Predator Press
[LOBO]
“This is not a reflection on Calvin’s football skills,” insists Offensive Coordinator Scott Linehan. “He’s just too big.”
Complaints about Johnson –an unabashed armrest hog- aren’t limited to airline travel.
“He farts a lot," says Matthew Stafford, quarterback. "And every time he sees a Volkswagen, he punches me and giggles ‘Slugbug.’ Don’t ask me what a ‘PT Bruiser’ is. It’s just ugly all-around.”
“I should be worried about football,” remarks Lions Defensive Coordinator Gunther Cunningham. “But most of the season I’m completely preoccupied with making sure Calvin and Rex Ryan aren’t at the same continental breakfast.”
Saturday
Wednesday
Ask LOBO
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, why can’t I get Predator Press merchandise?"
Well I’m glad you asked me that.
You can all stop setting yourselves on fire demanding it. You can all stop jumping off of buildings demanding it. You can all stop setting yourselves on fire and then jumping off of buildings demanding it!
They are here:

Now I’ve noticed a slight problem with the first 150,000 I had made, and this brings me to my first disclaimer: Predator Press t-shirts do not come with Spellcheck installed.
These were intended to be $9.99. But I had to send them back and get them corrected:

Now, correctly stenciled, they came in at $26.99 apiece.
But that looks kinda weird, right? So I had them sent back a third time. And for the low-low price of $69.50, I give you the Official Predator Press T-Shirt:
Click on it to enlarge!
It’s 100% polyester. That's four times the ester!

Millions and millions of readers are always asking me everyday, "LOBO, why can’t I get Predator Press merchandise?"
Well I’m glad you asked me that.
You can all stop setting yourselves on fire demanding it. You can all stop jumping off of buildings demanding it. You can all stop setting yourselves on fire and then jumping off of buildings demanding it!
They are here:

Now I’ve noticed a slight problem with the first 150,000 I had made, and this brings me to my first disclaimer: Predator Press t-shirts do not come with Spellcheck installed.
These were intended to be $9.99. But I had to send them back and get them corrected:

Now, correctly stenciled, they came in at $26.99 apiece.
But that looks kinda weird, right? So I had them sent back a third time. And for the low-low price of $69.50, I give you the Official Predator Press T-Shirt:

Saturday
Pondering

[LOBO]
So I'm just hanging around the lily pad, minding my own fucking business, right? And along comes this gigantic human princess.
She's stompin' around, pickin up my buddies -BOOM BOOM SPLASH BOOM *smooch*, BOOM SPLASH BOOM BOOM BOOM *smooch*- I mean she is sexually harassing everyone in the pond.
Deeply offended, I blink my left eye. This isn't 'that' sort of pond ... this is a family pond. And this lady is really risking numerous lawsuits.
-Or if nothing else, a very long series of angry letters.
Friday
Mahatma Gandalf
![]() |
Okay. At some point, you're just bragging ... |
[LOBO]
"So how is the deportation from Saudi Arabia going?"
"Meh," I reply, staring at my cold fries with mild disinterest. "Hey, aren't you dead?"
Mister Insanity, still wolfing down food with a predatory fierceness, shrugs. "This blog has killed me numerous times."
I ponder this as he breathlessly slurps at his beer between bites.
"I wouldn't stand for that. That sucks," I offer sympathetically. "Someone should be punished."
He nods in agreement, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "So you read an article saying three guys got deported from Saudi Arabia for being too irresistible to women. And, thinking you could use the publicity, defected to Saudi Arabia to get deported?"
"What's with the sarcastic tone?" I ask, "This is probably the best idea I've ever had. It's just taking a little longer than I initially planned."
"Maybe they don't find you irresistible enough to deport."
"Hah," I guffaw. "No, that's not it. I think they want to keep me to learn how to be a better country from me complaining about them."
"It sure worked for America," Mister Insanity notes.
"Yes," I agree. "I can be their Gandalf."
"Pardon?"
"I can teach them nonviolent resistance and stuff."
"You mean Gandhi," he corrects. "Mahatma Gandhi."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Thank God," I says. "This beard itches like crazy."
"You realize I'm going to have to run all things LOBOnian while you're gone."
"But I'm standing right here," I point out.
"You have the emotional capacity of a five year old, you're wildly incompetent, and every heartbeat you have only increases the threat you will end the entire human race."
I blink. "I'm standing right here, you know," I remind him.
"And you're lucky I haven't called Immigration," he reminds me.
"Touché."
"So what's your plan?"
"I finally logged into my fantasy baseball team, you know, to reaffirm my patriotic American affiliation. I'm trying to pretend 'America's favorite pastime' is interesting." Smugly, I add "-I haven't watched any soccer at all."
"You don't like baseball?"
"I only played one game," I admit. "It was when I was an impressionable lad of maybe twenty-six years old. I went up to bat, and the coach told me to 'line drive between second and third base.' Knowing I would be lucky to hit the ball at all, I asked him for a map of where between second and third base is. He chuckled and said how much he like my spirit, and said 'go for it.'"
"So what happened?"
"I cracked that ball with everything I had," I says. "But while we were all taking off our sunglasses and searching for the ball in the sky, the ball rolled to a stop in front of the pitcher."
"That's rough," Mister Insanity admits.
"He had me 'out' at first base before I even got to my telescope."
Monday
Sunday
The Return of Mister Insanity

