Future LOBOnian-American Diplomatic Relations in Question

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I remember "coming to" vaguely.

-A balding man, typing with one finger, is asking me questions I am answering on autopilot.  He fills out forms -replete with scan-friendly magnetic bar codes- in handwritten immaculate print as he examines my birth certificate.  On the counter in front of me is my two-inch thick manila folder containing my identity.  A tattered copy of the current Scientific American -which I pretend to understand intensely when I think I will have time to kill in public- is pushed aside in cramped space.

The hands of a plain clock on the wall, the kind I remember staring at endlessly in school, says 8:35.  The bleak sunlight fighting in though the glass doors twenty feet to my right suggest it is morning.

Isn't this Saturday?

"Would you like to be an organ donor?"

I notice a large picture on the wall of the Illinois Governor, obviously fake-smiling with big, crazy teeth.

He looks clearly insane.

Oh no.

"No," I reply.  "Nothing works anymore anyway," I lie suspiciously.

Cumbersome American laws require you to update an address change on your drivers license within 30 days.   LOBOnia -the mobile ten foot sphere that surrounds me at all times- has agreeable trade relations with America, so a scant three years later I deigned to acquiesce at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and I am apparently awake about halfway through the process.

I died in my sleep and went to Hell.

But I have apparently planned for this in advance.  I am dressed nice, and remember promising myself to try and smile for the photo.  You know, try and change my Karma?  Still, this is a shitty, shitty way to wake up.

-In the subsequent photo of a man trying to force a sincere smile after going through the DMV,  I am obviously fake-smiling with big, crazy teeth.

I look clearly insane.

A 'Lil History

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Ask LOBO

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Before there was LOBOnia, there was America -a vast and untamed frontier.

When we arrived on the Nina, the Pinto, and the Santa Fe, we all had major issues: the Ellis Island locals -"Indians"- had lost our luggage, and gave us a lot of shit about our passports.  But I rented horses and a wagon from AVIS, and a few of us struck out west.

For our Destiny.

***

"Sapphire has been fighting that grizzly bear for hours," Flandsa Ha’asasanba yelled over the windy blizzard two months later.  "We should help her!  I am cold and hungry, and she is trying to get us bear meat and a pelt."

"I got ten bucks on the bear," I yells back.  "Fuck that.  Besides, the dashboard on this wagon is giving me low tire pressure warnings.  That's totally unfixable.  We should use the wagon for a fire and eat the horses!"

And that is why, to this day, I live in Chicago.

Up a Mountain, Down a Hill

Predator Press

[LOBO]

There's a side of me that is grateful to have a job at all, but the climb out of this crater is exponentially harder all the time. The last six months of employment have been 12 hour days, and six days a week.  As of Tuesday, Sisyphus and I are now connected on LinkedIn.

 
Work. Sleep. Work. Sleep. Work, nap, work, work … 

 

Thank God football season ended or I would be dead by now.  And then you guys have to erect that giant commemorative solid gold statue of me, and change all your calendars to include the “After LOBO” era to that weird “B.C.” and “A.C.” crap!

 

But fear not, o Loyal Reader.

 

-I have stayed alive for your convenience.

MARCY PLAYGROUND - Poppies

Predator Press

"And now this story told,
from days of our old
-when gossamer doggies
ran round

They patiently wait
with pieces of eight
so everybody could smile
one more time."

So Complex Cassandra

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I wasn't surprised when the fight broke out at the plant today.

-Twelve hour six-day weekly shifts, blisters on blisters, and brutal, intense cold since October will get you some fucking fights.

And I started the shift in a state of pre-aggitatation myself: the Feds are wiping their ass with some bullshit “Constitution” via the NSA. Simultaneously, they're shitting on Colorado's State Rights to legalize cannabis by making the proceeds illegal to deposit in banks ... thus, a legal business Colorado supported is being meddled with and physically endangered in a pussy-ass chicken-shit attempt to trick them into laundering money.

-A Federal Offense.

Hmmmmm.

So who owns the banks? Who owns America? Who do they represent?  Who owns this big lie “Freedom," and why did all those all those brave guys die defending it?

I'm not sure why it bothers me frankly. LOBOnia seceded from the “American Dream” many, many, many tax seasons ago.  We don't understand paying somebody to fuck with Us in pursuit of “Liberty”: the “Land-of-Opportunity to rub nickels together for some fuck on a distant foreign beach yelling into his cellephone about his profit margin between blowjobs” can kiss Our royal ass.

LOBOnia formally requests Colorado to send diplomats and delegates to hammer out Peace Treaty terms, and discuss a possible Alliance.

(Catered by Fritos.)

The Cosmic Rolodex

Predator Press

[LOBO]

”Thank you for holding,” she says. ”You have been very patient.”

And this lie throws me off.

-In the Cosmic Rolodex outlining my attributes, “Patient” would be a waaaaayyy deep cut.

”And when did this problem start sir?”

That Rolodex would go: Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clack clickety clickety clickety clickety clack clickety clickety clack clack clack … clack … clack … clack ...

... clack ...

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clickety clack clickety clickety clickety clickety clack clickety clickety clack clack clack … clack … clack … clack ...

... clack ...

“... Patient.”

-Booyah! And it's about damn TIME.

”I am very sorry I could not resolve your problem,” she concedes. ”Is there anything I can further assist you with today?”

“Well, yes,” I says. “Why is my mother so hard to get along with lately?”