Predator Press
[LOBO]
Monday
Saturday
Predator Press Interviews: James Carville
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Federation or Borg?” the Butterbean kid demands. He’s standing on a chair, looking through the peephole of my front door.
“Excuse me?” asks a muffled voice from outside.
Sensing the kid’s alarm, I approach. “Who is it?”
“You gotta see this,” he replies, face pressed against the door. “It’s either Jean-Luc Pickard or Locutus.”
“Jesus,” I breathe. “What the hell is he selling?”
The kid steps down and moves the chair. “I don’t know yet.”
I open the door. “Can I help you?”
“Hello,” says the well-dressed man. “My name is James Carville.”
Butterbean and I stare.
“The lead strategist for the Clinton presidential campaign?” he adds helpfully.
I scowl. “You’ve got the wrong house. There’s nobody here named ‘Clinton.’ And do you have any idea what time it is?”
He looks at his watch. “10:30 in the morning?”
“I better get some free ice cream for dragging me out of bed like this,” I says.
He smiles. “I believe you’re confusing me with Carvel ice cream. I’m just visiting random registered democrats to get their feelings on the 18 billion in bailout money earmarked for executive bonuses.”
“No Fudgie the Whale, no dice,” I insist. “Besides, you should probably know I’m a registered republican, populist, libertarian, and anarchist too. I like being on the winning team.”
Butterbean whistles. “You can screw everything up and get 18 billion in bonuses?” He looks at me. “You’re in the wrong business.”
“Shut up,” I says.
“Look,” says Carville. “We’re on the precipice of major change. A few years ago, America elected it’s first African-American president, and-“
“We have a black president?” I says. “Is it Tupoc?”
There’s and uncomfortable silence.
“No,” Carville says finally.
“Can you teach me the Vulcan Nerve Pinch?” asks Butterbean.
“You’re thinking of Leonard Nimoy,” replies Carville.
“Don’t confuse this guy with Leonard Nimoy,” I says to Butterbean. “Leonard Nimoy is a class act.” I eye Carville. “Leonard Nimoy would’ve brought us ice cream.”
“Uh-huh,” Butterbean agrees. “Plus he would’ve stayed out of those tanning beds.”
“Seriously!” I says. “Carville you look fifty years older since The Lord of the Rings. You know there’s spray-on stuff now that doesn’t turn your skin into melted leather.”
“Will you shoot an arrow off of my head?” asks Butterbean.
“No I will not shoot an arrow off of your head,” replies Carville. “You’re thinking of Orlando Bloom.”
“Yeah dumbass,” I says to Butterbean. “This is the guy that burned the picture of the Pope.”
“That’s Sinead O'Connor,” corrects Carville.
“Pulp Fiction?” I offer.
“Bruce Willis,” says Carville.
"The Transporter?" asks Butterbean.
"Grant Latham," replies Carville.
"Triple 'X'?" I venture.
"That's Vin Diesel," says Carville. “Are you guys just going to bark out a bunch of random bald celebrities now in an effort to figure out who I am rather than discussing government policy?”
“Probably," I says. "Why?"
[LOBO]
“Federation or Borg?” the Butterbean kid demands. He’s standing on a chair, looking through the peephole of my front door.“Excuse me?” asks a muffled voice from outside.
Sensing the kid’s alarm, I approach. “Who is it?”
“You gotta see this,” he replies, face pressed against the door. “It’s either Jean-Luc Pickard or Locutus.”
“Jesus,” I breathe. “What the hell is he selling?”
The kid steps down and moves the chair. “I don’t know yet.”
I open the door. “Can I help you?”
“Hello,” says the well-dressed man. “My name is James Carville.”
Butterbean and I stare.
“The lead strategist for the Clinton presidential campaign?” he adds helpfully.
I scowl. “You’ve got the wrong house. There’s nobody here named ‘Clinton.’ And do you have any idea what time it is?”
He looks at his watch. “10:30 in the morning?”
“I better get some free ice cream for dragging me out of bed like this,” I says.
He smiles. “I believe you’re confusing me with Carvel ice cream. I’m just visiting random registered democrats to get their feelings on the 18 billion in bailout money earmarked for executive bonuses.”“No Fudgie the Whale, no dice,” I insist. “Besides, you should probably know I’m a registered republican, populist, libertarian, and anarchist too. I like being on the winning team.”
Butterbean whistles. “You can screw everything up and get 18 billion in bonuses?” He looks at me. “You’re in the wrong business.”
“Shut up,” I says.
“Look,” says Carville. “We’re on the precipice of major change. A few years ago, America elected it’s first African-American president, and-“
“We have a black president?” I says. “Is it Tupoc?”
There’s and uncomfortable silence.
“No,” Carville says finally.
“Can you teach me the Vulcan Nerve Pinch?” asks Butterbean.
“You’re thinking of Leonard Nimoy,” replies Carville.
