Trollar Opposite (GoFuckYourself.exe)

LOBO -Predator Press

I don't have a lot of time for social media anymore, but WOW my Twitter account isn't factoring that in. It can be an eyeful over morning coffee.

-And I am not "naming names" out of spite. Quite the contrary. Both sites that blew me up as an internet troll are pretty entertaining.

A year ago, an author at Screenrant.com suggested using D.C. superhero characters in a musical. The author wrote an excellent article article spelling out how the acting cast -by virtue of theatrical background- was perfectly capable of pulling this off. The author was exactly correct, and I think the musical crossovers have since already happened.

The problem is I personally dislike musicals. I made a sarcastic remark. When I got back to the internet (perhaps two days later), my Twitter done blowed up because I was a sexist? I didn't even know the author was female. I just don't like musicals, and now I remain permanently banned on the message boards.

But the @StarWarsMinute one really hurt. Pete and Alex run a REALLY good show, and it has recently blown up in popularity. They are super fan-friendly too. There is zero reason for me not to love the show. Except. Commercials. Not the number of commercials, but where they were placing them. I felt commercials in the middle of the show messed up the cadence -it is only 15 minutes long for God's sake. Finally frustrated, I DM-ed them that I was unsubscribing - and they retweeted my DM(!), adding, "Sorry we like to get paid." And again, my Twitter blowed up.

In both cases, I feel like I was "reverse trolled." Unnecessary drama (trauma) was brought in for clickbait.

This line of thinking -or lack thereof- is pretty goddamned alarming.

Turing

LOBO -Predator Press

When The Boss flies in thirty people from all over the world, you damn well better pretend to take notes.

Most people pretend to do so on laptops and cellphones, but I went "old school" -a pencil and a notebook.

I doodled the bat symbol.

"Blah blah opportunity blah blah markets blah blah ..."

Now I have a nice catwoman silhouette in the foreground ...

"Blah blah customers blah blah blah pizazz ..."

"Excuse me sir," I raise my pencil. "Did you just say 'pizazz'?"

He scowled at the interruption.

"I don't think anyone has invoked the word 'pizazz' in thirty years," I explain. "I was wholly unprepared for this word to be rushed back into the lexicon."

"Do you have a question?"

"Yes, in fact I do. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not with out your help. But you're not helping ..."

Predator Press demands "Fantasy Island" horror reboot

LOBO -Predator Press

"Smiles, everyone, smiles," gestures Ricardo Montalban.

"Welcome to Fantasy Island" he says to me as I disembark the tiny plane.

-And then I somehow spend the entire week on the tarmac, flirting with the 'smiling' women.

Does anyone know Clive Barker's phone number?

Predator Press watches Prometheus

LOBO -Predator Press

Like The Phantom Menace, Prometheus got an almost immediate second viewing due to 1) trying to explain the plot so someone, and 2) hearing myself trying to do so.

Now I'm not a horror fan.  Prometheus required some extra discipline, because I spent both viewings fucking terrified.  Between the shrieking and frequent underpants changing, I'm surprised I caught as much of the plot as I did the first time.  In retrospect, watching this movie by myself was a bad idea.

Critics can bang up on it, but Prometheus shares the same rarified air as the original Alien and John Carpenter's The Thing: they are all excellent examples of why you don't want me on a Mars mission, on any job in an area classified as 'uncharted,' or making a fast food run with a really, really complicated order.

At the first sign of even a nosebleed, I would just start blowtorching every last one of you assholes.  Aliens, marines, civilians, cats ...

... especially cats.

Jerxes

LOBO -Predator Press

"Mitch?"

"Aspergers."

"Carol?"

"Way Aspergers."

"Calvin?"

I think for a second.

"Aspergers," I conclude.

Gina pulls away her glasses in frustration. "So you've diagnosed everyone on my Christmas list with Aspergers?"

"Christmas? I thought you were making a roundup list for the C.D.C."

Heart of Gold Part II

LOBO -Predator Press

Click here for Heart of Gold Part I

"Listen," says the cop, uncuffing me.  "We are going to throw this ... thing ... into the Hadron Collider."

"Oh really," I says, rubbing my wrists.  "We're going to do exactly what I planned to do before you so rudely arrested me?"

