Daily Archives: July 2, 2015

5000 Twitter Followers – A Message to the Mighty Potentate

SECURE TRANSMISSION

TO:  The Mightiest of Potentates, He Whose Wonderous Nature Provides Smiles and Happiness in All Corners of the Universe

FROM:  Alien Jones, Your Humble Servant, Intergalactic Correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle Blog

Respectful Greetings, Mighty Potentate!  Allien Jones here to report that Bookshelf Q. Battler has reached 5000 followers on the social media site known as “Twitter.”

How Aliens Send E-Mail

How Aliens Send E-Mail

As you are already aware because there is nothing our genius species doesn’t already know, Twitter is a communications site that limits the humans to a mere 140 characters.

Lab studies indicate that messages of 141 characters or longer cause the average human brain to implode from confusion.

Surely with this magnanimous achievement, I may now be released from my assignment of assisting BQB with his writing career.

I make this request, oh Exceptionally Macho One, for when I am able to cut loose from this nerd, er I mean, this bold new talent, I will be able to serve you better in your mission to bring peace and prosperity throughout the cosmos.

Why, at this very moment, I could be coordinating the charitable efforts to help the citizens of Lukanamo rebuild their planet after the recent and most devastating hurratyphoonicane.

(I keep advising the Regent of Lukanamo to stop letting his subjects build in hurratyphoonicane zones but does he listen?  Noooooo.

Infinite Respectful Closings, oh Unfathomably Brilliant One.

Your Humble Servent,

Alien Jones.

@bookshelfbattle has reached 5,000 twitter followers!  While an amazing feat, BQB is already drooling over the possibility of reaching 10K.  Help him out with a follow. You’ll get more awesomeness and updates about what’s happening at bookshelfbattle.com

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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#indieprideday

Hop on over to twitter, check out #indieprideday and you’ll be amazed at how many indie authors are participating.

Lots of writers promoting their own books, others’ books and trumpeting the message to make indie publishing go mainstream.

(If indies go mainstream, are they still indies?)

Oh well, good for them.  I’m filled with pride and I haven’t even written a book yet.

Even so, I’m proud of all these folks who have, and inspired that there are so many of them.

All of these people, many of whom likely would have had the door to their dreams shut on them by the traditional publishing world, now able to do what they want to do thanks to the power of indie publishing.

If you’re in the self publishing racket, share your book or a friend’s.

Here’s this nerd’s contribution:

This movement is brought to you by the fine folks at indiebooksbeseen.com #indiebooksbeseen so be sure to check them out.

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Pop Culture Mysteries – Case #003 – Relationships (Part 1)

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

Pop Culture Mystery Question:  How did Doc and Marty from Back to the Future movies meet/know each other?  (Or, what was their relationship?)

That old familiar brown liquid sat in my glass, staring at me, leering at me as if I were some kind of cheap dime store call girl.

Sure, that hooch would go down smooth and we’d have a good time together, but the next morning it’d be gone and I’d be left to face the world as a desperate rummy instead of the decent man I knew was lurking somewhere deep inside me.

Alcohol – all it ever provided me was short term relief from a long term problem.

Hatcher can't get enough of that delicious brown stuff.

Hatcher can’t get enough of that delicious brown stuff.

“I don’t need you,”  I said as I slid the shot across the table.

Five seconds…ten…fifteen.

I barely made it to thirty before I seized the glass and tossed its goodness down my gullet, the warm contents falling into my stomach and launching my mind into outer space.

Oh well.  Who cares about tomorrow as long as you can feel good today?

I liked to think of myself as an independent man, a fella who didn’t need anyone or anything but alcohol was the monkey on my back that refused to relinquish my banana. 

I wanted to quit drinking but the world was such a harsh place that booze had become the only cure for what ailed me.  It distracted me from crippling loneliness and the sinking feeling that I’d never know the soft touch of a woman ever again.

