Walking Dead Recap -Season 7, Episode 10 – “New Best Friends”


Mmm.  Brains.  So delicious.  So yummy.


The Walking Dead continues.  Rick still seeks recruits to join his battle against the Saviors. Ezekiel says no on behalf of the Kingdom.  What’s his face I don’t remember but that douchey guy says no on behalf of the Hilltop.

However, Rick meets the trash people, a group of schmucks living in a junkyard who are totally weird and say and do weird things.

Is Rick right for taking on the Saviors?  What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain

Kurt Cobain.  He briefly stepped onto the music scene in the early 1990s, gave us grunge aka alternative rock, the most depressing yet beloved sound of the 90s and then, sadly killed himself.  I mean, I don’t want to say it’s not surprising that the King of Depressing Music killed himself but, yeah, I guess that’s what happened.

Kurt would have been fifty today and no, millennials, he would not have been a baby boomer.  He’d of been on the older side of Generation X.

Sigh.  Generation X.  The forgotten generation.

Put on your flannel shirt and rock out, 3.5 readers.


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Zom Fu – Chapter 41


General Tsang stood on the wall and observed the vast army of the undead. Their forms were twisted and mangled, in various states of decay. They made way as Dragonhand walked through the crowd, followed by Lickspittle and his zombapault.

“I hate to be the kind of man that says, ‘I told you so,’ Zhen,” the general said.

“Then don’t,” Advisor Zhen replied.

“Pitiful dogs!” General Tsang shouted down to the undead masses. “How dare you approach the walls of the Forbidden City in such a threatening manner?”

Dragonhand looked up at the general. “I am Dragonhand, destroyer of all of the great kung fu clans and lord and master over all that I desire. I have come for the Emperor’s brain.”

The general scoffed. “Begone, vile beast! The Emperor’s brain is his and his alone!”

General Tsang watched as one of Dragonhand’s warriors climbed into the bucket of the zombapault.

“These fools take us for cowards,” General Tsang said. “Cousin Nianzu!”

“Sir?” Nianzu replied.

“Deliver a barrage of arrow fire,” General Tsang commanded. “Show them the penalty for trespassing upon the Emperor’s lands.”

“Right away, sir,” Nianzu said. “Archers, to your stations!”

Over a hundred archers took up positions atop the wall, bows and arrows at the ready.

“Prepare to strike on my command,” General Tsang said. “Aim for their ugly heads for only the piercing of their wretched brains will put these animals out of commission.”

Advisor Zhen stared down at Dragonhand. The brain bite clan’s master looked up at the fat little man and winked.

“Belay that order,” the advisor said.

“Silence, Zhen,” General Tsang said. “I’ll tolerate no more of your stupidity.”

“Belay that order!” the advisor shouted.

The general and the advisor stared each other down.

“On what authority do you belay my order?” General Tsang asked.

“The Emperor’s,” Zhen answered. “I am his right hand.”

“Perhaps you haven’t notice the horde of dead men waiting outside to eat us alive,” General Tsang said.

“Yes,” Advisor Zhen said. “But must you always answer violence with more violence?”

“It’s never failed me yet,” General Tsang said.

“I shall parlay with the man,” Advisor Zhen said.

“That’s no man,” General Tsang said.

“I will talk him out of this,” Advisor Zhen said. “I was gifted with a silver tongue and I can talk anyone into anything.”

General Tsang closed his eyes and thought upon this proposal for a moment, then looked at the fat man.

“Zhen,” General Tsang said. “I have fought villains all of my life. They do not negotiate. They do not feel remorse. They take attempts to bargain with them as a sign of weakness. As much as I have long dreamed of seeing you being ripped apart, I do not want that to happen today, and certainly not by this foe. I beg of you, do not go down there.”

“I’m going down there,” Zhen said

“Damn it,” General Tsang replied.

The general leaned over the wall. “Abomination!”

“Yes?” Dragonhand said.

“The Emperor’s advisor seeks parlay,” the general shouted. “Do I have your word no harm will come to him during the impending negotiations?”

