By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye
Pop Culture Mystery Question: Are Nicki Minaj’s claims of a VMA snub justified?
“You never should have come here.”
Women drivers…
A granite slab doesn’t make for a good pillow, but I was exhausted and it was the only thing around to rest my head on. I leaned back and stretched my legs over the green grass, noticing the tiny flecks of dew forming on the blades.
“I wish you’d of listened to me, kid,” I said as I took a pull from the forty-ounce not so cleverly disguised by a brown paper bag.
Yes, I was one of those people who drank during the day. Morning, afternoon, night. Time doesn’t matter when you don’t age.
“All this town does is put stars in the eyes of young dopes too stupid to know any better,” I said. “‘Shoot for the stars and you’ll land in the clouds,’ the dreamers say. They forget to tell you about the part where you might bypass greatness altogether and crash into the ground harder than a Mack Truck aimed at a brick wall.”
Crash into the ground.
Poor choice of words.
I ran my fingers over the engraving that marked the head stone:
Roscoe J. Hatcher
1925-1952
“You thought I didn’t want you in LA,” I said as I took another swig. “That I didn’t want you cramping my style. I was just trying to keep you away because this place is a haven for weirdoes and I didn’t want you to end up a two-bit bum like yours truly.”
I sat and sulked for awhile, interrupting my kid brother’s dirt nap with a one-sided conversation.
Suddenly, the sound of a finely tuned engine filled my ears. I looked up to see a cherry red 1955 Cadillac winding its way through the lonely cemetery access road.
The sporty little number came to a halt in front of me. Inside? An even sportier little number – the object of my misplaced affection, Ms. Delilah K. Donnelly.
“Are you lost, ma’am?” I asked as I sprang to my feet and pointed to the right. “Rodeo Drive is that-a-way.”
“Apologies for interrupting your lunch, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said as her baby blues stared at the brown bag in my hand in a most disapproving manner.
I attempted a save.
“Can you believe degenerate winos use this place to get smackered?” I asked as I threw the bottle into a trash can. “Found this lying on the ground and Ma Hatcher always taught me if I see litter I should pick it up.”
“I’ll pretend not to notice your rampant alcoholism so that we might steer our attention to a most pressing matter,” Delilah said as she popped the door lock.
“The nerd has another question?” I asked as I sprawled out in the passenger seat. It was nice. Comfortably and roomy. Not like the crap boxes they try to squeeze you in nowadays.
“Precisely,” Delilah said as she drove away. “And might I add a further apology for interrupting your mourning time.”
“No need,” I said. “Roscoe wasn’t much of a conversationalist anyway.”
As we hit the open road, Delilah turned on the radio. A nice classic station. Oldies all the time.
Legendary Jazz singer Ella Fitzgerald brought my mind back to the good old days. There was a gal that didn’t need a gimmick. Just a sweet tune about love and a set of superb vocal cords.
There’s a saying old, says that love is blind. Still we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall find.’ So I’m going to go seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind.
Looking everywhere, Haven’t found him yet. He’s the big affair I cannot forget. Only man I ever think of with regret.
– Ella Fitzgerald, Somebody to Watch Over Me, Pure Ella (1954)
“You have good taste, Ms. Donnelly.”
“I’m aware, Mr. Hatcher.”
“How’d you find me?”
“Ms. Tsang said you’re known to visit your brother’s grave know and then. Perhaps it isn’t my place to pry…”
Ahh, here we go. Once again, Delilah acts like she doesn’t care, but then cares enough to ask.
“But I’m surprised you’d visit your brother at all…after what he did to you.”
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the breeze as air rushed all around me.
“People say there are some things that can never be forgiven,” I said, “But to them, I say they just haven’t lived long enough.”
“Time heals all wounds?” Delilah asked as she took the highway onramp.
“No,” I said. “Time just gives those wounds more of a chance to fester. But given enough time, you lose your ability to give a shit about them.”
“I’m not so sure I concur.”
Delilah sure had a lead foot. She steered us into the passing lane and floored it. It was like being chauffeured like a female Mario Andretti.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Ma Hatcher taught me never to swear in the presence of a lady.”
“It’s quite all right,” Delilah said. “In fact, your obscenity reminds me of our next case.”
Delilah adjusted the radio dial and the following lyrics invaded my ear drums:
This one is for my bitches with a fat ass in the f*%king club
I said, “Where my fat ass big bitches in the club?”
F%$k them skinny bitches,
Fu&*k them skinny bitches in the club
I wanna see all the big fat ass bitches in the motherf*%king club…
– Nicki Minaj, Anaconda, The Pinkprint Album
I lit up a cigarette and shook my head.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “The nerd has me looking into pornography now?”
“Pornography?” Delilah asked. “This is one of the top songs of the past year.”
I choked on my own smoke.
“Get outta’ town.”