The ironic twist?  It was a filthy habit that was causing the ladies to steer their cabooses onto any other track but mine.

I drank because I was lonely and I was lonely because I drank.  I was like a junkyard dog chasing its own tail.

I looked at the clock above Ms. Tsang’s stove. 

Midnight.  The witching hour.  The start of a new day.  I knew it wouldn’t be any better than the one before it.  I suppose when a man reaches that point he might as well keep on pounding back the hard stuff.

So I did.  I had another one.

Like a paparazzi’s camera roll after a starlet sighting, I was spent.   Without the strength to carry my carcass upstairs to my office, I did the next best thing.

I laid down smack dab in the middle of Ms. Tsang’s kitchen floor.

It wasn’t as bad as you might think.  Ms. Tsang was immaculate when it came to her workspace.  It was already a floor you could eat off of so why not sleep there as well?

I’ve never been an overly religious man, but that night I was feeling low (well, lower than usual) and had a hankering to communicate with the almighty.

“Lord,”  I said.  “Your servant, Jake Hatcher here.  I must say I’m awfully fond of one of your creations, Ms. Delilah K. Donnelly.  If you could see fit to convince that gal to go ga ga over yours truly, I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

Me take care of her.  That’s a laugh.  Delilah was one of the most independent women I’d ever seen in all my days.  If anything, it’d of been vice versa but the last thing she needed was a washed up old has been like me weighing her down like an anchor around her neck where her pretty pearls normally resided.

Ms. Tsang’s doorbell rang.

“CLOSED!”  I shouted.

I wished I hadn’t.  I had a headache that felt like a drum solo was being beaten into my brain.  The sound of my big yapper made it that much worse.

Another ring.

“BEAT IT!”

The tiny beep boop machine in my pocket rang.  I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hatcher?”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph plus all the saints thrown in for good measure.  Who says prayers go unanswered?

“Yes,”  I said.  “Ms. Donnelly?”

“Indeed.”

Three more doorbell rings.

“Hold on,”  I said as I raised my weary body up to a tenuous standing position.  “I have to go deliver a clothesline straight to the snot box of whoever’s ringing Ms. Tsang’s door bell.”

I opened the door and there she was, a stunning blonde vision, switching her beep boop phone off.

“Ms. Donnelly!”  I said, surprised.

“Good evening, Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said as she crossed the thresh hold.  “I wasn’t sure you were awake so I gave you a jingle.  I do apologize for paying a visit at this ungodly hour.”

“Not a problem whatsoever, Ms. Donnelly,”  I said as I closed the door behind her and ushered her to a chair at the kitchen table.  

“And pretell, Mr. Hatcher, what would your mother say about you threatening to punch a woman in the…what was it?  ‘A snot box?’”

I always got a kick out of it whenever Ms. Donnelly said lowbrow words in her high society Patrician accent.

“If I apologize a thousand times a day from now until the day I’m six feet under, it still won’t be enough.  Please understand, it was a case of mistaken identity.  I thought you were some bum trying to get Ms. Tsang to make him a late night snack.”

“I see,” Ms. Donnelly said. 

She even looked good at midnight.

She even looked good at midnight.

“I’d sooner chop my hand off with a rusty butter knife and feed it to a great white shark than raise it to a lady,”  I said.  “Ma Hatcher never even had to teach me that one.”

She tilted her nose upward.  It wasn’t that far of a trip, since she walked around with it in the air most of time anyway.  She sniffed the air and a disgusted look took over her face.

I reeked of booze.  I wasn’t proud of it.

“Well Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said as she handed me an envelope.  “I shan’t keep you from your pleasant evening of inebriation for much longer.  I just wanted to deliver your next Pop Culture Mystery.”

“Thank you ma’am,” I said.  “Not that I’d ever scoff at your delightful company, but I must say I’m intrigued to see you here at this time of night.  It almost makes one wonder if you felt a sudden need to feast your eyes on my mug.”