Predator Press
[Mr. I]
"Our intelligence suggests that LOBO defected to the Saudi," explains Sapphire.
"Hmm," I says ponderously. "You are aware that this blog has killed me off three or four times. Are you going to offer the readers any explanation?"
Sapphire stares.
"Well okay then," I says. "Has anyone thought of going on a manhunt to get LOBO back?"
Sapphire stares.
More.
"Well," says Barbarossa finally. "I don't think we want the parade called off."
FUCK Monday
Predator Press
[LOBO]
The problem with working on Predator Press is that it has taken all the spice out of calling off of work ... thus, basking in my usual slothful indolence has lost a certain degree of debauched and ruthless zeal.
Still, I can offer up endless lame excuses all day long to you, o loyal reader.
Because I care.
So here goes:
"Dear Boss,
The reason I don't get around to blogging very often is that I occasionally moonlight as a double-secret agent. Last week I was in LOBOnia investigating MINDERBINDER, INC for the United States Government. (LOBOnia is a country a little south of Nigeria and a little north of, uh, Antarctica.) It was there that I was taken by surprise by a well-armed horde of time-traveling Space Mongols. I was subsequently held in a concentration camp for forty-four years, escaping with only the cunning use of my hair gel and a twig.
I’m now blogging via satellite, riding on the back of an elephant through Deepest Darkest Africa in search of the US Embassy. But satellites are really heavy, and my elephant is getting tired and cranky so I have to keep this short.
I have to warn the world of the coming Space Mongol invasion which would totally happen if you fired me. I also think I should not do anything resembling work tomorrow either … you know … in case anything weird happens. I need to conserve my energy.
The President, Myself, and the rest of the Free World all thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter, and I will blog some more as soon as I find a new elephant."
Ahhhh ... that's better.
[LOBO]
The problem with working on Predator Press is that it has taken all the spice out of calling off of work ... thus, basking in my usual slothful indolence has lost a certain degree of debauched and ruthless zeal.
Still, I can offer up endless lame excuses all day long to you, o loyal reader.
Because I care.
So here goes:
"Dear Boss,
The reason I don't get around to blogging very often is that I occasionally moonlight as a double-secret agent. Last week I was in LOBOnia investigating MINDERBINDER, INC for the United States Government. (LOBOnia is a country a little south of Nigeria and a little north of, uh, Antarctica.) It was there that I was taken by surprise by a well-armed horde of time-traveling Space Mongols. I was subsequently held in a concentration camp for forty-four years, escaping with only the cunning use of my hair gel and a twig.
I’m now blogging via satellite, riding on the back of an elephant through Deepest Darkest Africa in search of the US Embassy. But satellites are really heavy, and my elephant is getting tired and cranky so I have to keep this short.
I have to warn the world of the coming Space Mongol invasion which would totally happen if you fired me. I also think I should not do anything resembling work tomorrow either … you know … in case anything weird happens. I need to conserve my energy.
The President, Myself, and the rest of the Free World all thank you for your cooperation and understanding in this matter, and I will blog some more as soon as I find a new elephant."
Ahhhh ... that's better.
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