Anaconda and Somebody to Watch Over Me are Nicki and Ella’s songs, respectively.
The rest is Copyright (C) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Hey parents! Remember all those video games you loved as a kid?
Well, they’re so old that they’ve become quaint!
Bookshelf Q. Battler here with a review of Adam Sandler’s action movie for kids, Pixels.
Even Pac-Man couldn’t gobble up the oncoming SPOILERS fast enough.
Movie Trailer – Pixels – Sony
Sometimes it’s hard to be Adam Sandler.
He wowed people in the 90’s with hits like Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison. Those are two films that are still quotable today.
(You’ve never told someone something they just said made no sense and everyone is now dumber for having heard it?)
But then he made a slew of lesser films that fell flat and now he’s the point where everyone expects his movies will suck.
To his credit, this one didn’t.
If you’re looking for highbrow entertainment, then you’ll probably think it does.
If you’re a parent looking for a movie to bring your kids to that won’t bore you to tears, then you’ll enjoy it.
As kids, Sandler (Brenner), Kevin James (Cooper), Josh Gad (Ludlow), and Peter Dinklage (Eddie) once competed in a 1980’s video game tournament.
Back in those days, the lads thought the world would one day be their oyster. Alas, they find life pretty disappointing as adults.
Brenner, who once dreamed of becoming a tech genius works at a Best Buy-esque home TV installation company. Ludlow has become a wacky conspiracy theorist who still lives with his grandma and Eddie? I won’t spoil it for you.
The only one who had life go his way was Cooper, but I won’t spoil that for you either.
Needless to say, the buddies who once believed their video game skills were useless in the real world become the world’s only hope when aliens attack using video game warfare.
Turns out, aliens aren’t that bright. (Don’t tell Alien Jones).
Footage of the video game tournament was sent to outer space as an example of Earth culture in the hopes that friendly aliens would discover it. Alas, the aliens take it as a challenge and develop real life versions of 1980’s video games to attack Earth.
Completely silly I know, but you’ll enjoy the special effects as Brenner and friends take on Centipede, Pac-Man, Donkey Kong and so on.
There’s plenty of celebrity appearances. Brian Cox plays a cranky American general and Sean Bean plays his British counterpart. Michelle Monaghan plays Brenner’s love interest/Army inventor of anti-alien video game technology.
Josh Gad steals the show with his antics until Dinklage steals it from him with his obnoxious, egotistical character.
Q-Bert becomes the Jar Jar Binks of the film but that’s besides the point.
Will you, as once said to Happy Madison, be dumber for watching this movie? Maybe. But if you suspend disbelief and silence your inner critic, you’ll be entertained.
But if you can remember a time when arcades were fun and popular, then you might want to skip it because you’ll be left feeling old…unless you’re feeling nostalgic.
Read the Fine Print Whenever Ms. Donnelly is Involved.
Happy Friday, 3.5 Readers.
Bookshelf Q. Battler here.
Among my many roles as Blogger-in-Chief of a blog read by 3.5 readers, I’m the boss of Pop Culture Detective Jake Hatcher, a hardboiled 1950’s private eye who sniffs out the answers to my questions about Hollywood and the entertainment industry.
Jake and I have never met in person. Rather, I prefer to dispatch all my inquiries through Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly, Lead Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
It’s kind of a Charlie’s Angels situation. I ask the questions. Delilah delivers them. Jake hunts down the answers. By keeping Delilah as a buffer, I’m able to retain Jake’s services and he’s not able to strangle me until I spill the beans to the secrets I’m keeping from him:
How did he fall asleep in 1955 and wake up in 2014 and more importantly, how can he get back to his own time?
Yes, I can help him with both questions, but I’m stringing him along until he’s solved 100 cases.
Feel free to thank me, 3.5 readers. Sure, many bloggers put in a lot of work for their fans, but few are willing to extort a 1950s private investigator for your reading pleasure.
He’s gotten a bit carried away lately. He’s starting writing down recollections of his adventures of a gumshoe. I think they’re all interesting and worth sharing.
Two of his ideas in particular I hope to turn into self-published books, the profits of which I’ll keep because, you know, when Attorney Donnelly hands you a contract, you’d better read the fine print before signing.
Sorry Jake.
Anyway, the core concepts of this series:
1) I have questions about popular culture.
2) Referring to those questions as, “Pop Culture Mysteries” is funny.
3) A 1950’s hard-boiled film noir style detective complete with trench coat and fedora tracking explaining the answers to these questions in traditional/stereotypical noir style (i.e. longwinded exaggeration and lots of ridiculous comparisons) is funnier.
Planning of novels set in Jake’s world are underway, but before the noble trio of Jake, Delilah, and myself do anything, we need to get a few more Pop Culture Mystery Questions answered and into the can.
Jake needs a fan base before he writes a couple of novels. Otherwise, who’d buy them?
And how could I cut Jake out of the deal and use that sweet, sweet Amazon moolah to buy myself a Porsche?