“Don’t confuse this guy with Leonard Nimoy,” I says to Butterbean. “Leonard Nimoy is a class act.” I eye Carville. “Leonard Nimoy would’ve brought us ice cream.”“Uh-huh,” Butterbean agrees. “Plus he would’ve stayed out of those tanning beds.”
“Seriously!” I says. “Carville you look fifty years older since The Lord of the Rings. You know there’s spray-on stuff now that doesn’t turn your skin into melted leather.”
“Will you shoot an arrow off of my head?” asks Butterbean.
“No I will not shoot an arrow off of your head,” replies Carville. “You’re thinking of Orlando Bloom.”
“Yeah dumbass,” I says to Butterbean. “This is the guy that burned the picture of the Pope.”“That’s Sinead O'Connor,” corrects Carville.
“Pulp Fiction?” I offer.
“Bruce Willis,” says Carville.
"The Transporter?" asks Butterbean.
"Grant Latham," replies Carville.
"Triple 'X'?" I venture."That's Vin Diesel," says Carville. “Are you guys just going to bark out a bunch of random bald celebrities now in an effort to figure out who I am rather than discussing government policy?”
“Probably," I says. "Why?"
Wednesday
Fifty Shades of Grey Matter
Predator Press
[LOBO]
"So who are you voting for?" Barbarossa asks in a disinterested, sing-song manner.
"Obama," I reply through a foamy upper lip. Setting the large mug down authoritatively on the bar with my left hand I simultaneously hold my right fist to my heart, belching softly. "Jesus. Are you kidding? The Dems are going to hunt the rich people down and burn them at the stake."
Looking to me from the overhead television for the first time in a half hour, he grunts. "I never had you pegged as a Liberal."
"I'm not," I reply. "At some point the Conservatives will get tired of being burned at the stake, and hire me to eliminate the 'Liberal Scourge' out of desperation. Remember, the Republicans have all the money. And guns."
"Wow. What's fucking awesome," Barbarossa ponders. "You're gonna play one side to eliminate the other. Then what?"
"I dunno," I shrug at the television. "Margaritas maybe?"
[LOBO]
"So who are you voting for?" Barbarossa asks in a disinterested, sing-song manner.
"Obama," I reply through a foamy upper lip. Setting the large mug down authoritatively on the bar with my left hand I simultaneously hold my right fist to my heart, belching softly. "Jesus. Are you kidding? The Dems are going to hunt the rich people down and burn them at the stake."
Looking to me from the overhead television for the first time in a half hour, he grunts. "I never had you pegged as a Liberal."
"I'm not," I reply. "At some point the Conservatives will get tired of being burned at the stake, and hire me to eliminate the 'Liberal Scourge' out of desperation. Remember, the Republicans have all the money. And guns."
"Wow. What's fucking awesome," Barbarossa ponders. "You're gonna play one side to eliminate the other. Then what?"
"I dunno," I shrug at the television. "Margaritas maybe?"
Tuesday
Welcome to History Todd Akin
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I feel bad for Todd Akin, the Missouri Congressman who opposes abortion even in cases he coined "legitimate rape" because women's bodies resist pregnancy due to the shock.
This is what happens when you get your medical credentials from Wikipedia and have seen "Porky's" waaaay too many times.
Wednesday
Punch-Drunk Drunk
[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 half-full Chinese take-out boxes, chicken bones, and small unfortunate animals tumbling through air pockets trapped in mountainous, groaning layers of Adam Sandler lawyer flab as it lunges in desperate pursuit of that one last cheerleader to roll over before the fire department hoists their STD-riddled, flea-infested fat asses out of pricey condominiums via numerous helicopters and cranes while dead, rotting 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 lawyers!
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. And the Raiders.
(I still have to write Acts II and III.)
Saturday
Man, You People Sure Like Guns
[LOBO]
"Why the hell would you drive my Mercedes G-SUV out here in the woods?" Aaron cried, motioning to the splintered and gnarled front grill with his rifle.
"The manual says it is an off road vehicle," I says, flipping through the pages as evidence. "I checked. Why should we lug all this crap around?"
"That car cost over a hundred thousand dollars!"
"And it runs like a dream. You can't even feel the rocks and trees once you get over 50 miles an hour."
"I had the biggest buck I've ever seen in my crosshairs," he scowls, throwing his cap to the ground. "And you drive up, blaring the horn-"
"I didn't want to accidentally run one of you over," I point out. "You guys take camping to a whole new level. It's hard to see you in all that camouflage stuff."
"This is a hunting trip!"
"Well even hunters have to take a break for lunch." Pulling the whistle from my neck I bleet out three sharp whistles and call loudly into the forest, "Guys, I win! I got a dozen Whoppers with cheese in the car!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
LOBO - Predator Press "I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me ," Wendy growled.... -
Predator Press [LOBO] Yes it's totally true. There is now, in fact, a $14.95 Bionic Ear . And I'm not even going to g...
