The Skittish Invasion

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The Butterbean kid and I step out of the courthouse, and into the cold and harsh-seeming sunlight.

He looks up from his notepad. “So you do this every day?”

“No,” I says. Squinting as my eyes adjust, I hold the paperwork over my eyes. “The only have these hearings once a week.”

As we descend the stairs, I spot the Unfinished Rambler getting into his car.

“Hey!” I yell complaining. “It’s only for 100 feet!”

“I know,” calls Unfinished Rambler. “It’s a typo. I’ll get the lawyers to correct it to 100 yards as soon as they can.”

As he drives off I give him an informal salute, and me and Butterbean head down for my own car.

Butterbean is leafing through his notes. “So your plan is,” he restates, “to get everyone to take out a temporary restraining order on you so they have to move, therefore enabling you to keep the whole city for yourself?”

I unlock the back door. Pausing for a second, I kiss the document for effect. “These things are like gold.” As I toss it in the car, Butterbean now realizes there are thousands of TROs piled back there.

He scowls thoughtfully. “But if they are taking out restraining orders on you, wouldn’t that mean you have to move?”

I look at him, and then the documents.

And then back at him.

“Of course not!” I says climbing into the driver’s seat. “Look. You’re just a dumb kid. These legislative matters are very complex.”

"You told the judge her hair looks like three cats fighting."

"Chicks dig compliments," I says starting the car. "And it was far and away the coolest hair I've ever seen."

He swings the seatbelt around his rather impressive girth. “Where are we going now?”

I turn to size up the mountains of paperwork.

“Someplace to get a lot of Liquid Paper.”

Steampunk

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I don't do product endorsements.

-mostly because no one will pay me to do them.

Still I think this stuff is really interesting and worth a look.

Neat!

Thought for Food

Predator Press

[LOBO]

When did grocery store cashiers start informing people ‘how much we saved’?

It irritates me. If I hear an enthusiastic “You saved $6.32!” one more time I’m going to freak out.

If you’re going to bother and artificially inflate a price temporarily to impress me, just go crazy.

“You saved $1,456,042.48!”

-At least that way my mac ‘n cheese coupons wouldn't seem so emasculating.

Retox

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The kid –who looks a little like a pint-sized Butterbean- just kind of slips into the kitchen as I’m pouring milk into my bowl. The food, inspected under a black light only moments before, is presumed safe for my consumption.

But I’m still pretty groggy and not 100% I’m not dreaming the kid up: I decide to say nothing and try and ignore him in case.

-The possible illusion is shattered moments later as he loudly slides into a chair at the table.

“Hi,” he says shyly, averting my gaze.

“Hi,” I reply, chewing.

A few uncomfortable moments of silence follow.

“Is that cereal?”

“No,” says me, eyeing him warily. “It’s Peanut M&Ms.”

“Huh,” he says. "Do you always wear welding goggles at breakfast?"

"Son, you ever get hard candy shell in your eye?"

"No."

"Well then don't knock good protective gear. This isn’t some bullshit caramel nugat: this stuff is engineered to melt in your mouth. Not in your eye."

More silence. He starts uncomfortably looking around the kitchen. “Miss Terri said I could come in and talk to you.”

“Are you done?”

“No. See I have this school project where I have to interview people of different occupations.” He flips open a notepad. “I have you here as an ‘Author.’ Is that correct?”

I examine his beady little eyes for signs of sarcasm.

“You want to interview me?” I ask.

“Well my dad thought it was a good idea. Since you don’t actually have a job, he figured he wouldn’t have to drive me anyplace.”

I drop my spoon into the bowl -now empty except for discolored milk- and lean back in my chair. “Who is your dad again?”

“We live next door.”

I scowl without recognition.

“You killed my gramma with a Lawn Jart last summer,” he adds helpfully.

My eyebrows furrow. I gesture for him to stand and turn around. And sure enough, there’s that distinctive blocky skull shape.

“Oh yeah,” I says. “Man, your mom was pissed."

Post-Apocalypse Blogging

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Kathy: “And today archeologists uncovered even more writings by LOBO of Predator Press.”

Jeff: “Were they more posts complaining about what jerks people were?"

Kathy: “Why yes they were Jeff.”

Diesel: “That LOBO was such a visionary …"

Speedcat: “Yes he was, Diesel. Yes he was. And now in sports news … "

Ask LOBO: Where Do We Get Predator Press Merchandise?

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!

High Score

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"What are you doing?" asks Screechy, my fascinated six year old.

As the pale bule light flickers over my face, I don't even look at him. "I'm clicking on a few Entrecard sites in the faint hope I can score a few million readers tonight."

After a beat, I lean over and whisper "It might mean the difference between Harvard and Brown for you."

He grimaces at the monitor. "You get points by clicking on those little yellow boxes?"

"Yes son. Every one of those little yellow boxes is the blog of an infinitely important and interesting individual human being."

"It looks like a game. Can I play?"

I pause, thinking.

"Only if you play to win."