Predator Press

Tuesday

Meet FrankensteinBot/pwn.exe.vi.2

FrankensteinBot/pwn.exe.vi.2 is actually
"Classified." But you get the idea.

Predator Press

[LOBO]

With all due respect to the mighty and noble Mayan, this is the lousiest Apocalypse I’ve ever seen.

-What if there is going to be a 2013?

You mean I'll still be on this shithole dump planet spinning into an endless, shithole dump infinite void? With this credit rating? And YOU assholes?

I knew it. I should never have given that cult all my money and worldly possessions. They were all like "Yeah, were gettin on the Mother Ship today!" And I was like "Cool!"

But they ditched me at Shoe Carnival.

They went to the Mother Ship without me.

Bastards.

Thursday

Borne Leader

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"I regret to inform you," sighs Barbarossa, "That you have been nominated as Union Steward."

My attention snaps from the computer screen. "What?"

"The People like your plan to bring back sexual harassment. Restoring the two martini lunch would be cool too." He scratches his chin. "Even piss testing us is a violation of the HIPPA law."

My eyebrows furrow. "I can't be a corporate lickspittle and a Union Steward. And have you looked around? SFIC is a soiree of Asperger's Disease and, well, ugly. You want drugs too? This place would be a seething cesspool of literally toxic DNA."

"We want the American workplace to be restored back to the glory days of 1960."

"Barbarossa, what year were you born?"

"1961," he replies.

"I rest my case."

Tuesday

Sexual Harassment at the Workplace

Predator Press

[LOBO]

“Thank you all for coming,” booms the suited guy at the podium in surround sound. “To the Annual Seminar on Sexual Harassment at the Workplace.”

I stand. “It’s about damn time!”

-And it was as if I had somehow removed all oxygen from the auditorium a half-second too early: the thirty-seven rows of people ahead all stared backwards at me, jaws agape. A woman six rows behind me audibly gasped and fainted.

The suited guy at the podium points at me sympathetically. “Have you been a victim of sexual harassment sir?” he booms in surround sound.

“Not yet,” I yell back. “And I'm getting depressed.”

Sunday

Happy Mother's Day! :)

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Wednesday

Space Rape

Predator Press

[LOBO]

This morning I flipped a cardboard box into the "Recycling" dumpster.

And in the brief span of time I saw triangular sun-illuminated dumpster contents, I saw like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining. And then the lid, as designed, shut by virtue of gravity.

"What the fuck?" I thought. "Jesus, that just looked like nine million twitching bees, all vertically lined up against the dumpster lining." Popping the dumpster back open, I thought "What the hell did I really see?"

It was at that exact moment that nine million pissed off bees attacked me.

But as you longtime Predator Press readers know, I am an honorary white-belt Master of the long-lost martial art form of Peking Duck: four or five bees stung my shirt, but I deftly locked myself in the trunk of my '74 Toyota Camry without a single sting to my actual flesh.

Still, I think all my neighbors are dead by now.