Ah, don’t worry, 3.5 readers.
Behind that ice queen exterior, Attorney Donnelly often serves as the moral compass of this blog.
I’m sure she’ll twist my arm and convince me to share some of those book profits with our resident sleuth.
(I’ll need to keep some of it though just to pay Delilah’s latest legal bill though. Sheesh! Talk about billable hours!)
Don’t worry. Jake will get back to regaling you all with The Wrong Guy, the story about how he tracked down the killer of his buddy Lou the liquor store owner.
But first, I need to put him on a more pressing case:
The Nicki Minaj Video Music Award (VMA) Snub – Does Her Complaint Have Merit?
Before Jake pounds the pavement on the trail of this caper, I’d like to take an informal poll:
What say you, 3.5 readers? Is Nicki right? Did she lose out because, as she tweeted, only certain “kinds” of artists get recognized? Or, you know, should she just take all the money she made off of Anaconda and be happy?
Sour grapes or a star treated badly?
And what do you think about Taylor Swift and Katy Perry jumping into the fracas?
Yes, your Earth scientists, who think they are all big and brainy but in actuality are about as witty as a Banji Beast’s Butt Burst compared to the legion of geniuses under my command, claim to have discovered an Earth-like planet, one potentially capable of sustaining life.
Let us address the question that has no doubt entered your minds:
Is this Alien Jones’ home world, the one I, the Mighty Potentate, rule over with an iron fist?
THE ANSWER: NO!
Muah ha ha! Foolish hairless apes. You really thought it would be that easy to locate a planet under the control of a being with a brain as copious and learned as mind?
Hilarious! The notion brings nothing but laughter to me. Ha. Ha, I say! Ha.
No, this is not my secret planet and therefore, your degenerate Hollywood executives should, UNDER NO MEANS:
1) Use this telescope contraption to beam your insipid reality television programs to my, er, this planet’s media viewing devices.
2) Build spacecraft capable of long range flight to deliver reality television stars to this world. I mean, it’s not mine, but seriously, no planet deserves an influx of reality TV. Keep it to yourself.
3) Develop more obnoxious reality TV programs in the hopes of selling them to the residents of this planet.
4) Don’t just start calling it a random name like Kepler-425b. Perhaps this planet has a much cooler name. I don’t know what it’s name is. Why are you asking me? I wouldn’t tell you if I knew it’s name anyway. It’s none of your business, losers. Seriously, just showing up to a place already inhabited, acting like you own it and can just move in, ignoring the beings that already live there. You humans have a bad habit of doing that, you know.
Whoever the inhabitants of this mysterious planet may be, rest assured had they wanted you poking your big noses around, they’d of invited you to do so long ago, pathetic humans.
Whoever the inhabitants of this planet are, maybe all they ever wanted was to kidnap and probe a few of you to find out what makes you tick (specimens were surely given right back) and make crop circles as practical jokes. No doubt a wise ruler put an end to those practices long ago, though some of his dumber subjects probably don’t listen.
What? I’m talking about some other planet. Stop asking questions.
In closing, REMOVE THE OFFENDING TELESCOPE CONTRAPTION FROM MY ORBIT IMMEDIATELY OR PREPARE FOR INTERGALACTIC CONQUEST!
Er, I mean, or don’t. I don’t care. Because that’s totally not my planet.
CEASE PUBLIC TRANSMISSION.
PRIVATE TRANSMISSION.
Not to be shared publicly with the worthless humans.
ALIEN JONES! You were ordered to keep the humans away! First, it’s this damnable satellite! Next, my TV will have nothing but “Bowling Alley Disco Makeover” and “Who Wants to Be a Barracuda Farmer?”
Double your efforts towards launching BQB’s writing career, Alien Jones! He and the self-published authors promoted in your Ask the Alien column are our only hope!
Fix this immediately, or it’s Welcome to Vaporization City: Population You!
End of Private Transmission.
Alien Jones is the Intergalactic Correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle. Do you have a question for the Esteemed Brainy One? Submit it to Bookshelf Q. Battler via a tweet to @bookshelfbattle, leave it in the comment section on this site, or drop it off on the Bookshelf Battle Google + page. If AJ likes your question, he might promote your book, blog, or other project while providing his answer.
ALIEN JONES’ GUARANTEE: If you don’t like AJ’s response, just let him know and he’ll file it into the recycling bin of his monolithic super computer. No muss, no fuss, no problem.
Not when you’re as big a fan of that holiday as I am.
And not when you’ve got a big idea in mind.
Today, my main squeeze Video Game Rack Fighter and I took a walk, did some shopping, and we stopped by a fortune teller who’d set up shop and was predicting futures at five bucks a pop.
