Daily Archives: July 4, 2015

Jul 04 2015
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Tomfoolery

A Brief History of the American Revolution

Happy 4th of July, 3.5 readers!

May your day be filled with fireworks, revelry, and delicious barbecued wieners.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here to kick the holiday off in style with a brief history of the American Revolution.

“Tax that tea so that I might purchase more elaborate coats!” – King George III

Frankly, kids these days, what with their addiction to the Interwebs and what not, have no idea how their country got started and it’s high time someone educated them.

HOW IT ALL STARTED

The colonials loved their tea.  All day long, they’d sit around the hearth and say, “‘Ello guvna, I fancy a spot of tea I do!”

They found tea exceptionally delicious and drank that shit morning, noon and night.  The only time when you’d never see a colonial with one tea cup in his hand is when he’d have two tea cups, one in each hand.

The King of England, a foppish nancy boy if there ever was one, hated the colonials and decided to get their goat good.

“I’ll tax the shit of the colonials’ tea!” he declared and tax the shit out of the colonials’ tea he did.

In fact, the original act began as follows:

A PROCLAMATION BY THE KING TO TAX THE SHIT OUT OF THE COLONIALS’ TEA

Be it hereby resolved that:

  • The colonials love their tea.
  • I hate the colonials because I’m the King and I’m a super sized a-hole.
  • That the colonials should have to pay out the wazoo for their hot beverage of choice.

Riots ensued and British tea merchants were placed into cannons and shot into the stratosphere.

Finally, it all culminated in the Boston Tea Party, an event in which colonials dressed like Native Americans and hurled tea crates into the watery depths of Boston Harbor.  So much tea was tossed into the harbor that even today at high tide passersby often are known to remark, “Holy shit this whole place smells like camomile!”

Yes, those colonials were so steadfast in their anti-tax beliefs that they were brazen enough to cause a great financial loss to the King’s tea merchant associates, yet still wanted to preserve the ability to say, “Hey, it wasn’t us!  It was those damn Injuns!” if called on it by the Crown.

The Continental Congress

“I totally bagged more French chicks than Jefferson.” – Ben Franklin

The Continental Congress is one of the oldest political institutions in America.  Among the more relevant points deliberated:

  • Jefferson or Franklin – who gets more French chicks?
  • Should we call ourselves the Independent Republic of Suck it, King!
  • Who will supply our wig powder if trade ties are cut with England?
  • How serious are we about this “all men are created equal” hullabaloo?
  • I mean, we’re just paying lip service to equality right?
  • Should we actually make a list of all the people that should be treated equally or should we just allow subsequent generations to duke that shit out over the next several hundred years?

The Declaration of Independence

Our founding fathers, fed up with the King’s d-baggery, enlisted Thomas Jefferson to pen the Declaration of Independence.  The first draft was nothing more than an engraving of a giant middle finger.  The second draft simply stated, “Suck it, King!”  (“Suck it King” was the unofficial companion slogan to the more well-known “Don’t Tread on Me.”

Here’s the third draft.  It too was inevitably left on the cutting room floor:

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

Be it resolved that:

  • The King has poopy pants.
  • And further, that the King should suck the proverbial “it.”
  • Seriously, we can’t stand that guy.  He smells bad and he taxes our tea so that he can purchase elaborate coats and commission portraits of himself wearing them.
  • All we’re trying to do is drink some reasonably priced tea and chill the F out without damn redcoats being quartered in our houses.

The American Revolution

As stated in the “Official British War Manual,” the rules for the Royal Army were as follows:

“Surely we shall prevail for our uniforms are the brightest and fanciest!” – Lord Cornwallis, British General

  • All soldiers shall wear extremely bright red coats.  If possible, please draw targets on them, or failing that, simply write the words “Shoot here” over the heart and various vital organ regions.
  • When entering the field of battle, all men must march side by side in a straight line directly towards the source of the enemy gunfire, preferably in as conspicuous a manner as possible.
  • It is required that a drummer boy shall bang constantly on the drum to announce the Royal Army’s arrival.  If a drum is unavailable, shouting, “ATTENTION ENEMY!  BE FOREWARNED THAT WE HAVE ARRIVED!” shall suffice.

Yes, since time immemorial, it had been a longstanding tradition for armies to march straight toward each another, announce, “WE’RE HERE!” and then shoot and hack each other to bits in an orderly fashion.

However, General George Washington, the Revolution’s keen military commander, advised his troops to deviate from typical strategy in two important ways:

1)  Hide behind various trees, bushes, and shrubberies

2)  Wear dark clothing that blends into the outdoor habitat

These changes led to the Redcoats’ having their clocks cleaned.  One battlefield historian took notes on the British Army’s reaction:

REDCOAT #1 – I say!  Their coats are dark in color and difficult to focus our fire upon!  The nerve!

