Monthly Archives: June 2015

Jun 06 2015
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Fit Nerd Trains the Yeti

Fit Nerd Trains the Yeti – Changing Your Relationship with Food

Fit Nerd!

Fit Nerd!

Hello Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers.

Fit Nerd here.  Used to be fat.  Lost a ton of weight by watching all my favorite sci-fi shows while I was on the treadmill.  Wrote a book about it. Now I’m a total big deal.

I’ve trained many of your favorite celebrities.  I’ve molded them, shaped them, and turned them from piles of human shaped cottage cheese to finely chiseled works of art for your viewing pleasure.  You’re welcome.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  Bookshelf Q. Battler here.  He’s not the real Fit Nerd. The real Fit Nerd lives in Malibu.  The man writing this column is a tiny version of Fit Nerd I produced by putting a copy of Fit Nerd’s book on my magic bookshelf. He’s not that bright and hasn’t bothered to ask why he’s only three inches tall yet so I’m just going with it.  I’ll turn it back to him now.

Bookshelf Q. Battler recently provided me with my greatest challenge to date: take a ridiculously fat yeti and turn him into mean lean hairy machine.

Can I do it.  Of course?  I’m Fit Nerd.

BQB’S EDITORIAL NOTE:  I don’t think he can do it.  The Yeti is the most stubborn sack of crap I’ve ever encountered in my entire life.  I just feel bad for introducing my furry nemesis to a Western diet based on stuffed crust pizza and bacon infused generic cola.  Back to Fit Nerd.

I recently sat down with The Yeti to discuss his situation.

Q.  The Yeti.  BQB’s mentor, Dr. Hugo Von Science, has determined that you’re two hundred pounds overweight.  You hit the scales at an even grand even though scientifically speaking, a yeti of your height should only be eight hundred pounds.  What gives?

A.  ROAR!  BEGONE TINY NERD MAN!

Q.  It’s affected your life, hasn’t it?  BQB worries about you.

A.  HE JUST WANTS ME AT MY FIGHTING WEIGHT SO HE CAN CHALLENGE ME TO ANOTHER BEST TWO OUT OF THREE  ROUNDHOUSE KICK TO THE FACE COMPETITION!

Q.  I doubt that.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  That’s a fair assessment.  Back to Fit Nerd.

Q.  The Yeti.  I’m looking around the basement dungeon BQB has you locked up in.  I see pizza boxes.  Ice cream cartons.  Chicken buckets.  I’m fairly certain I saw you freebasing a pixy stick when I walked in.

A.  ROAR!  WHO IS TINY NERD MAN TO JUDGE ME?!

Q.  I’m not here to judge you, The Yeti.  I’m here to train you.  I’m here to be your friend.  So tell me, why are you doing this to yourself?

A.  ROAR?

Q.  No roar.

A.  ROAR.  I DON’T KNOW.  IT’S LIKE FOOD IS THE YETI’S FRIEND…IT’S ALWAYS THERE FOR THE YETI!

Did you catch that, BQB’s 3.5 readers?

Let me repeat it for you.

“It’s like food is the Yeti’s friend.  It’s always there for The Yeti.”

I know how that damn international war criminal snow monster feels.  Before I became Fit Nerd, I was just Orville.

And it was like food was Orville’s friend.  It was always there for Orville.

Delicious food.  It really is always there, isn’t it?  There it is, all yummy and waiting for you.  Ready to comfort you whenever you want it.

Food never tells you no.  A meatball sub never says, “Sorry, I have a headache.”  That hot fudge sundae?  It isn’t going to leave you for someone else.

Sure, you may have lost friends, even lovers along the way, but that bag of chips is always ready to curl up on the couch with you for movie night.

We attach a feeling of emotional comfort to food simply because in a life where opportunities are few and disappointments are many, food’s always there.  It’s that donut on the way to work.  It’s sitting in that vending machine in the break room.  It’s across the street at that restaurant you love to go to for lunch.  It’s at that fast food place you keep telling yourself you’re going to drive by on your way home but you never do.

Food never fails you.  It’s never going to tell no.  It will never turn you down.  It isn’t too busy for you.  It doesn’t get embarrassed by you, or grow apart from you.  You’ll never walk to your mailbox one day and find an envelope full of divorce papers signed, “Chili Cheese Fries.”

You pay your money.  Your taste buds are tickled.  You experience momentary relief from whatever’s troubling you.

THE YETI:  ROAR!  WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT?  ROAR!

I’ll tell you, Yeti.

Food was never intended to be your friend.

It was intended to be your fuel.

What would the ancient cavemen eat?  Leaves.  Berries.  Fruit.  Vegetables.  Meat from the occasional hunted animal.  Humans were never meant to eat a lot to begin with.

Alas, somewhere along the line, man tamed the world and in many regions, the problem for many individuals has moved from there being too little to too much.

And it seems like every day companies are coming out with a new treat geared toward taking money out of your wallet and put fat on your ass, isn’t it?