VGRF talked me into it and, much to my shock, this mysterious gypsy lady with a kiosk next to the Orange Julius stand at the East Random Town Mall prognosticated the following:
That on October 1 of this year:
VGRF, Alien Jones, myself, and possibly The Yeti will take in a scientific demonstration by my mentor, the esteemed Dr. Hugo Von Science.
That Dr. Hugo, through his gross incompetence, will botch his experiment, thus causing a zombie outbreak to sweep over my hometown.
VGRF, Alien Jones, and myself will be left with no choice but to fight our way through the undead hordes until we reach the safety of the Bookshelf Battle Compound.
Perhaps we’ll even come up a cure for the zombie epidemic in the process.
But to get through this, we will need the assistance of 31, count em, 31 Zombie Authors.
ALIEN JONES: Zombie authors?! That’s ridiculous! They can’t even hold a pen.
BQB: No, I mean authors who have written self-published books about zombies. Though, hey, if there’s an actual function zombie who is an author, I’ll gladly talk to him as long as he promises not to bite me.
Every day, as a new part of the story unfolds, a self published zombie author will take a question from a member of our merry band of unlikely heroes.
Questions will mostly come from me, but Alien Jones and/or possibly the Yeti might have some inquiries. Maybe even Dr. Hugo will participate.
I’ve also heard rumors of this thing called “Women’s Lib” so hell, Video Game Rack Fighter will have some questions too.
Examples:
DAY 1 – We need some supplies. Author Fred Fredman of Super Scary Zombie Book, can you tell us the essentials of what a zombie apocalypse survivor needs to fend off the undead masses?
DAY 2 – The Yeti was just bitten by a zombie. Author Kate Katerson of Incredibly Frightening Zombie Book, do you know if zombie bites affect animals?
DAY 3 – We’re holed up in an abandoned shack and the TV’s working. Author Annie Annerson of You’ll Crap Your Pants if You Read this Zombie Book! Which zombie movie do you recommend we watch to pass the time and why?
I don’t know. Just some initial questions off the top of my head.
Heck, you non-horror authors could get in on this too. Submit questions you’d like to know about how to survive the zombie apocalypse and maybe one of the members of our survivor party will pass it along to an interested zombie author.
ANTICIPATED QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS IDEA:
1) Just self-published horror authors?
Not necessarily. If you’re a traditionally published zombie author, I’d love for you to participate as well. If you have a zombie blog or are some other kind of zombie writer, let’s talk.
Hell, if you’re George Romero, you can just take the blog over.
2) You do a lot of interactivity on this blog. Why a story? Why not just a straight-up interview?
In today’s rapid information age, anything fun is going to be checked out more than a traditional approach.
Take all the late night talk shows these days.
Long ago, all the stars would just sit on the couch and shoot the bull with Johnny and Ed. It was boring as hell.
We love stars but their stories about their acting method or the lunch they ate that gave them a tummy ache or whatever? Who cares.
Jimmy Fallon does hilarious bits with his guests instead. Be honest. Do you want to listen to Scar Jo babble about how hard it was to pretend to be whoever she just pretended to be, or do you want to see her play a rousing game of “Box of Lies” with Jimmy?
NBC – Box of Lies – The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon
I loved that. There you go. Scar Jo’s latest movie promoted. I’m left thinking she’s a ball of fun and I wasn’t bored with a story about her acting process.
“Let’s Promote Ourselves with Fun” is what I’ve been going for with Alien Jones’ “Ask the Alien” Column, and that’s what I’m going for with this idea as well.
3) So what are you looking for?
Your choice of length to an answer posed by myself or one of my buddies. I’d say 500 words or so sounds decent, but more if you’re willing.
We could come to an agreement on what question would be best for you. If you have one in mind you want to be asked, that’s possible.
4) Are you going to make me look stupid?
Your books, blogs, reputation as a writer, they’re all important to you, as they should be. I fully understand. Hell, I’ve put so much work into my persona as”Bookshelf Q. Battler,” I’d be unhappy if someone besmirched BQB.
I’d envision the post with:
A) A quick synopsis of what happened today (day of post) with BQB’s friends vs. the zombies.
B) A quick overview of you, the author, including links to your books and or blogs and or Amazon page (or wherever you’re selling them)
C) An answer YOU WRITE that I’m not going to change. They’ll be your words, so you can’t go wrong.
5) I’m still skeptical.
I don’t blame you. I’m a guy claiming to own a magic bookshelf and also that I’m an alien’s friend. It’s understandable that you’d want to kick the tires on this one.
To that end:
A) Alien Jones has had 17 satisfied customers in his Ask the Alien column so far. I’ve never received a complaint from an author who participated yet. Usually they’re pleased enough that they retweet or share AJ’s witty commentary on their own blogs.
B) Alien Jones has a “Don’t Like it and It Gets Taken Down No Problem Guarantee.” If it turns out you don’t like the post, let me know, and it’ll come down. If we can fix it to your liking, that’s great. If not, no hard feelings. I get that writing is a business and you have to do what you have to do. No muss, no fuss, no problem.
