By: Uncle Hardassimo “Hardass” J. Scrambler, Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Extremely Cranky and Deceased Uncle
Mother of God. You people actually read this nonsense? “Oh look at me! I’m friends with an alien!” “Oh look at me! I have a blog!” “Oh look at me! I have 3.5 readers!”
Well la dee freakin’ da. Everyone wants to be a writer anymore. No one can be bothered to roll up their sleeves and put a good honest day’s work in at the Salt Mines. You all want your salt but you want some other guy to get it.
Here’s a newsflash ya’ bunch of unwashed hippy good-fer-nothins! While you’re all tappity tapping on your electro-thingy-ma-whosits, people are busting their asses just to bring salt to your table.
Think my good for nothing nephew cares? Nah. He’s too busy “blogging.” Jesus. I’m glad I’m dead so I don’t have to be reminded of the fact that all the work I put into raising that kid amounted to him writing a “blog” for the benefit of 3.5 readers.
In fact, here’s how it all went down on my death-bed:
BQB: Uncle Hardass! Don’t die! I’ll do anything! I’ll even get a job at the Salt Mines!
UNCLE HARDASS: Aack! Too late! Thank God I’m dying. If I live long enough, you’ll probably disappoint me by taking all the effort I put into raising you and starting a blog for the benefit of 3.5 readers!
BQB: That actually sounds like a good idea…
UNCLE HARDASS: Aack! Oh God! This is it! I hope there’s no hippies in the afterlife! Aaack!
First, I called it. That buffoon went and started a blog for 3.5 readers. I’d kick myself in the ass for giving him the idea but I’m a ghost and my foot would just go through my ass.
Second, there’s nothing but hippies here. I’m not sure if I’m in Heaven or Hell. I might be in my own personal Hell where I’m surrounded by hippies who just babble on about all the art they want to create while I bust my ass everyday until the end of time at the Afterlife Salt Mines.
Then again, this is probably Heaven, because I like working at the Salt Mines and bitching about useless hippies.
Anyway, what was my point? Oh yeah.
My nephew’s story, “Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life” starts again tomorrow and I’m here to ask you to not read it. The more people read it, the bigger his ego will get and then he’ll never face facts and accept the solid employment that only the Salt Mines can offer.
He thinks he’s being real avant garde with this stuff. You’ll learn his real name though I don’t know why you’d want to because I just refer to him as “the moocher.”
TRANSLATION OF A CONVERSATION BETWEEN A YOUNG BQB AND UNCLE HARDASS:
YOUNG BQB: Uncle Hardass! Will you read me a story?
UNCLE HARDASS: A story?! How the expletive deleted do you have time for a story? Why don’t you have a job at the Salt Mines yet, ya moocher?
YOUNG BQB: I’m three.
UNCLE HARDASS: And?! So what? Are you going to use that excuse forever? You sound just like your Aunt! “He’s only three, Hardassimo!” “Stop trying to make him get a job, Hardassimo!” “Stop gluing a beard to his face in an attempt to pass him off at the Salt Mines as a little person day laborer, Hardassimo!”
YOUNG BQB: Read this book to me! It’s called “The Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
UNCLE HARDASS: Oh alright. Jesus H. Christ. Shit like this is why the Japanes are beating us hands down. You think those kids are reading stories right now? No. They’re too busy making transistors and practicing karate and shit. All you kids who want to read and write will be crying your eyes out when your lack of hard work leads to the Good Ole U S of A being overtaken by the land of the rising sun but alright, here we go. “Once upon a time…blah blah blah….there were some goats….”
YOUNG BQB: You’re not reading it right!
UNCLE HARDASS: I’m making improvements! Alright, so there were three hard working goats who worked eighty hours a week at the Salt Mines and were happy to do it. And once upon a time, they were walking across a bridge when an incredibly lazy troll popped out of nowhere and harassed the shit out of the hard working goats.
YOUNG BQB: I don’t think that’s how it goes…
UNCLE HARDASS: “Boo!” said the hideous, lazy troll. “I’m a writer! I sit around and make up stories all day while hardworking goats like you slave away in the salt mines! La dee da I’m so special!”
YOUNG BQB: I’m going to bed.
UNCLE HARDASS: Good! And put your beard on tomorrow! One of these days I’ll convince the foreman that you’re a little person day laborer and not my lazy moocher of a nephew! I had three jobs when I was your age, you know.
And then I also hear that at some point in this lousy series, BQB is going to find himself a woman!
I don’t know whether I should be happy for him or sad for the gal. I mean, hell, it’s about time my nephew settled down and started a family of his own but on the other hand, I have no idea how this clown will ever support a woman without a job at the Salt Mines.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I was quite the ladies’ man myself in my day. How else do you think I scored a fox like Gertie? Well, she used to be quite the looker anyway. Now she just kind of looks like a wrinkly basset hound with a wig on it.
Don’t tell her I said that. She’ll find a way to nag me even though I’m deader than disco. Nobody reads this thing anyway right?
Read BQB’s story. Don’t read BQB’s story. I don’t care. I know everything but young people never want to listen to my advice. Make your own mistakes I guess. God knows my lousy excuse for a nephew has.
If you’ll excuse me now, I have to go haunt my old house. It’s the one I told Gertie that she is under no circumstances to give to BQB when she goes to the old folks home, but she’s another one that never listened to me.
Oh, right, I’m supposed to refer to it as the “Bookshelf Battle Compound.” More of BQB’s delusions of grandeur.
Kids these days. I tell ya.
Get a job, ya bums.
Uncle Hardass croaked years ago after a steady diet of pastrami finally caught up to him. Even so, BQB is certain he can hear him haunting the Bookshelf Battle Compound. Occasionally, he even manages to post on BQB’s blog from the afterlife.