Stuffed crust pizza.  You heard me.  Someone decided that there isn’t enough cheese on the pizza and put more cheese in the crust.

Oh!  And you can get dipping sauce for your pizza.  That’s right.  There’s already sauce on your pizza and then you take your sauce covered pizza and dip it into more sauce.

Did I mention there are places that will serve you a sandwich where the “bread” is actually two pieces of chicken?

Don’t even get me started on milk shakes.  Seriously, just skip them altogether and just sew a second human to yourself.

THE YETI:  OR A SECOND YETI!

Or a second yeti.

Don’t get me wrong.  No one should starve themselves.  Everyone should eat a healthy diet and what is a normal calorie intake will vary as different people have different body types.  Your doctor can help you figure out how much you need to eat if this is a concern for you.

THE YETI:  ROAR!  THIS IS EASY FOR TINY NERD MAN TO SAY BUT WHEN I TRY TO STOP, I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LOOK FORWARD TO!

I hear you, Yeti.  I do.

Before I became Fit Nerd, I tried and failed at a lot of weight loss programs.  Many were run by insufferable, perpetually perky fit people who you could tell never knew what it was like to be unhappy, or unpopular, or to have nothing but that bag of barbecue chips and a Dr. Who marathon to look forward to.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  From hereon, Attorney Donnelly advises me that for legal purposes, Fit Nerd’s favorite show has to be Mr. Spacewarper

As I was saying, there are a lot of people who have no idea what’s it’s like to be a person with nothing to look forward to but a bag of barbecue chips and a Mr. Spacewarper marathon.

They’ll tell you to find something else to look forward to, something else that will make you happy but let’s be honest.  Had it been that easy, you’d of never turned to a life of pounding down ring dings two at a time to begin with.

What I can tell you is that as bad as you think you have it now…it can get worse.

Think you’re unhappy now?  Imagine how you’ll feel with:

  • Diabetes
  • Heart Disease
  • Risking a heart attack or stroke
  • Increased pressure and/or pain in your knees/joints
  • Being confined to a wheelchair
  • Or worse, dying too soon.  (Well, I suppose you won’t feel anything then.)

THE YETI:  HOLY YETI CRAP!  THIS IS GETTING TOO HEAVY FOR A NERD BLOG!

Agreed.  My point?  Only happy people think the unhappy can snap their fingers and poof, all problems are gone instantly.

The Yeti, it is my sincere hope that once you drop two hundred pounds of unsightly yeti fat, you’ll become a new yeti.  A changed yeti.

I hope you’ll find a new lease on life.  Maybe you’ll get out more.  Maybe you’ll find your special someone that melts your ice cold yeti heart.  Maybe you’ll find a worthwhile cause to get behind and stop being a fuzzy international war criminal.

But I also can’t promise you that after you’ll lose the weight, you won’t remain the same angry, miserable, depressed ginormous furry a-hole that you’ve always been.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  Yeah.  I can.  He’ll still be a furry a-hole.

The Yeti - International War Criminal/Exceptionally Hairy A-Hole

The Yeti – International War Criminal/Exceptionally Furry A-Hole

What I can promise you is that your health will improve and let me ask you this – is it better to be unhealthy and miserable or unhealthy and miserable?

At least if you’re healthy and miserable, you can stew over your misery while taking a walk, riding a bike, or doing a myriad of fun activities.

THE YETI:  ROAR!  TINY NERD MAKES SENSE!  THE YETI NEVER THOUGHT OF IT THAT WAY! ROAR!

Hell, you might even beat BQB at a best two out of three roundhouse kick to the face competition.

BQB:  Impossible.

Happiness?  That’s up to you to figure out, if that’s even possible.  All I can tell you is that it’s better to be healthy and unhappy than it is to be unhappy and unhealthy.

I lost weight and was still unhappy for a long time until I filled the hole in my life with my Fit Nerd books, guest spots on various talk shows, celebrity training, and my phat Malibu beach house.  Weight loss won’t make you instantly happy.  It will definitely make it easier to search for and work toward your happiness but happiness is a state of mind you have to find on your own.

It’s also relative.  You’ll be happier as a miserable yet skinny yeti than you are as a miserable fat furry bastard.

BOTTOMLINE: As bad as you think you have it now, it can get much worse if you allow your excess yeti weight to remain.

My time’s up Yeti.  Think about what I’ve said and I’ll be back.  We’ll talk about setting goals, exercise, and who knows?  I might convince BQB to let you into his kitchen to prepare some delicious/nutritious smoothies.

BQB:  Unlikely.  Why did I ever agree to this?