"We don't have time to send this to a committee," he barks.  "But the backup I called will be here any second.  This scourge on humanity must be stopped."

"Well, duh!" I says, choosing my words carefully.  But as he scurries around the room looking for anything useful, I begin to reconsider.  This guy is an all-business professional.  And he's big, barrel chested, and "cuts a good jib." Natural heroic looks.  He will be on the cover of magazines.

-Real or not, America needs heroes like this.

"Open that hatch on the floor," he commands, yanking at some cables.

"This hatch is clearly labelled 'DO NOT OPEN HATCH.'" I point out.

"That is an access point to the 27 kilometer ring they race the particles in."

"Kilometers?" I says, swinging the hatch wide.  "This goes to Europe-?"

But the second my eyes fall on the inside of the ring, I am lost in its violent beauty.  Glowing reds, yellows, greens and blues, flying by at thousands of miles per hour.  Utterly dazzled, I find myself wanting to fall to my knees and weep.

This must be what God sees.

Suddenly, the cop smacks me on the back.

"-and that's the plan," he continues, furiously tying the cable around his waist.  "Now remember.  One tug means 'Throw me the backpack.'  Two tugs mean 'Pull me back, fast.'  And if I don't make it," he hesitates, "tell my wife and kids I love them.  I did this to protect them."

"What is your name?" I yell over the maelstrom.

"Officer Clint McMannanaugh!" he salutes.

He dove in.  And immediately, the coiled cable next to me started to swirl away.

The end of the cable disappeared into the hatch with a violent crack against the hatch edge.

"Hey!" I yell into the hatch.  "Shouldn't you have tied this to something?"

Nothing.

I stick my head in to listen closer, and see a small metal object whip by my head from behind.

"Officer McMannanaugh!" I yell.  "You've lost your badge!"

A shoe.  And then a human ear.

"I think you should tug the cable twice!"

The cable flew by.  His revolver clanged behind, firing randomly.

"God bless you Officer Clint McMannanaugh," I mutter.  Opening the backpack, I look at the vile contents, the moist evil pulsing.  "But enough blood has been spilled over Europe."

At that point, I could have just Fed-Exed the whole pulsing squishy mass of weirdness to someone else.  But who?  I thought.  I don't hate anyone else enough!

The sirens approached.

All I can do is put this fruitcake someplace where no other human will ever dare touch it.

Tires squealed in pain against concrete.

-I'll put it under another fruitcake.

Click here for Heart of Gold Part I

Heart of Gold

LOBO -Predator Press

Click here for Heart of Gold Part II

His moves are so well-practiced, the handcuffs are on me before I know it.

Blase yet clear, the cop explains. "You are under arrest for criminal trespassing."

"I object!" I says.

He rolls his eyes with the enthusiasm of a man who can tear his ACL rolling his eyes. "May I ask you why you were trying to break into the CERN Hadron Collider?"

"This time?"

"Yes sir."

"It came back," I says.

"Excuse me?"

"It came back!" I says. "Look in my shirt pocket."

He procures the paper, and unfolds it.

"This is a signed receipt of delivery from Fed-Ex."

"It snuck in.  I was acually expecting por -eh- art movies.  But it can't come in uninvited," I explain. "It's like a vampire."

"What can't come in?" he asks.

I nod my head to my backpack. "I already had it in 2006."

The cop's trepidation is palpable, and he opens it slowly. "Is it a head?"

"Worse."

Sweat drips from his forehead. "Is it a bomb?"

"You wish."

"Oh shit," the cop reals, shutting the backpack. "You got the fruitcake."

"Twice!" I point out.

He staggers a little, but regains composure like a pro. "Look. You signed for it. I get that it isn't fair you got it twice, ..." He gags for a second. "But it's yours now."

"Or is it?" I says. "If you arrest me, you have to take it as evidence. That makes it yours."

"That's a lie!" he sobs, tears welling.

"I was trying to destroy it by throwing it into the CERN Hadron Collider and banishing it to a parallel universe once and for all."

"Or cause a space-time disruption that wipes out all of Existence?"

I shrug.

"Either way."

Click here for Heart of Gold Part II