“One should keep wondering,”  Delilah instantly replied.  It would of been nice if she’d at least taken a minute to think it over.  

The front door opened and Ms. Tsang walked in.  She was approaching seventy years old and yet the look on her face?  The old gal was giddier than a school girl who’d just won a hop scotch game.

Her escort for the night was some old timer.  A little bald man with great big horn rimmed glasses.  He was hunched over and leaned on his cane as he plopped a smooch on my landlady’s cheek.

“What a wonderful night, Susan,”  the old man said.

“It doesn’t have to be over,”  Ms. Tsang replied.  “Come on in and I’ll get us a nightcap.  Maybe we can even…”

And then Ms. Tsang spotted Delilah and I sitting around her kitchen table.

“Oh, Jake!”  she said.  “I didn’t see you there.  Ernie, come meet my tenant.”

I stood up and walked over to the geriatric couple.

“Pleased to meet you,”  Ernie said as he stretched out his hand.

I was madder than a hatter without a cup of tea.  I smacked the geezer’s hand away and grabbed him by his shirt collar.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t my best move.  Old Ernie was about as frail as a bag of chalk.

“Say, what’s the big idea, bub?”  I said.  “This here’s a respectable woman and you’re trotting her out at all hours of the night like you’re some kind of Good Time Charlie.”

 Ernie was befuddled.  His face turned as red as a pack of wild strawberries.

“I…I don’t…I don’t know?”

Ms. Donnelly was taken aback and did her best to pretend like she wasn’t noticing the scene I was making.

“Jake!”  Ms. Tsang hollered as she whacked me upside the head with her purse.  “Let him go!  He has a pacemaker!”

I did as instructed then turned my venom to Ms. Tsang.

“And you!”  I said.  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, young lady!  I’ve been up all night worried sick and you don’t so much as call to tell me you’re ok.  It’s a big city out there!  You could have been kidnapped by perverts or sickos or communists or God knows who else…”

“You’re not my father, Jake!”  Ms. Tsang shouted as she stomped her foot.

“I know I’m not!”  I said.  “Thank the maker he’s not around to see what a shameless hussy his daughter’s become!”

Oh boy.  That last one cued up the water works.  Tears poured out of the old gal’s eyeballs like they were a pair of busted faucets.

“Ernie you’d better go,”  Ms. Tsang said as she hugged her companion.  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“It’s ok,”  Ernie said.  “I’d better go make sure the orderlies at the old folks’ home aren’t stealing my stuff anyway.  Last week my room mate stayed out past midnight and they sold his sleep apnea machine.”

The old man looked up at me.  “It was nice to meet you.”

Yeah, I was confused too.  I’d just roughed him up and he was being nice to me.  I’m not sure all the bats were fluttering around in Ernie’s belfry.  He probably wasn’t too sure of what was going on.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, Jack, just watch those hands.  They’re busier than a child laborer at a sweat shop sewing machine.”

I slammed the door in Ernie’s face and looked at Ms. Tsang.

“I think you’d better go to your room and think about what you’ve done, young lady.”

“I hate you!”  Ms. Tsang said as she walked out of the kitchen.  “I wish you’d of never woken up!”

Ouch.  That one broke my heart…the pieces of it that were left anyway.

I returned to my seat at the table across from a very bewildered Ms. Donnelly.

“Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah began.  “I rarely ever inquire about the personal lives of my work colleagues, but after witnessing you scold an elderly woman as if she were a teenage girl I must say I’m curious to find out what just happened.”

Don’t worry 3.5 readers.  Jake will EVENTUALLY talk about Back to the Future.

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

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Pop Culture Mysteries: And Now a Word from Our Sponsor (Milton’s Reserve Brand Cigarettes)

This episode of Pop Culture Mysteries is brought to you by the fine folks at Milton’s Reserve Brand Cigarettes.  Mmm Mmm Milton’s!  Now that’s a good smoke!