But luckily, no author has asked for that yet. And I believe that’s a sign that when you take part in this, you’re in good hands with me and my alien.
6) Keep talking.
At present, I have 1,250 (approx) WordPress followers, 5,400 Twitter followers, and over 500 Google Plus followers. All will be notified of your awesomeness.
7) I’m not one of your 3.5 readers, so I’m not up to speed on your blog and therefore unsure if I could respond to one of your friends’ questions.
No problem. Here’s the lowdown:
Bookshelf Q. Battler = the owner of a magic bookshelf where small versions of literary characters come to life and fight over limited shelf space.
Video Game Rack Fighter = Bookshelf Q. Battler’s girlfriend and author of a video game review column hopefully coming soon, if she ever comes up for air from playing Arkham Knight.
Alien Jones – The Mighty Potentate, ruler of an undisclosed planet, is displeased with the growing popularity of reality television. He’s a fan of scripted media and feels promotion of fiction authors is the only hope to stem the reality tv tide. To that end, the MP has dispatched his emissary, Alien Jones, to answer questions from self-published authors and in the process, make Earth a smarter place one question at a time. Alien Jones truly believes in this mission, and isn’t doing it just because the Mighty Potentate has threatened to vaporize him if he abandons his assignment before BQB’s writing career is off the ground.
The Yeti – An international war criminal and fuzzy snow monster, The Yeti is currently imprisoned deep in the bowels of the Bookshelf Battle Compound. However, BQB isn’t completely heartless and allows the big lug out once a week to watch Scandal. Alien Jones brings the bean dip.
Dr. Hugo Von Science – A distinguished professor of science at Science University, Dr. Hugo is this blog’s science correspondent and holds patents on over a bazillion inventions. We’re fairly certain he might be plotting a global conquest in his spare time, but his generally goodnatured demeanor covers up his underlying intentions well.
There you go. That’s the blog in a nutshell. It’s a labor of love for me, and it’s enjoyed daily by 3.5 people, one of whom is my Aunt Gertrude.
(There are some subsidiary, occasional characters. Uncle Hardass, the ghost of my grumpy uncle, shows up once in awhile to tell me to give up all of my hopes and dreams of becoming a writer and get a job at the salt mines. The Funky Hunks are a rap group I used to belong to and they show up now and then too. Oh, and a whole slew of tiny book characters live on my magic bookshelf).
Don’t get me started on Bookshelf Q. Battledog.
I don’t believe the subsidiaries will get involved but you never know. 31 days means I need to come up with a lot of ideas to keep a story going.
8) You had me until you said you have 3.5 readers. Doesn’t seem worth it.
“3.5 Readers” is an ongoing, inside joke for this blog. In the beginning, I really did only have 3.5 readers. But I pressed forward and now I have more. Like any blog, I have up days and down days. I’d say on a good day I get anywhere around 30-70 hits.
Views are often double, sometimes triple, the hit count and I believe this is because people who do find this blog like it enough to stick around and read some more.
At any rate, I’ll do what I can to make this a fun, month long Zombie fiesta. On my own, I’m going to be writing about The Walking Dead and the new Fear the Walking Dead and overall, if this works out, it’s just going to be 31 days of zombies.
9) What’s in it for you?
Cross promotion, basically. If you enjoy what you see here, I hope you’ll do want you can to point folks to my ramblings. Not required, of course. That’s about it.
10) So now what?
At this point, I’d just like to get the ball rolling. I’m starting early because to recruit 31 people to respond to a daily ongoing story is going to be like herding cats.
Right now, I’d just like to see who’s interested enough to let me know. If you want in, Tweet me @bookshelfbattle or tell me in the comments here.
You can send me a private message on Twitter too. Just tweet me to let me know you sent it so it doesn’t get lost in the mass of spam I get from folks trying to sell me timeshares, miracle ointments, and **Cough cough*** self published books.
I’d say by mid-August, if I can wrangle enough authors to be interested in this, then I’ll be able to see who’s who, what’s what and come up with better questions that would apply to various authors.
If it’s a go, I’d like to get questions to you late August, or September and have 31 posts in the can by the time October rolls around.
But then again, this could be a dumb idea.
If it fizzles out and goes nowhere, then hey, I tried. You’ve got to try, right?
Feel free to share with anyone you think would be interested. If I see enough interest, I’ll start getting in touch with folks with formal instructions at the end of the summer.
Leave me your thoughts, 3.5.
Until next time, this has been Bookshelf Q. Battler and Video Game Rack Fighter, signing off:
Before he became BQB’s Pop Culture Detective, Jake Hatcher was a down and out boxer forced by the evil Mugsy McGillicuddy to take a dive, thus tanking his chance at the big time, not to mention his budding romance with singer Peaches LeMay.