Fit Nerd Trains the Yeti is an ongoing health and wellness column for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

Attorney Donnelly advises:

“Readers (3.5 or otherwise) should by no means construe Fit Nerd’s words as advice that they should necessarily follow.  This is just a general health discussion.  Fit Nerd is talking about tactics that worked for him but they may or may not work for you.  If you are experiencing health and/or weight issues, consult your doctor, especially before beginning any sort of health and/or weight loss program/regimen/routine etc.  Bookshelf Q. Battler takes no responsibility if you take Fit Nerd’s advice and something goes wrong.  For Christ Sakes, people, this columnist is a damn fictional nerd with zero health related credentials.  Stop being so litigious already.”

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 06 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blonde – Part 5

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES: Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

“Lady,” I said as I threw the letter down on the desk. “Is this some kind of joke?”

A legally binding contract with a reclusive anonymous blogger who claims to own a magical bookshelf? What could possibly go wrong?

A legally binding contract with a reclusive anonymous blogger who claims to own a magic bookshelf? What could possibly go wrong?

“Mr. Battler has a peculiar sense of humor,” Delilah said. “But this issue is not a laughing matter to him. He takes his entertainment very seriously.”

“He names himself after an inanimate object?” I asked.

“It’s a code name,” Delilah replied. “Based on his very sensitive work involving his magic bookshelf. I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to divulge his true identity.”

“Sounds like a real loser if you ask me,” I said. “Listen, if it’s all the same, I’d rather not run around like a schmuck trying to answer all the questions this dim bulb has about television, ok? Please. If you know how to get me back to 1955 then just tell me before I go bananas.”

Delilah opened her briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper and a fountain pen. “That’s all part of the deal, Mr. Hatcher,” she said as she handed me what appeared to be a contract.

TOTALLY LEGALLY BINDING LEGAL CONTRACT

(SERIOUSLY, IF YOU BREAK THIS, A JUDGE WILL THROW A GAVEL AT YOUR HEAD)

DATE: June 1,2015

PARTIES:

Bookshelf Q. Battler, Professional Blogger

Jake Hatcher, Old Timey Style 1950’s Style Private Eye

RE: Pop Culture Mysteries

Mr. Hatcher agrees to solve 100 pop culture mysteries posed to him by Mr. Battler.

These inquiries may be delivered to Mr. Hatcher any time of day or night by Attorney Donnelly.

Mr. Hatcher must be prepared to investigate at a moment’s notice. (Seriously, if some messed bullshit happens on next week’s episode of The Blacklist, Mr. Battler is going to want to know the who, what, where, when, how and why of how said shit went down posthaste).

Mr. Hatcher must file a report with Attorney Donnelly after the completion of every pop culture mystery, providing Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers with full detail of how the caper was solved.

Upon successful completion of each case, Attorney Donnelly is authorized to pay Mr. Hatcher the sum of no less than five, count em, five American dollars.

Upon the completion of one hundred pop culture case files, Mr. Battler will provide Mr. Hatcher with detailed information as to how he fell asleep in 1955 and woke up in 2014. Further, at such time, Mr. Battler will explain to Mr. Hatcher how to return to his original time period.

Additionally, if Mr. Hatcher should choose not to return to 1955, he will have the option to sign-up to take on another one-hundred pop culture mysteries.

However, should Mr. Battler think of some other bullshit to entertain his 3.5 readers with, he reserves the right to tell Mr. Hatcher to go pound sand with a wet rock.

BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER’S SIGNATURE: Bookshelf Q. Battler

JAKE HATCHER’S SIGNATURE:

I looked up from the contract and shook my head.

“Lady,” I said. “Is this fella for real?”

“Yes,” Delilah said. “Five dollars per case, I know. A paltry sum. Perhaps it isn’t my place to say this as I represent Mr. Battler and therefore must remain loyal to him but I did advise him that he should offer you more as I doubt you will be interested in…”

“I’LL TAKE IT!”

Really?  Jake Hatcher, P.I. willing to work for a measly five bucks?  Find out why on the next installment of Pop Culture Mysteries! Pop Culture Mysteries – Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All rights reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 05 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blond – Part 4

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES:

Private Eye Jake Hatcher returns to his office to find a mysterious blonde dame who, as it turns out, is legal counsel to none other than Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Part 1    Part 2   Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“A lady lawyer?” I gasped. “Jiminy Christmas! Lady drivers, lady voters, and now this?”

After falling asleep in 1955, Detective Jake Hatcher woke up in 2014 and has spent the past year investigating out the crazy new world around him, wondering how he got here and how to get home. Follow his adventures on

After falling asleep in 1955, Detective Jake Hatcher woke up in 2014 and has spent the past year investigating the crazy new world around him, wondering how he got here and how to return to his own time.

Delilah rolled her eyes and blew a cloud of smoke in my face.  My powers of deduction led me to believe that she did so on purpose.

“You certainly are a man from the first half of the Twentieth Century aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say I agree with the sexism of yesteryear, ma’am,” I said. “I’m just having a hard time adjusting to a world I barely recognize is all.”

Delilah poked her button nose back into the file of dirt she had on me.