“You have my word,” Dragonhand said.

In a lower tone of voice, General Tsang muttered, “Yeah, that and a gold piece will buy me a night in a whore house.”

The general and the advisor descended a long flight of stone steps until they reached the gate. General Tsang rested his hand on a lever.

“I am completely against this,” General Tsang said.

“I know,” Advisor Zhen said.

“He will kill you and claim your death as a victory, then proceed to lay siege to the city,” General Tsang said.

“It’s a pleasant surprise that you care so much about my wellbeing, Tsang,” the advisor said.

“Funny,” General Tsang said. “It comes a surprise to me too.

The general yanked the lever until the gate rose just enough for Zhen to squeeze under it.

“I will fix this,” Zhen said.

“Yeah,” General Tsang said as he closed the gate. “It’s been nice knowing you, fatty.”

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SNL Burger King Drive-Thru Sketch

I love this sketch, 3.5 readers.  I don’t know, but the concept of poking fun at weirdos tickles my funny bone.

“What up?”

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Zom Fu – Part 6 – Preparations


With the tiger claw clan’s sanctuary in ruins, the ghost of Yaozu, the Nineteenth Infallible Master, dispatches his last two remaining disciples on missions in an effort to defeat the Clan of the Terrifyingly Unnatural Brain Bite.

Niu locates the Clan of the Mediocre Yet Effective Club Bonk, a group of drunken ruffians who fancy themselves kung fu experts, but know little about it and prefer to spend all their time robbing the Emperor’s tax collectors.  It will be up to Niu to train them to become a fighting force.

Meanwhile, Junjie most face a demon who has been held captive for countless millennia.

Chapter 30          Chapter 31          Chapter 32        Chapter 33          Chapter 34

Chapter 35           Chapter 36        Chapter 37         Chapter 38         Chapter 39

Chapter 40

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Vote for Your Favorite Toilet Gator


The Toilet Gator Book Cover Design Contest is underway and thus far, the artists have submitted a plethora, a cornucopia, a virtual smorgasbord of terrifying toilet gators.  I would not want my buns on a crapper with one of these scaly fellows nearby, let me tell you.

Vote for your favorite toilet gator.

Toilet Gator Sundays (Or, BQB’s Production Schedule)


Hello.  My name is Bookshelf Q. Battler and I am a Book Cover Design Contest addict.

So here’s the deal.  I have finally reached the point where I can’t afford to buy any more book covers without publishing a book and getting some kind of return on investment, even if it is just enough to pay for the cost of the book cover.

So this will be my last book cover design contest for awhile.  Also, I hereby pledge to all 3.5 of you readers that I will not, not, not, start a new idea until all my previously started ideas are published.  I have to have some discipline or else nothing will ever make it to market.

Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts is almost there.  A pro is actually going over it and everything so there is light at the end of that tunnel.

I hereby declare my production schedule as follows:

  • BQB’s Writing Prompts – should be out well, I don’t know when, but I feel like April at the latest.  Could be sooner.  Doubt it will be later.
  • Zom Fu – Novel I am currently working on.
  • Toilet Gator – The idea popped in my head and I laughed and laughed and laughed.  Then I started a design cover contest and laughed and laughed and laughed.  Then I wrote the first chapter and laughed and laughed and laughed.  I’m going to have fun with this, but I don’t want it getting in the way of Zom Fu.  So, from now on, look forward to Toilet Gator Sundays.  Every Sunday, a new installment of Toilet Gator.  If I limit Toilet Gator to Sundays, then I still can find time to work on Zom Fu during the week.
  • Zomcation is half-written.  I just need to find the time to finish it.
  • Zombie Westerns – those will come next.

So there you have it.  Writing Prompts.  Zom Fu.  Toilet Gator.  Zomcation.  Zombie Westerns.  And then if I’m still kicking, my other ideas will see the light of day.

I’d love it if Prompts, Fu, Gator, and Zomcation could be done this year, and then next year is solely a Zombie Western year, and then 2019 I bring forth new ideas, but I realize things don’t always go to schedule.