When Jake tries to escape his past by enlisting, he gets a second chance at the greatness he missed out on when he’s recruited by General George S. Patton, President Roosevelt, and Pre-CIA Agent Carmichael to take on the most daring mission in the history of warfare:
Infiltrate Das Fuhrerbunker and punch Adolf Hitler in the face before an equally skilled puncher sent by the Russians can.
Why? Assassination attempts by his own men have left Hitler paranoid in the final days of World War II. He’s banned all staff from carrying weapons, leaving him the only armed individual in the bunker.
No guns. No knives. Nothing.
Thus, Uncle Sam needs a man whose weapon is his fist.
Is this a viable novel idea? Would you want to read a book about Hitler getting punched in the face?
The first three proposed chapters and outline of the rest:
Hate to do it, you all know how cheap I am, but I’m thinking about opening up the ole wallet and letting the moths fly out to get some banner photos.
What I’m thinking about:
Banner images that could be used as the header photo on this site, plus on Twitter and Facebook.
Probably through 99 designs.
Possible ideas:
1) As you know, Alien Jones and I allow the Yeti out of his cage once a week to watch Scandal. It’s our special Scandal night. The three of us eat chips and dip and talk about Olivia’s latest adventures.
The image would be a nerd to represent myself sitting on a couch between the Yeti and Alien Jones with a TV in front of us.
Should my main squeeze Video Game Rack Fighter also be on the couch? Could be cool, could be crowded. Cuz then, do I have to add Dr. Hugo Von Science, Uncle Hardass and other subsidiary characters?
2) Not exactly Star Wars but a Star Wars – esque poster where a nerd, that would be me, is in some kind of action pose, holding a ray gun or something, Video Game Rack Fighter clutching me….Dr. Hugo and Alien Jones have my back, the Yeti looms large ready to eat me or something.
3) Maybe just my bookshelf with battles going on it. A bunch of books and little characters running around on the shelves attacking each other.
Which one of these ideas do you like and do you have any others, 3.5 Readers?
Oh what the hell, I’ll just toss it all out there and you tell me what you think:
Part 1
Hatcher displays heroic punching skills in North Africa and Major Roundtree wants to know how he learned to punch
Part 2 – December 1941
Back to late 1930s where Hatcher moves to LA, fails as an actor, becomes a prize fighter known as The Jersey Jabber and is really good
But Mugsy McGillicuddy forces Hatcher to take dive after dive in favor of fighters he backs, threatening to hurt Hatcher’s girlfriend, up and coming singer Peaches LeMay if he doesn’t go along
Peaches doesnt know whats going on and dumps Hatcher, thinking he’s a bum for not standing up to Mugsy
Hatcher after going from “The Jersey Jabber” to “Take a Dive Dan” gets pissed, stands up for himself, beats the ever loving crap out of Mugsy’s fighter.
On the run from Mugsy, Hatcher hides out in a club run by Step Aside Clyde, Peaches’ Manager in the music game.
There’s been a rivalry between Hatcher and Clyde over Peaches’ affections. Hatcher tells Clyde he has his blessing but he goofed and he needs to go on the lam and Clyde needs to protect Peaches from Mugsy retribution
In his car, Hatcher hears FDR’s “Day of Infamy” speech, decides Mugsy won’t be able to get him if he enlists in the Army.
Part 3
1944 – Before DDay – England
General George S. Patton, who swears early and often in outrageous and hilarious ways, not because I’d write him that way but because that’s historically how he was, demands three US soldiers, each having displayed expert punching skills in the field of battle, be brought to him.
Patton demands each soldier punch him in the face.
Soldier 1 does. Nothing. Patton calls him a girl.
Same with 2.
Hatcher knocks Patton off his feet.
Thus Patton selects Hatcher for a special mission.
Part 4 – Laying Out Operation Fuhererpunschen – April 1945
There is a secret meeting with only: Hatcher, Patton, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and the cunning/ruthless Agent Carmichael, who is in the process of starting the CIA and is essentially one of the US’ early intelligence agents.
A mole in Hitler’s operation has informed Carmichael that due to previous assasination attempts, Hitler is hiding in a bunker.
For security purposes, Hitler is the only one allowed to have a gun in this bunker. No one, not even his closest associates, are allowed to be armed in the bunker.
Thus if no weapons are allowed, the only way to take out Hitler is to infiltrate the bunker and punch Hitler in the face.
Patton, who historically lead the US Tank operations, agrees to secure a German Panzer tank in battle.
Hatcher, Sam, Larry, and Dag will don Nazi uniforms.
Agent Carmichael’s mole, Fraulein (no last name yet) super hot German chick is a trusted Nazi secretary and will ride into Berlin with Hatcher’s tank crew
They will bring Joseph Tsang (who we know later becomes Ms. Tsang’s father, Hatcher’s present day landlord)
Tsang will pose as an emmisary of Japanese Emperor Hirohito, delivering a special message for Hitler’s eyes only.