“In 1955, you fell asleep in this very office,” Delilah said. “When you opened your eyes in the morning, you found yourself in the year 2014. Physically speaking, you hadn’t aged a bit. For the past year, you’ve been wandering the streets of LA in an aimless manner, desperately trying to figure out how you lost fifty-nine years.”

My jaw dropped lower than a discount plumber’s butt crack.

“How do you know about that?” I asked.

“Like I said,” Delilah replied. “I like to know everything there is to know about someone I intend to hire.”

“This world is the most topsy turvy ride I’ve ever been on and I want to get off, see?” I said. “Everyone beep beep bopping on computer machines, dames strutting down the street in trousers like they own the joint, and coffee shops that serve you everything but black coffee. If you know how to return me to my own time, sister, I’d sure appreciate it if you’d flap your gums and fill my ears full of that knowledge.”

“That brings us to my employer’s proposal,” Delilah said. “I represent one Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler, a blogger who is the proprietor of a website known as bookshelfbattle.com aka the Bookshelf Battle Blog.”

I made a face that looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“I’ve been trying my best to learn about everything I missed,” I said. “But you’re going to have to spoon feed me that one, ma’am.”

Delilah pantomimed her fingers in a motion as if she were a secretary in an office typing pool.

“My client does typey typey on the beep bop machines,” she said.

“Oh,” I replied. “Fancies himself the next Mickey Spillane I suppose?”

“Something like that,” Delilah said as she handed me a letter. “Here. Read for yourself.”

FROM THE DESK OF BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER

World Renowned Poindexter, Nerd Blogger, Reviewer of Books, Movies, and Assorted Cultural Happenings, Champion Fighter of Yetis

June 1, 2015

Dear Detective Hatcher,

Terrorism. War. Global Warming. Virus epidemics. Reality television. By now, you have realized that the world is a much different place than the one you left behind when you fell asleep on that fateful day in 1955.

In some ways, it’s much better. If a man slaps his wife around, people are more likely to do something about it.

True, it’s still not guaranteed that someone will do something about it, but there is a clear statistical trend that shows that if a man uses his wife’s face as a stand-in for a heavy weight speed bag, the authorities may very well take notice. In another sixty years, I’m certain we’ll get that guarantee of action in the face of spousal abuse.

African Americans are no longer treated like second class citizens. At least, our government has been wise enough to demand that this be so. Whether or not this is actually the case is…well…check back on that in sixty years too.

All I know is that all of the “WHITE ONLY WATER FOUNTAIN, DRINK SOMEWHERE ELSE, DARKIES!” signs have been taken down and that is a great deal of progress since your day.

Institutions of higher learning have sprung up like wild flowers, allowing minds of every race, color, creed and orientation to blossom under their guidance while employment opportunities abound for all.

Well, at least they did for awhile until the stock market took a great big ginormous dump all over the place in 2008 and well, look, by 2075, we’re going to have this whole shebang running like clock work. I guarantee it.

Of course, things have also gotten worse in many ways since your day.

Health officials run scared over a new virus every five minutes.

I’m no medical expert, but essentially what happens is somewhere in the third world, a chicken sneezes on a goat, said goat sneezes on a cow, the cow sneezes on a human and then like 10,000 humans drop dead in ten seconds flat. And the media feels the constant need to remind us every five minutes that the dreaded “Chicken/Goat/Cow Virus” could be lurking anywhere, maybe even in our breakfast cornflakes.

Don’t even get me started on the media.

Weapons have gotten deadlier since the 1950’s and believe you me when I tell you that more screwballs have them than ever before.

Your average street gang has more firepower in the back of a van than the Russian-Cuban alliance ever pointed at the US during the Cuban Missile Crisis. For many years, the Bloods and the Crips have been threatening to nuke one another over an unseemly joke told at the expense of one of their mothers during a game of three card monty gone bad.

Terrorists run rampant the world over, demonstrating their claimed religious ideals by chopping off heads of people they disagree with and posting it all over social media.

I mean, holy shit, if I try to post the same link to my lousy book blog twice in one day, I’ll get a sternly worded passive aggressive form e-mail written by some 20 year old Silicon Valley chump who made his first million before he grew pubes but sure, let’s just let whackos the world over post their malicious mayhem for the whole world to see…and I’m sorry.

I’m off topic.
Bottomline? I don’t like the world I live in and the world has, on a daily basis since I was born, made it clear to me that the feeling is more than mutual.

I prefer fantasy worlds – ones created by writers and artists.

Books, movies, TV, video games. Yes Hatcher, they have video games now. You should play one. You will trip like there’s no tomorrow.

During the brief moments I spend in these fictional worlds, I’m happier than I ever am in reality.

But the questions, Hatcher. I have so many questions about the popular culture to which I have grown hopelessly addicted to.

You might even call these questions – “Pop Culture Mysteries.”

(Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015, Hands off you Silicon Valley Freaks!)

Who better to solve a mystery than Los Angeles’ most notorious private eye?