REDCOAT #2 – Quite right, quite right.  And these scallywags aren’t even announcing their presence at all!  Highly unsportsmanlike if you ask me!

The End of the War 

The American Revolution came to an end when George Washington sailed all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, walked right up to the King’s palace and challenged George III to a best two out of three roundhouse kick to the face competition.

This announcement of the competition is located in the Museum of Fake History:

HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

Know all ye that:

GENERAL WASHINGTON, COMMANDER OF THE REVOLUTIONARY ARMY

DOTH CHALLENGE

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, KING GEORGE III

To a Competition of Roundhouse Kicks to the Face.

Each party shall take turns in attempting to land a kick to the opposite party’s face.  A point worthy hit shall only be noted by the judges if the kicker’s boot heel lands squarely in the middle of the kickee’s face.

Cheek or chin hits shall be registered as unacceptable.

Whoever reacheth two out of three kicks to the opposing face shall be declared the victor.

Should King George III win, he shall have the right to rule over the Colonies Across the Ocean and to Tax the Shit Out of their Tea Until the End of Time.

Should General Washington win, the Colonials shall obtain the right to start a new nation, one that they will likely screw up themselves anyway.

Yes, many minstrels and poets have memorialized in written verse the epic bravery displayed by George Washington when he planted not one but two round house kicks to the face of George III, who never landed one on his opponent.

Our hero's face, unkicked and preserved on the quarter as a final

Our hero’s face, unkicked and preserved on the quarter as a final “up your nose with a rubber nose” to those pesky crumpet chewers.

America was set free and a capital city, a state, a monument, and a damn high school every hundred miles or so were named after Washington in honor of his badassery.  His face (unkicked) was even emblazoned on our currency as a reminder to the British that our hero’s mug was left unscathed.

Gen. Washington’s roundhouse kick to the face victory would not be recreated until 2015, when Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Yeti met on the field of battle to resolve their a struggle over control of the Bookshelf Battle Compound.  BQB totally beat that smelly yeti.

Aftermath

Having relieved itself of British oppression, America expanded westward.  Many American leaders stated, “So much land, just ripe for the taking!  Surely no one will notice!”  To wit many Native Americans replied, “Dudes, we can totally hear you.”

Over two hundred and some odd years later, America, though it isn’t without its share of problems, is a land of opportunity, one where freedom of speech is protected, even if you’re a lowly nerd blogger with a pitiful showing of 3.5 readers.

Ironically, a nation that began as the result of a tea tax dispute has levied more taxes than King George ever could have dreamed up.  You’ve got your Federal tax, State tax, property tax, estate tax, excise tax, tax tax (that’s when you get taxed on your tax), sales tax, gas tax, passing gas tax (a surcharge on your discharge, as it were), and last, but not least, a cornucopia of fees that you have to pay whenever you want the clerk at whatever government office you’re visiting to stamp whatever damn form you happen to be filing at the moment.

In a double twist of irony, tea is more reasonably priced than ever, but no one drinks that shit anymore.

In All Seriousness

There isn’t a country I’d rather live in than America.   There are many reasons, but the top one is that I can post this diatribe without fear of reprisal.

(I mean, I could anyway, because it’s not like more than 3.5 people are reading, but still, it’s nice to have freedom of speech as well).

Happy 4th of July,

Bookshelf Q. Battler

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Jul 04 2015
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Movie Reviews

Movie Review – Max (2015)

I think Aloha might have some competition when it comes to the worst film I’ve seen in 2015.

(Although that could change if I ever bring myself to sit through Mortdecai.)

Bookshelf Q. Battler here with a review of the furry family film Max.

OBLIGATORY SPOILER WARNING

Movieclips Trailers – Max 

Before I go on a tangent, let me begin by saying I get it.  I’m not this movie’s target audience.  It was meant as a family drama – a dog that the kids can root for combined with action that parents might prefer over listening to a resounding chorus of Elsa’s “Let it Go” for the 1,000th time.

To the film’s credit, it raises public awareness of the risks taken by military dogs and their handlers by pointing out the statistic that since 2003, 26 dogs and 25 handlers have died in combat.  A montage of real war dogs and their handlers starting from World War I, up through Vietnam and all the way to modern wars is heartwarming and sad, so much so that I debated whether or not to make fun of this film at all.

But what the hell, I’m going to.

The movie starts off with a noble premise.  Dog handler Kyle dies in an explosion in Afghanistan.  Prior to his tragic end, we witness Max’s ability to sniff out guns and bombs and to even engage in recon (the furry guy marches ahead of his human companion to check out whether things are safe.)

