Lestrade

LOBO -Predator Press

Nicki Minaj was sitting two seats in front of me.

Nicki Minaj!

I tap her on the shoulder.  "Miss Minaj, I am a huge fan."  I beam, showing her my iPod Shuffle.  "I own all four of your songs."

The next thing I knew her entourage was "all up in my grill," wanting to throw me out.  This was complicated heavily by the fact that we were on an airplane.

[*sigh*]

I miss Lindsay Lohan.

Black Knight Satellite

LOBO -Predator Press

J.J. Abrams' concept art of "R2D2" blows chunks.

 

Falala Banana

LOBO -Predator Press

A little research unearthed all I needed to know about my regional manager, Falala Banana.  Miss Banana is feared company-wide, and mostly because she can rip Capri pants with her calves Hulk-style at will.  She is reputed to have killed underperforming employees with her toes.

But it turns out we have history.

Back in 2006, I met Mohamed "Chainsaw" Miller, a twenty-seven year old a six foot six behemoth, and a rabid football fan.

"Why aren't you in the NFL?" I asked.

He stared down at me for a second, thinking carefully.

"I never ate me no human pancreas before," he replied.

Glad to see we were on the same page, I instructed him to shave everything, and went on to forge his new birth certificate and enroll him into a junior high school to pursue a football scholarship.

Chainsaw Miller led the Ottawa Otters to five consecutive championships (yes, five -I recommended he flunk twice).  But what I didn't know was that he was secretly being scouted by the Oakland Raiders.  Chainsaw Miller wasn't ready for the "Big Leagues."  For one, he couldn't read: he promptly screwed up a play and was blown up rushing center by Tyvon Branch, LaMarr Woodley, three cheerleaders embroiled in paternity lawsuits with him, and Julio Fernandez.

Julio Fernandez isn't even a Raider -he was just getting gas at a nearby convenience store.

Thus, Falala Banana was born.

The Four Corners

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Disposing of my junk mail and shredded bills to prevent identity theft.

At great expense to me, I fly Destry Dentin, DDS, from London to Sydney, Australia to destroy most of it.  Those guys can butcher the hell out of our fine American language, and oddly understand each other.  I am confident all relevant information will be promptly lost.

But Albert Dente can be a little more complicated.

"Yes I threw the crap into Mordor."

"Wait," I says into the speakerphone.  "You were supposed to throw that stuff into Mount Doom."

"That fucking thing is really, really tall.  And I mean that shit is in Mordor now.  It's probably only a matter of time at this point."

"You just walked up to the border of Mordor, and chucked my mail?"

"Yep." [static] "... and ... have a crush on Cindy."

"Cindy and Rachel are lesbians."

"I have a crush on Rachel too."

Alchemy

-LOBO, Predator Press

Many immolated themselves. Many jumped from tall buildings. Many immolated themselves, then jumped from tall buildings.

-But I am having a hard time keeping up with life events.




In the meantime I will be occasionally appearing at the Humor Blogger Fantasy Football League.

I'll be back.  I promise.

Why Does Heaven Need Gates? Is It In a Bad Neighborhood?

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"So you raised four times as much as you need for the divorce?" Al asks, still browsing Tinder on my phone. "How about this one?"

O please Al. Shut the fuck up. For five minutes.

"How long until the divorce is final?" Albert Dente continued relentlessly.

"Who cares?" I reply. "I decided to let the lovebirds take the hit. I paid off my car instead."

Fly Fighter

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Well, neither of us can afford a divorce," I says.  "One of us had to figure out a way to monetize the situation and get it over with."

Rachel frowns.  "You don't think this is a little extreme?"

"All's fair in love and war.  They will thank me later."

"I kinda doubt that."