For security reasons, and also because my compound is messy as all get out, we will never meet. My maid just quit and I can’t find another one willing to work in the same house as a Yeti. Can’t say as I blame them.

My attorney, Ms. Donnelly, will take it from here. I trust she will handle all of the details. Be advised I have provided her with the authority to speak for me in all matters.

I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hatcher.

Yours Truly,

Bookshelf Q. Battler
Blogger-in-Chief
Bookshelf Battle Blog

Will Ms. Donnelly be able to negotiate an accord between Bookshelf Q. Battler and Detective Jake Hatcher?  Find out in the next part of Pop Culture Mysteries:  Enter the Blonde!

I know.  I know.  Horrible title but it would be too much work to change it now.

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Jun 04 2015
4 Comments
Ask the Alien

Alien Jones Taking Your Questions

Help Alien Jones stem the tide of stupidity sweeping across our planet!

It's your move, Internet.

It’s your move, Internet.

Ask him a question today and who knows?  He might even respond with a plug for your book or blog right here on this revered site, bookshelfbattle.com

Here’s some of the Esteemed Brainy One’s past columns:

Halfway Through the One Post a Day for a Year Challenge

Is Hollywood Capturing What Aliens Look Like?

What is the Meaning of Life?

Consult the Greatest/Pantsless Genius of the Universe today!

Alien Jones is the Intergalactic Correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, on a mission to raise Earth’s collective intelligence levels one question at a time. Do you have a question for the Esteemed Brainy One? Tweet it to @bookshelfbattle on Twitter, leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com, or stop by Bookshelf Battle on Google Plus. If he likes your question, he might even promote your book, blog, other project in his answer.

Alien image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 04 2015
1 Comment
You Can't Argue with Science

You Can’t Argue with Science – The Dementor Wasp!

By:  Dr. Hugo Von Science, Advanced Science Institute

Dr. Hugo Von Science

Dr. Hugo Von Science

Guten Tag, Herr 3.5 Readers!

Dr. Hugo Von Science here mit mein column, “You Can’t Argue with Science!”  Go on, mein leipshin.  Try to argue with a DNA helix.  You’ll be there all day and you vill get nowhere.  It is not worth it.

Perhaps you remember me from one of mein amazing inventions:

  • The Black Hole-a-fier – Annoyed by an uninvited guest?  Simply point this device at the dummkopf, press a button and voila!  A black hole opens in your living to transport your rude visitor to the outer boundaries of time undt space.  Works especially well on door-to-door salesmen, those people who knock on your door at 6 am to try to hand you a copy of The Watchtower undt also late pizza deliverymen.  Mein anchovies are cold?  To the opposite side of the cosmos with you!
  • The Cat Cannon – With all the strays wandering about, why not put herr kitzen katzens to work?  I’ve already sold a million of these bad boys to the army.  Load them up, press the tigger and it shoots a hundred angry felines directly at your enemy’s face.
  • Shakespearization Ear Phones – Makes all dummies sound like they are speaking exactly like das bard.

Undt last but not least:

  • The De-Ozonizer – Muah ha ha!  Yes!  Yes!  Bow down to me, or I shall use mein invention to remove what’s left of Earth precious ozone layer and…woopsie!  Sorry mein leipshin, this one is still in development.  I’ve said too much.

Anyhow, the Dementor Wasp!  Have you feasted your eyes on this newly discovered species, Herr 3.5 Readers?

Auch dun lieber! It's uglier than Das Yeti!

Auch dun lieber! It’s uglier than Das Yeti!

As avid book readers, surely you must have heard of the dementors from J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books, yes?  The dementors would suck away young wizards’ souls and leave them shells of their formers selves, able to walk about but still under the dementor’s control, veritable zombie slaves if you will.

(Perhaps they could be called the Night King Wasp after the last Game of Thrones, yes Herr 3.5?)

This is a case where science and literature have come together to name this recently discovered insect.

What does this little beasty do?  It finds a scrumptious cockroach and injects a poison into said roach’s belly.  The victim is left still able to move but unable to control its movement.  The wasp than grabs hold of the roach’s antennae and drags it off to a location where it can have a roach feast.

Have you ever had one of those lawnmowers that you push but the lawnmower has the ability to push its own wheels so you’re not over exerting yourself?  That’s pretty much what’s happening here, mein leipshin.  The dementor wasp separates a cockroach’s mind from its motor skills, but then guides the still walking roach/lunch to its impending doom.

What can I say?  I guess wasps aren’t too picky about their snacks.

“Ampulex dementor” is the official name of this species.  If you aren’t disgusted yet, you can read more about this naughty bug in this Washington Post article.

Oh, mein leipshin, I’m sorry…I meant to say this at the beginning – DON’T READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU’VE JUST EATEN!

Mein bad, Herr 3.5.  Mein bad.

