Cruelinary Skill

LOBO -Predator Press

Hostess "Limited Edition" Wintermint Ding Dongs were so horrifyingly bad, I had to eat a second one just to confirm they tasted like toothpaste.

Weeks -okay months later, still in my freezer, I thought "Oh come on. They couldn't have been that bad."

Yep. Two more.

At this rate, I might hate them enough to buy again next year.

So You've Contracted the Coronavirus

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The Predator Press Center For Disease Control has issued the following recommendations so you do not transmit this disease to me:

1) Boil yourself at a minimum temperature of 165 degrees Fahrenheit prior to contact in a one half bleach, one half Lysol, and one half holy water solution.

2) Burn all your germ infested property unless you think I might want it. Use careful discretion here ... I don’t want pictures of your kids and whatever. Please limit this salvage to luxury cars, high-end electronics and precious metals.

3) Be tidy. Without remaining hosts to be transmitted to, most pandemics will burn themselves out in a few months: the only thing worse than me wandering around mid-July roasting in a hazmat suit would be doing so knee-deep in a bunch of stinky skeletons. Please have some consideration. Cremation also 100% eliminates the possibility of you returning as zombies.

In conclusion, you all being dead will be a terrible thing for me to endure: I thank you in advance for easing my painful experience through your efforts.

The Gentlemanly Thing to Do

LOBO -Predator Press


All this time I could have been writing, I've been thinking about my Twitter crap.  And why Star Wars stormtroopers usually offer the "good guys" a chance to surrender, but are generally killed on sight by everyone else.

A derivative of my Twitter handle in use is by an ex, and we didn't agree on much.  Politics, philosophy, shampoo and other hair products … but her Twitter BLOWED UP when last I checked.  She had like 73,000,000 followers -which is like the entire population of Earth getting split ends and dry scalp.

Well fuck "Earth" I says.  Fuck those stormtroopers too.

I am changing my Twitter ID.


@MistaBlick

Nyx

LOBO -Predator Press

As I slowly wake up, how and why Barbarossa is driving me home from Vegas is growing clearer.

"Man," he says as I slap his hands away from the radio.  "These office parties just aren't the same with out Maddy."

"How far away are we from food?" I demand, scanning billboards.  "And who is 'Maddy?'"

"Mads!" he blurts in disbelief, like that clears it up.  "The crazy girl with all the tattoos?"

Vaguely remembering, I ask "How is she doing?  Hey take this exit, or I'm going to pee in my own car."

"Dude, it only has 16,000 miles on it" he concedes, eyes wide as he decelerates. "She got married in October.  Husband disappeared four days later.  The cops finally issued a warrant to have her questioned, but she violated probation … "  He does a flourish with his free hand. "Poof."

"Huh," I says.  "So Maddy is single?"

"She asks about you all the time."

Bucephalus

LOBO -Predator Press

Even before the door shrapnel settled, The Fish demanded "What the Hell is going on in here?"

Several timid musicians lowered their instruments in confusion.

"We were trying," explains one, adjusting his cello.  "To recreate the 'Ex Shriek'."

"The what?"

"LOBO doesn't know how to write music.  He does it on a laptop.  So he gave us a list of the sounds he uses, and when to use them."  Pulling the papers from his stand, he shows her.

"Whale fart, whale fart, … choking cat, ex shriek, ex shriek, whale fart, repeat …"

Then they started playing it.

"Oh my god," said The Fish, tearing up.  "That is beautiful."

Gallus Mag

LOBO -Predator Press

Gina busts the door open.

"You need to write something!"

I am luxuriating alone on a king size bed, with a fan powerful enough to levitate the satin sheets.

"Okay!" I says.

Rachel busts the door open.

"You need to write something!"

"Goddamn it, you people should knock"  I says.

Jiaying busts the door open.

"写点东西!"

[*sigh*]

I can't argue with that.

Liquid Sword

LOBO -Predator Press

" … because you said the brains I had went to my head ..."