At any rate, I must complete the books I have bought covers for before moving on.  I won’t buy covers for unfinished books in the future, but I had to do it this time around as I was losing faith and the seeing book covers made this all seem real.

Anyway, thanks for being my 3.5 readers.


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Movie Review – Arrival (2016)

Aliens.  Self-indulgent, self-importantce.  So much violin music.  So, so much violin music.

BQB here with a review of the Oscar nominated, Arrival.

At the outset, it’s a great first contact film.  Alien vessels have appeared at different points around the world and linguist Louise Banks (Amy Adams) and scientist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner) have been selected to communicate with the aliens in one craft located in Montana.

A lot of issues that would be likely to occur in a first alien meeting are explored.  The aliens don’t understand the humans and vice versa.  There are concerns that the aliens might be up to no good.  People get scared of the aliens.  People worry about alien diseases.  People go nuts and cause chaos over alien fears and so on.

The film is clearly in love with itself as every moment is presented as very important, leading up to an ending that is pulled out of its own ass.  If you’re a prospective writer who has ever shelved an idea for being too far fetched, get ready to dust it off with the knowledge that this film was nominated for an Oscar for best picture.

And yet, I’m not ragging on it.  Since Interstellar, I have appreciated Hollywood’s newfound interest in exploring space in a serious manner, tackling conceivable issues that might arise as mankind seeks out answers regarding what lies beyond Earth.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 1


After the show, a tired, sweaty, worn-out Countess Cucamonga walked through a backstage hallway. She was flanked on each side by her burly, bald-headed, sunglass sporting security goons. Meanwhile, her dutiful manager Irving, a spindly little twerp stuffed in a designer suit, heaped praise on his client.

“Outstanding performance, Countess,” Irving said. “Positively outstanding. Butt Peace is climbing the charts even faster than Buttstravaganza ever did.”

“What fabulous news, darling,” the Countess replied.

“I think we’re going to see a dramatic decline in violent outbreaks across the world thanks to your song,” Irving said.

“Yes, well, I do what I can darling,” the Countess said. “I really do.”

Irving craned his neck to see that his client was being followed down the hall by Natalie Brock. Struggling to keep up behind the affiliate reporter was Walter, her hefty, huffing and puffing cameraman.

“Goddamn it, Walter,” Natalie said. “Hurry up. We’re going to lose her.”

“I’m union,” Walter groaned. “I don’t care.”

“Countess!” Natalie shouted. “Countess!”

The entourage came to a halt. The two goons formed a human wall.

“Countess,” Natalie said. “Natalie Brock for NN1’s Miami affiliate. Can we get a few words?”

“This is a secure area, ma’am,” the first goon said.

“We need to ask you to leave,” the second goon added.

Natalie struggled to look around the goons but they blocked her at every turn.

“Irving!” Natalie yelled. “Irving! I know you’re back there.”

Natalie and Irving resorted to having a conversation between the goon wall.

“Natalie, this entire floor has been blocked off for the Countess’ safety,” Irving said. “I could have you arrested and carted off to Guantanamo Bay on celebrity harassment charges.”

The intrepid reporter belted out her question. “What would you say to critics who believe that Butt Peace is just an example of the Countess recycling her same old tired buttsploitation songs into a faux humanitarian package?”

“The Countess does not have to answer such outrageous accusations!” Irving said. “Get out or be thrown out!”

“No,” the Countess said as she pushed her way through the goons to Natalie’s side. “I want to speak. ‘Faux,’ you say?”

Natalie held her microphone up to the Countess’ mouth. “Yes, some say that you really don’t care about world peace, that this song is just your way of scamming the public into thinking you care about the world while still raking in the dough from perverted men who love to pretend that you are singing directly to them about your butt, as well as women who wished they had the kind of butt that would motivate perverted men to give up all of their many. Is your interest in world peace fake?”