Dr. Hugo Von Science is a Distinguished Professor of Science at the Advanced Science Institute of Science University.  He has patented over a bazillion inventions and may or may not be attempting to conquer the world in his spare time.  His column, “You Can’t Argue with Science” is a recurring feature on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

Dementor wasp image via Wikimedia.org courtesy of a Creative Commons License 

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Jun 04 2015
8 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blond – Part 3

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES: ENTER THE BLONDE 

PART 1 – Detective Jake Hatcher arrives in his office to find a mysterious blonde dame…

PART 2 – …who seems to know an awful lot about our fearless  private eye.

Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly, Examiner of Bookshelf Q. Battler's Legal Briefs (That's not an inappropriate pun or anything, he really gives her a crap ton of paperwork.)

Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly, Examiner of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Legal Briefs
(That’s not an inappropriate pun or anything, he really gives her a crap ton of paperwork.)

“I’m here to offer you a very lucrative deal, Mr. Hatcher.”

How many times had I heard those famous last words uttered to me by a she-devil in a skirt?

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re going to tell me that you want to hire me to take incriminating photos of your good for nothing husband in the throes of passion with his cheap floozy secretary. Only you’re going to shoot them both before I arrive and when the cops show up, they’ll mistake me for the trigger man. While I’m getting outfitted for a pair of striped pajamas, you’ll be on your way to Barbados with a pile of your dead hubby’s cash. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? Am I warm?”

“You’re ice cold,” the dame said with a chuckle. “My goodness, you certainly are distrustful of the fairer sex.”

“I trust no one, ma’am,” I said. “Dames have just given me more reason not to.”

My uninvited guest puffed away on her filtered cigarette and gave me the old once over with her eyes, looking at me in much the same way a lion must look at a fat gazelle with a gimpy leg.

“I hope one day you’ll learn to trust me, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Doubtful,” I said. “Especially when you’re probably going to try to bat your pretty little eyelashes at me out of a mistaken belief that you can make me fall in love with you and dupe me into killing your husband because you’re too chicken to do it yourself? Did I figure out your fiendish scheme yet?”

“Some detective you are!” the lady said as she snapped off her right glove and stretched out a finely manicured hand, complete with red nails polished so brightly I was able to see my mug staring back at me in them.

“You failed to deduce that there’s no ring on my finger!”

I stared at that dainty hand and silently kicked myself on the inside for letting a clue slip past me. Maybe it was late, maybe it was the extra doses of Jack Daniels, but that gal had gotten one over on yours truly, and I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

“Even so,” I said. “It’s been my experience that a woman with a body like yours is always up to no good and this palooka didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, see? I think you made a mistake in coming here, sister. The all-day sucker store is two blocks down.”

“You’re really something else, aren’t you Mr. Hatcher?” the dame asked. “My employer warned me about you.”

“Your employer?”

“Yes,” the woman said as she handed me a business card. It read:

Delilah K. Donnelly, Esq.

In-House Counsel for Bookshelf Q. Battler

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Jun 03 2015
5 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blond – Part 2

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES – ENTER THE BLONDE:

PART 1 – Detective Jake Hatcher returns to his office to find a mysterious blonde dame sitting behind his desk.

That dame was all class, but a bit snooty – like an exceptionally attractive school marm.

Detective Hatcher prefers old school typing.

Detective Hatcher prefers old school typing.

She read from the file of poop she’d scooped on me with all the enthusiasm of a professor giving a lecture on transcendental metaphysics.

“In 1920, you were born one Jacob Ronald Hatcher in Bayonne, New Jersey,” the dame said. “Parents Gus and Mitsy, a barber and a housewife, both solid citizens who never did you wrong, unlike your conniving brother Roscoe who…”

“Yeah do us all a favor a skip over Roscoe, lady,” I said.

“In 1938, you turned eighteen and moved to Hollywood, deluded by the misguided hope that your handsome face and macho physique would be more than enough to provide you with a career as a movie star…”

“People have done more with less,” I interrupted.

“Alas, like most newcomers to Tinseltown, you were turned away by every producer and found yourself on the streets,” the dame continued. “You made your living as a prize fighter, taking on all comers and throwing matches for a fee under the names of ‘Punchy McGee,’ ‘Take a Dive Dan,’ and ‘The Down for the Count Kid.’”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, it’s not my fault that was a rigged racket.”

“War broke out three years later and in your early twenties, you found yourself in Europe, fighting on the front lines,” the dame said, studying the file like it was the Old Testament. “I see you fought in D-Day and marched with Allied Forces all the way to Berlin.”

“You ‘aint just whistlin’ Dixie, ma’am.”

“There’s a notation here that you were involved in a special mission?” the dame asked.

I gulped my drink and poured another.

“That’s right.”

“Care to share?” she asked.

“Hitler,” I said. “I punched him in the face.”

The dame’s big blue eyes widened with shock. “Excuse me?”

Adolf Hitler - historians agree that the last words he heard before Detective Hatcher's fist collided with his face were,

Adolf Hitler – historians agree that the last words he heard before Detective Hatcher’s fist collided with his face were, “Sprachen zie punch?”