Hello.  I’m Dr. Gus Goetleib.  I come from a long line of doctors.

Dr. Goetleib for Milton's Reserve Brand Cigarettes

Dr. Goetleib for Milton’s Reserve Brand Cigarettes

My parents and grandparents were all in the medical field and I assume one day my children and grandchildren will be as well.

My patients always ask me, “Doc, how can I give my lungs a good workout?”

You know what I tell them?

(Dr. Goetleib sparks a cigarette and puffs away)

Milton’s Reserve Brand Cigarettes.

Why, Milton’s Reserve Cigarettes are hand rolled from the finest tobacco leaves.

They’re chock full of essential tar and chemicals and lucky for you, the flavor isn’t dulled down by those infernal filters the women folk insist on.

As a doctor, I can tell you nothing is more important than the need for your lungs to get exercise.

Smoking causes your lungs to perform their own brand of calisthenics, training them to be healthy and strong.
cigarette

I won’t smoke anything but Milton’s Reserve and whenever I see one of my patients gasping for breathe, I light one up for them and tell them to give their lungs a good, hearty workout.

Perhaps you’ve heard someone say something foolish like, “Smoking is bad for you.”

Let’s be honest.  That “someone” was a communist, a hippie, a homosexual or God help us, a commie homosexual hippie, wasn’t he?

Who are you going to trust?  Some unwashed rabble rouser or me, a respected doctor who’s worked his own lungs out with this fine product (COUGH COUGH COUGH) excuse me…

Why waist one more second listening to  some bra burning draft dodger who probably wants you to plant a smooch smack dab in the middle of Stalin’s pimply rump?

Take it from me, Dr. Goetleib.  For a healthy set of lungs, work out with Milton’s Reserve.

Attorney Donnelly feels the need to mention this is just meant as a parody of 1950’s advertising and that smoking is bad for you.  Don’t do it.  If you do, don’t blame BQB.  He has enough problems.

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POP CULTURE MYSTERIES!

As we head into Fourth of July Weekend, it’s time to celebrate with another episode of…POP CULTURE MYSTERIES!

JAKE: If BQB posts the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries and you're not reading it, you'll regret it.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but soon...and for the rest of your life. DAME:  I doubt it.  That nimrod only has 3.5 readers.

JAKE: If BQB posts the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries and you’re not reading it, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but soon…and for the rest of your life.
DAME: I doubt it. That nimrod only has 3.5 readers.

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Blog Private Eye, has agreed to solve 100 pop culture mysteries and submit his findings right here on bookshelfbattle.com

Need to refresh your memory? Better check out the previous episodes, see?

Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blond

Pop Culture Mysteries: Case File #001: Here’s a Story (Question Answered – What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses aka Mike’s first wife and Carol’s first husband?)

Pop Culture Mysteries:  Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Question Answered – Han or Greedo, who shot first?)

Who better to solve a mystery than Jake Hatcher, a hardboiled film noir style detective who fell asleep in his office above an LA Chinese food restaurant in 1955, woke up in 2014, and spent a year trying to figure out what happened before Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Attorney, the delicious dish Delilah K. Donnelly, offered him the chance to make 500 smackers? (That’s a lot of dough in 1955, see?)

Do you have a question about popular culture? Is there a plot hole in your favorite TV show or movie you’d like explained? Is there a celebrity meltdown you’d like to know more about? An entertainment myth debunked?

Put Hatcher on the case!

Here’s how to drop a dime:

SUBMIT YOUR POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTIONS TO:

TWITTER – @bookshelfbattle #popculturemysteries

BQB’s Google Plus Page

Or just leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com

Together, we can help Hatcher solve 100 mysteries and go back to his own time with a big bag of five dollar bills, which he will use to live like a king.

In the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries –  How did Doc and Marty from Back to the Future know each other?

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

Film noir style old timey man and woman photo courtesy of a shutterstock.com license

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