Tsang objects to being forced into this mission because he’s Chinese, not Japanese. Patton, being super racist, says close enough.
Fraulein will vouch for the crew to actual Nazis and because she is so trusted, will be able to gain access to Hitler’s bunker for them.
Part 5 – The Operation Itself
Once in Hitler’s bunker:
Hatcher must punch various Nazis, each selected to guard Hitler based on their own high level of punching skills.
Carmichael has explained that Hitler must be taken alive so that he can be studied to determine why he is so evil so that future evil world leaders can be identified and eliminated.
However, the Russians have sent their own puncher. Hatcher must not only punch various punching Nazis but also the aptly nicknamed Comrade Clobberitsky, sent by Stalin to punch and kidnap Hitler so the Russians can study him not to bring good to the world, but so that they can learn how to be more evil.
I haven’t decided if Fraulein No Name doublecrosses Hatcher or not but either way Hatcher will totally get all up in that.
Part 6 – The Aftermath
Hatcher delivers a knocked out and thoroughly punched Hitler to Carmichael and Patton.
However, when Hatcher punched Hitler, he did so with such furious force that Hitler’s oddball mustache got stuck to Hatcher’s fist.
Hatcher keeps the stache, thinking it will come in handy.
Turns out it does.
Historically, FDR died of natural causes in early April 1945, sadly just a couple weeks shy of seeing Berlin fall in late April.
Historically, Hitler commited suicide in later April rather than be captured.
However, this novel argues that the suicide was just a story to cover up that Hitler was, in fact, punched, kidnapped, and taken to a lab to be studied.
Historically, Patton died in a car accident in Germany in December 1945 while overseeing the post-war occupation efforts.
The novel will claim that Agent Carmichael went off the rails and wrongly feared Hatcher might talk publicly.
Hatcher and his team are falsely imprisoned in Germany.
FDR and Patton, the only ones who know of the mission, are outraged by Carmichael’s chicanery and attempt to have Hatcher freed.
Carmichael has grown too big for his britches. He has FDR and Patton assassinated and covers it all up (this is just fictional, of course).
Hatcher and team stage a daring breakout from the German prison.
In a final showdown, Hatcher informs Carmichael he’s stashed Hitler’s mustache and will reveal it to the world as proof that Hitler’s not really dead, that Carmichael must back off and allow him to live a normal life.
This sets the stage for a third novel in which Carmichael arrives in present day 2015 (probably damn 2016 or 2017 by the time I get to it) and squares off against Hatcher in an epic fight over Hitler’s mustache.
I realize this is a delicate dance. Handled badly, it could be horribly offensive. Handled well, it could be fun.
I submit that if Abraham Lincoln can be a vampire hunter, then Hatcher can punch Hitler in the face.
Surely there would be a BQB note at the end informing people it’s all tongue and cheek and they should not believe this happened because, you know, people are dumb now and believe anything.
OK 3.5 readers, does this suck or not? Let me have it.
Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015 All Rights Reserved
And then after Roundtree asks how Hatcher learned to throw a punch like that, the novel would go back to Hatcher’s days as a prize fighter, how he had a shot at being a winner but the mob forced him to take a dive, how he’d always wanted to redeem himself and finally gets the chance to do so when he’s recruited for a secret mission to punch Hitler in the face.
It’s kind of a dose of Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter in rewriting history in a fun yet semi-serious manner.
This is all top secret stuff the government doesn’t want you to know so luckily only 3.5 people read this damn thing.
Your feedback as to if this is a viable novel is welcome. As always, if you see problems, tell me.
Tucked snugly in my waistband and hidden under my tank top, Betsy was my only back-up.
The leader dismounted his horse and pointed his sword at me, bidding me to reach for the sky.I wasn’t in a position to argue.
“I am Amal Al-Karim,”the man said as he removed the scarf that once covered his mouth, revealing a bushy black beard.“Son of Imran, descendant of a tribe that traces its roots in this land to the 7th Century.”
Silence.They were all waiting on me.
“I’m Hatcher,”I replied.“Jake Hatcher.Son of Gus.I’m from Bayonne.”
“Hatcher, Son of Gus,”Amal said.“You’re not a German.”
“I should say not,”I said.“In fact, there’s some egg on your face there, chief, because my boys and I are here to make the Germans go boom boom for ya’ so if you’ll take a hike we’ll be on our way as soon as we can.”
Amal walked around to my other side, studying me as if I were some kind of puzzle.Little did he know I wasn’t that deep.
“You’re not a Frenchman.”
“What tipped you off?”I asked.“That we shot at you a couple of times before giving up?”
Ouch.Yeah, I know.Low blow.The whole situation in France and her greater territories was a real, to borrow a modern phrase, “shit show.”