“I infiltrated a secret Nazi bunker and punched Adolf Hitler square in his stupid face,” I said. “Knocked the son of a bitch out colder than your demeanor.”

I could tell by the look on the dame’s face that she was impressed.

“You punched Adolf Hitler in the face?”
“Yes ma’am.”

“Adolf Hitler…Der Fuhrer of the Third Reich?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought he committed suicide,” the dame said.

“That’s what the powers that be want you to believe, ma’am,” I said. “Truth be told I delivered Hitler to General Eisenhower, who had Old Adolf hauled off by a bunch of G-Men to a secret government lab. They did all kinds of experiments on him. They wanted to see what made an evil lug like that tick in the hopes they could prevent another monstrous dictator from popping up ever again. Given the headlines these days, it doesn’t seem to me like they were very successful.”

“And you’re telling me this…why?”

“You asked,” I said. “I’m not a liar, ma’am. A lady asks me a question, I give her an honest answer. Mitsy Hatcher raised a gentleman, I’ll have you know.”

“But the dishonorable discharge?”

“The brass didn’t want the public to know about Operation Fuhrerpunschen and I was a loose end,” I said. “They booted me out on a bunch of trumped up charges that weren’t worth the paper that they were printed on. Ordered me to keep quiet but hell, all of those bums are long dead now so it’s not like there’s anything they can do to me.”

“I see,” the dame said, turning her attention back to the file. “You returned to LA in 1945 and joined the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“Seemed like a shot at a steady paycheck,” I said. “Didn’t realize it was an invite to every two-bit thug to declare war on me…and honest cops? They didn’t last long back then.”

“I’m not sure they last long now either, Mr. Hatcher,” the dame said as her sad lips curled up into a rare smile. “Now, after the incident vis a vis your wife’s infidelity with your partner, you quit the force and went out on your own as a detective for hire, is that right?”

“That’s the long and short of it, ma’am,’ I said. “But what gives with the twenty questions anyway? You writing a book or something?”

“No,” the dame replied. “I just like to make sure I know everything there is to know about a man before I hire him.”

“Speaking of,” I said as I looked at my watch. “It’s been longer than five minutes and you’ve yet to explain to me why you’re here.”

Why is this dame here?  Find out in the next part of Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blonde!

(Yeah, I know, we really need to fire the guy who writes these post titles).

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Jun 02 2015
6 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blonde – Part 1

By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

It was a dark and stormy night.

The kind of night where it doesn’t just rain cats and dogs. It pours flabby tabbies and labrador retrievers.

The H20 pumped down from the skies, dancing on the pavement like so many Swan Lake ballerinas. It sloshed all over my wingtips as I buttoned up my trench coat, tilted my fedora downward, and began wondering if an ark wouldn’t be a bad investment.

Luckily, I reached my office before I was swept away to Timbuktu.

Times were tough and money was harder to come by than integrity on network television. All I could afford was a one room hovel above a Chinese restaurant. It worked out well. I was a sucker for moo goo gai pan and my landlady, good ole Ms. Tsang, never failed to have a hot plate full of it waiting for me whenever I came home from a long night of sleuthing.  Gratis.  Free of charge.  I didn’t even have to pay for it.

Ms. Tsang was truly a sweet old gal.

I ate a forkful of my free dinner and headed upstairs to my digs, the door of which was prominently marked:

Detective Jake Hatcher

Private Investigator

Reasonable Rates/No Refunds

I popped open the door and relieved my worn out carcass from my sopping wet coat. The fedora? It stayed on. Many a ne’er-do-well has tried separate this gumshoe from his favorite hat and not lived to tell the tale. I wasn’t about to do the job for them.

My mind was swimming for shore and I was ready to drown it before it started doing the backstroke. I had an appointment with one Mr. Jack Daniels. He was an old friend I knew all too well. Some might say too well, my third ex-wife among them.

I poured myself a shot and there it sat before me, staring me straight in the puss like an uninvited house guest that refused to leave. An angel on my left shoulder told me to pour it out the window and sober up. The devil on my right shoulder told me to guzzle it down and keep ‘em comin.’

The devil won. He always does.

I tilted the glass against my lips and Mr. Daniels’ special prescription for what ailed me trickled through my lips, across my tongue, and down my gullet, where it immediately went to work on making all the bad memories go away.

Liquor – my best friend and my worst enemy.

Mysterious Blond Dame

Mysterious Blond Dame

“A bit rude not to offer a lady a drink, isn’t it detective?”

My heart beat faster than a conga drum in the hands of Matthew McConaughey during one of his special transcendental experiences. I turned around and there she was – a beautiful buxom blonde behind my desk, her shapely keister parked directly in my very own swivel chair.

“If we’re talking about manners ma’am, I assume it’s frowned upon to break into a man’s place of business and act like you own the place.”