“I assure your there’s nothing fake about it, darling,” the Countess said. “What is war other than a conflict over limited resources and why do men fight over limited resources in the first place? I submit that men go to war in order to prove themselves worthy of women with fabulous butts. All I’m trying to say to those angry men is that they should abandon their violent ways, for whenever they feel like committing mass genocide in order to placate their feelings of sexual inadequacy, they should just put on one of my butt songs instead. My butt doesn’t just belong to me, it belongs to the world, and as long as everyone has a chance to stare at it, there’s no reason for us not to come together in the spirit of peace and harmony.”

Natalie blinked. “That was actually the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you,” the Countess said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

The Countess and her contingent pressed forward down the hall.

“Tell me you got that, Walter,” Natalie said.

“Uh huh,” the grumpy cameraman replied.

The entourage reached the Countess’ private dressing room.

“Countess,” Irving said. “We’ve got to talk about your stop in New York. The choreographer was thinking about switching things up a bit, maybe adding at least seventy-percent twerking. Our focus groups can’t get enough of it.”

The Countess’ stomach gurgled. “Ugh. Not now, darling. I think all that twerking shook something loose. Ta ta.”

The pop star entered her dressing room and slammed the door. Her goons took up their positions.

“Wow,” Irving said as he squeezed the first goon’s arm. “That’s solid. You guys must work out. You work out?”

“Ergh,” the first goon replied.

“Do some curls, work on your biceps?” Irving asked. “Triceps? Lats? Delts? Quads. Yeah, I like to lift myself. I’ve got these little red dumbbells that I…”

“Ergh,” the first goon said.

“OK,” Irving said as he lightly slapped the first goon’s arm. “Good talk.”

As the manager walked down the hallway, he spotted Natalie going over her notes.

“You ever pull a stunt like that and you’ll never work in broadcasting again, capiche?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘capiche’ me, Irving,” Natalie said. “Besides, this is a win for you. For once in her life, your girl didn’t sound like a total moron.”

Irving’s face turned red. “That’s the image we’re going for and if you ever publicly imply that she is anything but a total moron I will sue you for slander!”

Meanwhile, the stoic goons were unable to maintain their rugged facades as loud fart noises emanated from inside their client’s dressing room. “Pbbbht…pbbhht…pbbbhhhhttt!”

“Huh huh,” the first goon chuckled.

“Must have been that chimichanga,” the second goon said.

Back down the hallway, the manager continued to lock horns with the reporter.

“I want that recording erased,” Natalie said.

“Not happening,” Natalie said. “She gave a statement voluntarily and it’s going on air.”

Walter stared at the back of his camera, slapped it a few times, then scratched his head. “Hey, Natalie…”

“I am her agent,” Irving said. “All press inquiries must go through me. That statement was unauthorized.”

“She authorized it herself,” Natalie said.

“Hey Natalie,” Walter repeated.

“Fine,” Irving said. “You want to go tit for tat on this? Mano y mano? Tit for tat? You want to bring down the god of thunder to make it rain all over you?”

“Knock it off, Irv,” Natalie said.

“Let’s get nuts,” Irving said. “I’m not afraid to go to court over this. I love going to court. I live for litigation. You call your Jews, I’ll call my Jews.”

“That’s racist and offensive,” Natalie said.

“That’s not racist to say that Jews are good lawyers,” Irving said. “Do you know how long it takes to go to law school?”

Walter interrupted again. “Natalie…”

Natalie snapped. “What?!”

“I didn’t get the thing where the girl with the big butt was talking,” Walter said.

Irving grinned. Natalie clenched her fists. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah,” Walter said as he stared at his camera. “I mixed up the buttons. There’s so many of them, you know.”

“Damn it, Walter,” Natalie said. “You know, I try my best to be nice to everyone. I try not to be one of those catty news bitches who thinks their shit doesn’t stink and they have a God given right to shit all over everyone, but damn it Walter, a monkey could do your job. A literal, honest to go, chimpanzee could work that camera and save the station a lot of money.”

“Take it up with my union,” Walter replied.

Irving laughed and laughed.

“Oh, blow it out your ass, Irv,” Natalie said.

Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a loud rumbling sound, followed by the noises of porcelain and drywall being smashed and bashed. Then there were screams. High pitched, blood curdling, female screams.

“What’s going on?” Irving asked.

The first goon tried the door knob, but it was locked. The second goon threw his weight against the door again and again until finally, he broke it open.

“Stay back!” the first goon shouted to everyone in the hallway. He drew his sidearm and followed the second goon into the room. Irving ignored the command and entered.

Natalie wagged her finger in Walter’s face. “Look at me Walter. You’re going to turn that camera on and you’re going to record every single thing that happens and if I find out that you didn’t, I’m going to drop kick you in the balls until you can’t father children anymore.”

“I’m filing a grievance,” Walter said.

“There,” Natalie said as she pointed to a red button on the camera. “That’s the record button. Push that one, then don’t push anything else. Got it?”

Walter pushed the red button. “Got it.

Irving’s shocked voice carried out into the hallway. “Jesus H. Fuck!”

Natalie’s eyes lit up with the twisted delight that only a reporter gets upon learning that something has gone awry. She and her cameraman entered the dressing room, where Irving was holding his hand in his hands.

“I don’t get it,” Irving said. “How is that even possible?”

The goons stepped out of the bathroom. The first goon dialed 911. “We need everyone you’ve got down here now…yeah…Sunnyside Arena…I don’t know how to describe it…there’s been a murder…”

Natalie sidestepped the men and poked her head into the bathroom. There, she saw that the toilet had been smashed to smithereens, little pieces of porcelain everywhere. A hole had been ripped open in the floor. The pipe leading to the sewer system had been split apart.

Worse of all, every square inch of the bathroom was covered in blood and guts. Ever so timidly, Natalie walked into the room, being careful not to get any blood on her clothes. She waved for Walter to follow.

The news reporter kneeled down and stared at a blood soaked plastic bag filled with gloppy silicone.

“What is that?” Walter asked.

“Ungh,” Natalie said as she pulled a kleenex out of her pocket and wiped the blood away. In doing so, she revealed some writing.

“Plastilox Buttock Implant – Left – Patent #10999428432”

“I knew that ass was fake,” Natalie said.

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #1


Network News One Transcript #1

(Open on Kurt Manley, stereotypically perfect looking news anchor, complete with square jaw, perfect hair and teeth).

KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene reported that the Pope was heard to say, “That’s the last time I’ll go to Tijuana without a passport and a reach around. Coming up in the next hour, the ayatollah has released a series of photos of himself mooning a paper mache version of the president. Also, there’s a new report out in which seventeen out of twenty scientists claim that one of the breakfast cereals in your pantry might cause you to literally vomit out your entire spleen. We’ll tell you which cereal that is after sports and weather. But first, controversial pop star Countess Cucamonga is kicking off her highly anticipated comeback tour tonight. We take you live to Miami, where our local affiliate…Jesus…local affiliate…is that the best we could do?

(Local affiliate reporter Natalie Brock, an average looking brunette, appears on screen. She’s standing on the floor of a packed concert around, surrounded by screaming fans).

NATALIE BROCK: Good evening Kurt. I’m here at the Sunnyside Arena…

KURT MANLEY: Where’s Dan? Hey, Dan, we couldn’t have done better than a local affiliate reporter for this? Yeah…uh huh…sure but I mean, for Christ’s sake man, look at her tits. They’re A cups at best. Barely a handful.  Utterly useless.

(Natalie stares blankly at the camera).

KURT MANLEY: Oh right. Take it away Natalie.

NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, I’m coming to you from the Sunnyside Arena in downtown Miami, where fans have turned out in droves for Countess Cucamonga’s first concert since her arrest and subsequent hospitalization for moki fish huffing addiction. For those unaware, moki fish huffing is the latest celebrity addiction to hit Hollywood. An addict will spend upwards of three hundred thousand dollars to illegally important the rare, virtually extinct Japanese moki fish, spoon model airplane glue into the fish’s hind quarters, and then somehow the combination of the glue and fish pheromones creates a potent high that can be achieved by sniffing the glue filled fish’s anus.