You had your Vichy French.They collaborated with Hitler’s goons.Then you had the Free French, the Frenchies who answered to the so-called government in exile under Charles Degaulle.There was a whole French underground movement that fought the Germans valiantly.
The Vichy French were collaborating with the Germans in North Africa at the time as well, though I heard it wasn’t unheard of for the occasional Frenchman to switch sides once the Allies came rolling in.
“And you’re not British,”Amal said.“Where is this, ‘Bayonne?’”
“You’re looking at a bonafide Stars and Stripes waving American, Abu.”
“Amal.”
“Whatever.”
“Why are Americans here?”
“That’s a helluva yarn,”I said.“Long story short, the Japanese bombed us, the Japanese and the Nazis are buddies, so now we hate the Germans and so now we’re here to make the Nazis go bye bye.”
“The French as well?”
“Only if they get in the way,”I said.
Amal looked around at a few of his men.I was outnumbered and like the Queen of England after a night with Prince Phillip, screwed royally.
“Surely these lands will return to us when this war is over?”
“Pbbbhhhhht…”
That was my only response.I tried to stall but the breathe slipped out of my lips like I was a leaky balloon.
“You know, Armando…”
“Amal.”
“Right,”I said.“I’m just a tiny cog in a much larger machine.The brass doesn’t fill me in on the big picture questions like that.They tell me where to go and who to shoot and I do it.You know how it is.”
Without warning, Amal grabbed my knogan and slammed it up against the tank tread.
“YOU WILL ANSWER ME!”
“All right!”I said.“Jesus.I’m not a betting man, but I’d say when the dust settles, the French will be calling the shots in these parts again.”
Amal raised his sword and I felt a few drips of my own urine leak out in terror as the sun’s rays glistened off the shiny steel.
Me?Jake Hatcher?Get separated from my squash in the name of French imperialism?
No thank you.
I reached into my pants and pulled out my weapon.
The other one.
Betsy had six shots on her and I was going to use all of them.
SHOT 1 – Into Amal’s foot, putting him in so much pain that he was forced to release me.
SHOT 2 – The head of the palooka who charged at me screaming various mumbo jumbo words I didn’t understand.
SHOT 3 – A fella’s head, stopping him before he could jam his damn sword into my neck.
SHOT 4 – Some nimrod that tried to slice my stomach open.
SHOTS 5 and 6 – Two galoots that made a run for me, each dispatched in quick secession.
I was out and Betsy was back in my waistband for safekeeping.
Amal and a few of his goons circled me as the others watched.Why they all didn’t just jump me, I don’t know.Maybe it was customary to let their leader duke it out.Maybe they just thought by hanging back, it would make for a more dramatic effect.
For an injured man, Amal was pretty handy with the steel.He lunged at me and I bypassed him quickly, then introduced one of his cronies to the business end of my fist.
Yet another attacker screamed some gibberish and slashed away at me only to meet my left hook, followed up by a sweet right cross.
These fellas were hungry and I had an unlimited supply of knuckle sandwiches.
Amal flipped his sword around, performing various tricks until finally I delivered a clothesline punch right to his kisser.
He hit the ground like a ton of bricks.I let my fists fly, one by one knocking the sword swinging madmen off their feet with my fists of fury.
Amal was back up.Once more, he raised his sword and was about to bring it down when….BLAKATKATKAT!!!!
A barrage of machine gun fire ripped him to shreds.A dozen or so more palookas were cut down until the rest of them hopped on their high horses and got while the getting was good.
Like an old Western, the cavalry had come at the last minute.Except they were rapidly approaching in the form of ten tanks with British markings.
I’d never been happier to see the Union Jack.
They pulled up to a halt.The hatch on one of them opened and a man with a handlebar mustache popped out.
“I say,”the Brit said.“What the bloody hell are you yanks doing out here in the middle of nowhere all by yourselves?”
The hatch of my tank popped open and Dag shoved his stupid head out, only to loudly shout, “God save the Queen!”
“I love you guys!”my mechanic continued as he jumped out and walked over.Sam and Larry soon followed.
“I love tea,”Dag continued.“I love crumpets.I love your muffins.”
The Brit came out to meet us and I answered his original question after shaking his hand.
“Good help is hard to find.”
“Yes,”the Brit said.“And my good man, you are…”
“Hatcher,”I said.“Sergent Jake Hatcher.Third U.S. Army.”
“Major Nigel Roundtree, at your service.You’re a bit far from General Patton.”
“Yeah,”I said, pointing at my rig, and then at Dag.
“Lousy ride…lousier mechanic.”
“Hey!”
“No worries, old boy,” Roundtree said as his men began exiting their tanks.“My men will have a look at it.You chaps look famished.”
“I could eat,”Sam said.
“Come, come,”my new friend said as he put his arm around me.“We’ll have a drink and get you fixed up.”
“No arguments here,”I said.
“But Hatcher, you must tell me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Where on Earth did you learn to throw a punch like that?”
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