She wasn’t your average broad. This dame had a face that could make the angels cry and a body that could convince Satan to turn the heat down in Hell. Lush red lips, flawless china doll skin and although she was sitting on it, I assumed she was packing the kind of caboose that could convince a man to ride the rails all the way to Albuquerque.

“Oh, I assure you there was no break in, Mr. Hatcher,” the dame said. “Your landlady let me in.”

“Oh she did, see?” I asked. “Now why in Sam Hill would she go and do a fool thing like that?”

“I told her we were old friends.”

“Friends?” I asked. “No offense ma’am, but I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

My visitor puffed away on a long filtered cigarette. She held it in a hand covered by a black glove that went all the way up to her elbow. Around her neck dangled a strand of pearls, the cost of which could have fed a small country.

She dressed like she had an account at every boutique on Rodeo Drive and spoke with the perfect and precise diction of a finishing school graduate.

“All friendships must begin somewhere, Mr. Hatcher,” the dame said. “What’s holding up that drink?”

I had half a mind to show her the way out, but my inquisitive side drew me in. I poured a shot of the sweet brown goodness and handed it to her, then suffered the indignity of having to sit down in the rickey chair on the opposite side of my desk, the one I reserved for clients in need of my services.

I checked my watch.

“I’m bushed after a long day of giving the criminal element of Los Angeles the old what for, ma’am,” I said. “So you’ve got five minutes to state your business before I give you the old heave-ho.  No pun intended.”

“My, my, my,” the dame replied. Her lips pursed as they blew out a smokey circle that rose into the moonlight creeping in through my one and only window. “I must say, Mr. Hatcher, you’re the first man I’ve ever met who was in a rush to be free of my company.”

“Now see here, ma’am,” I said, matter-of-factly, “This old gumshoe’s heart has been pierced by more stiletto heels than I care to count. I’m sure you’ve convinced many a sailor to crash his ship on the rocks with your siren’s song, but this fish is wise to the hook in your worm, see? I’m immune to your feminine wiles.”

“Aww,” the dame said as she mocked me with an insincere pouty face. “Poor Mr. Hatcher. Still reeling over the loss of your ex-wives I take it?”

“All three of ‘em,” I said. “But I fail to see how that’s any of your business, doll face.”

“Your first wife, Trixie Bordeaux, she cheated on you with your old partner back in the day when you were a detective for the LA police department, didn’t she?”

“Walked in on them while they were dancing the horizontal mattress mambo in my own house,” I replied. “That’s a sight that can never be unseen.”

“Your second wife, Muffy Sinclair,” the dame continued. “She shot you six times and left you for dead, then ran off to Tahiti with your boorish brother Roscoe.”

“She was a crack shot and yet she managed to miss every vital organ,” I said. “Somewhere deep down that bird was still crazy for me.”

“Your third wife, Constance Connors,” the dame said. “She was the best wife you ever had and yet you fouled that one up on your own.”

“Sad but true,” I said. “I hit the giggle juice hard to dull the pain my first two wives caused me, never realizing I was pushing away the only dame that’d ever been loyal to me until it was too late. She ran away from me faster than a long distance marathon runner on uppity pills.”

“I certainly hope you’ve cured your addiction since then?” the dame asked.

“I can handle my hooch, sister,” I said as I poured myself another shot. “Say, how in the bloody blue blazes do you know so much about me anyway?”

On my desk was a big black briefcase. It wasn’t mine so I knew it belonged to my guest. She popped it open and pulled out a manilla file folder, stuffed to the brim with paperwork.

“I know everything there is to know about you, Mr. Hatcher.”

What’s in store for our fearless detective? Find out tomorrow on Pop Culture Mysteries, an exclusive new feature on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

Copyright (c)  2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 01 2015
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Bookshelf Battles

Check Out this Bookshelf Battle…

Bookshelf Battles.  They’re raging out of control.  BQB apparently isn’t the only one with a shelf full of tiny folk run amuck.

@bookshelfbattle follower Liam Kozma (@LKozma) submitted this photo of a Civil War battle for control of his bookshelf:

Is there anything interesting happening on your bookshelf?  Tweet the photographic evidence to @bookshelfbattle and you never know, it might end up here on this revered website for the viewing pleasure of 3.5 readers.

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Jun 01 2015
2 Comments
Game of Thrones

Game of Thrones – Wrap-Up – Season 5, Episode 8 – Hardhome

SPOILERS!

It was an episode of firsts:

  • Cersei gets a taste of the commoner’s life
  • Arya gets her first mission
  • Khaleesi and Tyrion meet for the first time
  • Ser Jorah’s love for the Khaleesi is finally made known
  • Theon/Reek finally admits he didn’t burn his adopted brothers
  • The first white walker attack (pretty awesome, wasn’t it?)

By the way, anyone notice that Jon Snow killed a white walker without a piece of dragon glass?

Maybe because he carries the blood of the dragon?

WHAT?!  MIND=BLOWN!

What say you, 3.5 readers?

cropped-img_1757.jpg

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