KURT MANLEY: Don’t bore me with information I already know for…um…news reporting purposes and only news reporting purposes, Natalie.

NATALIE BROCK: Sorry Kurt.  Now, we’ve gotten word from Countess Cucamonga’s press agent that the Countess plans to debut a new song tonight, one that will showcase her range as a performer. According to the statement we’ve received, the Countess is tired of churning out the same old vulgar, sensationalized songs that capitalize on her ample posterior. Her time in rehab has given her perspective and now she wants to give back and do her part to bring about world peace.

KURT MANLEY: Aw, what the hell. I really love those butt songs. Countess Got Back. Cucamonga Crack. Twerk Dat Booty. Stuff Dem Jeans.

NATALIE BROCK: Indeed, Kurt. In fact, the Countess’ most famous single, Max Out My Extra Strength Stretch Pants, went quadruple platinum, but apparently the Countess has become a more civic minded entertainer now.

KURT MANLEY: Isn’t Countess Cucamonga’s posterior insured for three hundred million dollars?

NATALIE BROCK: There has been talk of that in the tabloids but I don’t believe anyone in the Countess’ entourage has ever given official confirmation. However, it is undeniable that Countess Cucamonga has one of the most infamous derrieres in show business.

(The lights dim. The crowd goes silent).

NATALIE BROCK: That’s our cue, Kurt. Let’s listen in as the Countess starts her new life as a world peace advocate.

(Countess Cucamonga, an insanely beautiful woman, flies over the crowd via wires attached to her body. She wears a pink wig and a sparkly gown. Her butt is enormous. She lands on stage. Smoke clouds burst and then dissipate, allowing her backup dancers to appear. The crowd goes wild. The Countess begins to sing a slow song.)

COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: War…famine…plague….destruction…death. So much can happen to take away our last breath…

(A giant globe depicting all of the continents is lowered behind the Countess. It spins slowly).

COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: Poverty…catastrophe…so much can come between you and me…

(Natalie appears on screen and whispers).

NATALIE BROCK: Looks like she really has turned over a new leaf, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Move your stupid head, Natalie. I’m trying to scope out the Countess’ turd cutter.


KURT MANLEY: Aww, who can see it through that long gown anyway.

(The Countess returns to screen).

COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: I’m here to tell you there’s a way that all this mayhem can cease. There is a road to international peace. The road is here, it is so clear, and the road to world peace runs through…

(The globe explodes, shooting confetti all over the crowd. A giant butt takes the globe’s place. The Countess rips off her dress, leaving her with nothing but a skimpy bikini and highly revealing panties printed with various world countries. Lights flash, the crowd cheers as the song picks up tempo…)


(The Countess points her butt at the audience and twerks up a storm).

COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: Butt peace! It’s what the world needs now. Butt peace! You’ll drop your jaw and say, “Wow!” Butt peace! Drop your guns, stare at these buns. No time for war when your eyes are sore from staring at…

(The Countess slaps her right cheek).


(Natalie Brock appears on screen).

NATALIE BROCK: Well, there you have it, Kurt. I’ve just received word that ‘Hashtag Butt Peace’ is trending on Lifebox and Butt Peace can be purchased through whichever music site you prefer to throw your money away on. There are also seven hundred online petitions demanding that Countess Cucamonga be named an official UN ambassador, thus allowing her to spread her message of butt related peace throughout the world.

(Kurt Manley appears on stage, grooving in his seat).

KURT MANLEY: Aw, yeah. Butt peace, baby! Woo! The Countess has done it again.

(Kurt stops dancing and ruffles through a stack of papers).

KURT MANLEY: That’ll do it for Natalie Brock, our Miami affiliate reporter and card carrying member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Keep your TV locked on Network News One because in the next hour, we’re going to asking Congressman Hutchins why he supports HR4900, better known as the “Turn Every American’s Life into a Big Pile of Shit” Bill. But first, are there traces of rat poison in your toothpaste? Find out after this commercial break.

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