Sylvester Stallone, Hillary Swank, Mark Wahlburg, and Adam Carolla have on the mighty Adam Sandler?

Hm?

Boxing movies.

I want Mister Sandler -Adam, if I may be so bold- to read my script Punch-Drunk Drunk. It’s a sequel to Punch-Drunk Love -a stoic follow-up that finds Barry Egan succumbing to his seven evil sisters, thus being forced to eek out a meager existence boxing grizzly bears.

But boxing grizzly bears is a terrible way to eek out a meager existence, especially when you just got promoted to astronaut!  In the final match, the Emperor Grizzly Bear cheats and punctures Barry's pressure suit in the third round and is disqualitied.  (I think Rob Schneider is a shoe-in for ‘Best Supporting Actor,’ particularly because he doesn’t appear in this movie.)

So Barry is now Boxing Champion of the World and Emperor of the Grizzly Bears.  But the controversy surrounding the victory yields only mockery and taunting from sports fans of virtually every species. Tormented, Barry gets hooked on 5-Hour Energy Drinks. He doesn't know what he needs energy for -let alone 5 hours worth- but suddenly he’s a quarterback in the NFL too. Eventually Sarah Palin shoots the evil Former Bear Emperor, and -thusly befriended- the grizzly bears team up with Barry, and together they go and defeat the vampires.

(I still have to write Acts II and III.)

Chemically "Enhanced"

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Look,” says Terri. “I think it’s time we had a talk about your drinking.”

“What about it?”

“You wrote the bartender at the wedding a letter of recommendation.”

“Well he clearly deserved it,” I counter, scratching my chin. “Who got married?”

Internet Swag

Predator Press

Exclusive: New Obama 2012 Cabinet Nominations Raise Eyebrows, Concerns

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Any of you guys remember when I interviewed that guy “Barrack Obama?”

-Holy shit, it turns out that guy became President! And not only that, but he's running for office again. He wanted to make that announcement here on Predator Press first, but -as you remember- I was locked in Ted Williams' Mercedes at the time.

Because Obama wasn't answering my follow-up calls, I figured it was my duty to you -O' Loyal reader- to hack his email and steal his Cabinet 'Picks to Click' for 2012. And who would have thought the most powerful man in the world's Hotmail account password would be "PASSWORD?"


***

Anton 'Cream-G' Wellingsdale the Second will be the "brains" of the operation as Secretary of State. Cream-G is most well-known for his controversial book I Hate Whitey and the sequel Whitey Kiss My Ass -both of which are currently runaway bestsellers, and the first books ever to go double platinum.

Kimbo Slice will be filling the slot of Attorney General. I don’t know what the Attorney General actually does, but whatever it is this former MMA fighter will be doin a lot of it: simulations testing Kimbo's diplomatic aptitude universally concluded with him wrapping the cord around Khadaffi, Gadaffi, Gandolf -whoever's- neck, and beating him upside the head with the red phone.

Secretary of War Rendell 'Icepick Icepick Icepick' Warren is a Harvard Graduate and a former Black Panther. You may best remember him from the 'Electric Slide Made Me Do It' Defense put forth by his lawyers, culminating into the slaying of forty drunken white people while armed only with the jawbone of Jon Bon Jovi.

In Icepick Icepick Icepick's downtime, he enjoys working with his Saddam Hussein tribute band, drinking "40s," theoretical astrophysics, classical art from the 1800s and baking.

There’s more information on some of these guys than others: the data on our new Secretary of the Treasury is sketchy at best –all I got was this jpeg and "You Gonna Get Raped" letterhead.

-It's in 'bold,' and underlined twice.

Pastor Terry Jones: WTG, Fucktard

Predator Press

[LOBO]

11 Dead After US Quran Burning

But has Yosemite Sam tried the Kool Aid?

The End is Near

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Egypt has a Revolution, Japan has Earthquakes, nuclear meltdowns are imminent, we’re bombing Libya -” I throw my hands in the air in crisis fatigue. “And now this?“

“Honey,” Terri soothes. “It’s toilet paper.”

“It’s 1-ply!”

Driving Miss Crazy

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“You need to slow down,” scolds an already irritated Terri. “You know why they put those ‘Children Crossing’ signs up, right?”

“Sure I know” I says. Decelerating, I sigh and roll my eyes. “They have to. Because children are stupid.”

“Children are not stupid.”

“Oh reeealllly,” my eyebrows arch in a mix of fury and snark. Spotting a little girl at the stop sign, I press the button to roll down my window. “You!” I points to the little girl. “Who won the 1994 World series?”

To this, the little girl stared confused -and after a moment decided to smile and wave.

“Ptthbtt,” I says,  rolling my window back up.  Proceeding into the clear intersection, I underline “See that?  Dumb as a fuckin' post.”

Terri scowled. “There was no World Series in 1994. The players went on strike that year.”

“Really?”