After returning stateside, Max is having a hard time without his handler.  He’s violent towards everyone except Justin, Max’s younger brother.  The military wants to put Max down but instead, Justin and his parents take the pooch in.

Ultimately, the first half of the film is a glorified Hallmark Channel movie.  Kyle’s family is having a tough time being without their lost son/brother.  Max is depressed without his buddy.  Together, family and dog bond and learn how to fight the pain that’s come their way.

Not really a blockbuster idea for a movie, but I’m not about to begrudge a film that brings the hardships of deceased soldiers’ families (and their dogs) to the forefront of a public that often forgets how tough service men and women have it.

But then the film takes an odd turn.

I don’t know how it happened, but in my mind, I picture a Hollywood suit saying something like, “We need to liven things up here!”

Enter the bizarre subplot that takes over the whole film.

As it turns out, Tyler, a soldier who was Kyle’s friend during the war, has been stealing enemy guns (found by military dogs), bringing them to America and selling them to Mexican cartel gangsters.

Because if there’s one thing family films need, it’s an international arms dealing conspiracy.

Somehow Max is aware of this and growls at Tyler whenever he’s in the room though the rest of the family just embraces him as Kyle’s beloved friend.  (I have no idea how Max, who you might recall, is a dog, figured out that Tyler’s dirty.  Maybe the military investigators kept him in the loop.)

Not to be outdone, Tyler treats Max as an enemy that needs to be dispatched before his ill gotten misdeeds are discovered.  At one point, Tyler slanders Max to Justin and Kyle’s father, Ray, telling Ray a fib that Kyle died because Max botched his duties as a military dog (when in fact, Max was totally a pro the entire time, not to mention the best actor in the whole film, which isn’t saying much.)

In what quite literally may be the dumbest moment in cinematic history, Ray, after hearing Tyler’s deceit, pulls a gun on Max in the manner of how, say in a cop movie, one cop might draw on someone who’s betrayed him.

I was left sitting there, wondering why I wasted money and time on this stupidity, fighting back the urge to yell at Ray, “Dude. It’s just a dog!”

Other notable dumb moments:

#1 – A military man, upon turning over top secret government information to Justin states something like, “I shouldn’t really be giving this to you.”  Don’t worry, military man.  I’m sure army dudes always turn over top secret info to plucky teenagers with no security clearance all the time

#2- Chuy and Carmen – Justin’s best friend, Chuy, and Chuy’s cousin Carmen/Justin’s love interest form a trio of kids who take down the international arms dealing ring.  In my mind, they actually prove to be two of the more enjoyable characters in the movie.  However, there was a not so subtle effort to get the point across that these are a couple of hispanic kids hanging out with a white kid.  It almost reeked of, “HEY!  HEY EVERYONE!  LOOK!  THIS MOVIE IS DIVERSE!  A WHITE KID IS FRIENDS WITH HISPANIC KIDS!”

Don’t get me wrong.  I think it’s great if kids of all races hang out and become buddies.  But then there’s abysmal dialog like this.  (I might not have it exactly down but here’s close to it):

CHUY:  You’re in love with the white boy.  You’re a traitor to your race.

CARMEN:  Mexican isn’t a race, idiot!

I…I don’t know where to begin with that one.  Oh, and then Chuy and Carmen have like a dozen dogs living in their house.  Oh and the gangster facilitating the deal between Tyler and the Cartel is a relative of Chuy and Carmen because…oh God I don’t know, I guess someone somewhere assumed there couldn’t possibly just be a nice hispanic family and a hispanic gangster residing in the same town unless they’re all related.

#3 – There were some cool 80’s style kids on bikes scenes.  (The 80’s were infamous for kids’ movies in which kids rode to glory and saved the day on their bikes.)  Usually, bikes aren’t exactly a match for international arms smugglers though.

(But seriously, all fun aside, Chuy and Carmen are the only characters that make the second half of the film watchable (barely).

#4 – Tyler and one of his cronies pull a frame job on Max, convincing authorities that Max was the perpetrator of an unjustified attack, just to get the canine out of the picture because…I don’t know.  I guess Tyler’s concerned that Max will woof to the police or something.  (It’s a dog!!!)

In short, I am a movie buff.  I have seen thousands of films in my life, some spectacular, some not so much and others just in the middle.  Once I’ve plunked down my cash and started watching, I stay through the end.

I stayed through the end of this one, but this was literally the first film I’ve watched where I just kept checking the time and saying to myself, “Please God, let this be over.”

In short, no I’m not a family looking for something to do over this holiday weekend.  If you are, you and your kids might very well enjoy this film.  Personally, I think it should have stuck with the “sad family adopts angry dog and they all learn and grow together” angle because the international arms dealing conspiracy is where it truly jumped the shark.

STATUS:  An A+ for educating the public about the important role played by military dogs and their handlers, only to denigrate into D- territory once the gun running plot is introduced.  Your kids might like this one, but please keep it off my shelf.

PS – It’s kind of too bad because, taken seriously, a movie in which soldiers and their dogs kick ass and take names on the battlefield, if done correctly, has all the potential for an awesome blockbuster.

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Jul 04 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #003 – Relationships (Part 3)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1 – Attorney Donnelly visits Jake at an ungodly hour.  Ms. Tsang and Ernie arrive a little after that.

Part 2 – How do Jake and Ms. Tsang know each other?

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“I don’t get it,”  I said as Agnes switched off the library’s movie playing thingamabob.

“What’s not to get?”  Agnes asked.  “It was a movie.  It was fun.  Now it’s over.”

It’s a movie.  It was fun.  Now it’s over.

Agnes the Librarian, Champion Shusher

Agnes the Librarian, Champion Shusher

That’s the way I used to feel about entertainment.  That’s the way most people feel about it.  We all have so much going on in our own lives that there’s just not enough hours in the day to devote to examining the finer points of cinema and yet three cases in and I was becoming as obsessed as Mr. Battler.

And it wasn’t just a movie.  Agnes and I watched all three movies in the library’s media room.

(Not for nothing but I was a little concerned about Agnes’ work ethic.)

“So this kid goes back and time and boinks his mother?”  I asked. “That’s disgusting.”

“They didn’t boink,”  Agnes replied.  “Marty’s mother was young.  She assumed Marty was just another boy to make moon eyes at.”

“And yet when she grows up and gives birth to Marty, she never once finds it odd that her kid looks exactly like this Calvin Klein fella that she met when she was in high school?”

“I don’t know,”  Agnes said.  “Do I look like a movie expert or something?”

“And what kind of a guy just leaves his girl sleeping on a porch unattended?”  I asked.  “Ma Hatcher would jump out of her grave and beat me with a rolling pin if I ever did anything like that.”

Agnes ignored me and put away the movie discs.

“Have they invented hover boards yet?  And why is Biff such a horse’s ass?”

I followed Agnes out onto the library floor.

“It’s the end of my shift,”  Agnes said.  “I need to go check on Herbert.”

“All right,”  I said.  “Just one more question.  Did you happen to notice if there was ever a hint as to how the kid and the doctor knew each other?”

“What?”  Agnes asked with a sour looking expression.  She always made a face like she was sucking on a lemon whenever she was frustrated with me.

“Doc Brown and Marty,” I said.  “They’re the two main characters in these damn pictures and yet there’s not one line that mentions how these two met.  That’s a plot hole you could drive a dump truck through, isn’t it?”

The librarian threw her arms up in the air.

“WHO CARES?”

“Well,”  I said.  “If you’re going to be that way about it…”

Agnes rubbed her temples then put a hand on my shoulder.

“Young man,”  she said.  “I have to say, you have me a bit worried.  You come in here all the time reeking of hard liquor.  You’re unshaven.  You look depressed and frankly, you’re not taking very good care of yourself.  I don’t mean to pry, but do you have a job?”

“I’m a fully licensed and bonded private investigator, ma’am,”  I responded matter-of-factly.

“And you expect me to believe that?”  the old gal replied.  “Son, you need to get a job.  If you want to come to the library, that’s great.  You’re more than welcome.  But don’t waste your time here watching movies.  I can help you look for gainful employment.”

She wanted to help me find work.  The idea intrigued me.

“Think there’s anyone who needs a man who’s handy with a P58 Schotzenhauer?”

“I don’t know,”  Agnes said.  “Is that some kind of tool or something?”

“Not exactly,”  I said.  “But it sure did come in handy during the war.”

Agnes’ expression turned more solemn.

“Oh,”  she said as she covered her mouth.  “Oh you poor man.  That explains everything.  Say no more.”

I’d said too much.  Most WWII vets were either dead and buried or on their last legs.  I was the only one who was strutting around like a prized peacock.

“You know, there’s a support group for veterans who served in Afghanistan and Iraq that meets here twice a month,”  Agnes said.  “You should sign up for it.”

I didn’t correct her.  Why blow my cover?  Besides, wars are wars.  The shit is the shit.

“I’ll think about it,”  I said.

“You do that,”  Agnes said.  “But I expect you here next Wednesday for computer class.  I’ve already signed you up and you’ll never get a job when you don’t even know the difference between a mouse and a keyboard.”

I gave the broad a light, playful punch in the shoulder.

“You’re a good egg, Ag,”  I said.  “Don’t ever change.”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  I’m starting to think I should just fire Jake and hire Agnes.  Why go through the middle-man?

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

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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