Monthly Archives: July 2015

Jul 14 2015
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Movies

Comic Con 2015 – Suicide Squad Trailer

Hey 3.5 Readers,

BQB here with some thoughts on the Suicide Squad trailer:

The official story is this trailer was only intended for Comic Con but DC decided to release it because nerds had pirated it and distributed it so they figured they might as well put out a quality version.

If you’re a nerd who isn’t in the know, the Suicide Squad is basically DC’s version of Dirty Dozen.

Based on a DC comic series of the same name, the government forces/recruits the DC villains (mostly Batman’s enemies) to use their evil powers for good, sending them on high-risk, practically suicidal missions.

Overall, the footage looks great and Jared Leto, in my opinion, looks like he’s going to be a better Joker than I’d originally given him credit for.

Like most geeks, I’m a big Harley Quinn fan.  If you’re not a nerd, Harley is the Joker’s girlfriend who got her start in the 1990’s Batman: The Animated Series.

Why do we love Harley?  Because she’s so hilariously over the top.  Now, I get that when there’s an attempt to make a serious movie, she can’t be running around in a full harlequin outfit with a massive novelty hammer to bonk people over the head with but come on, at least do the “Harley” voice.

Judging by this footage, they movie’s going with a half-powered Harley.  Harley at 50%.  She’s sort of got the voice a little, she’s a bit out there, but she’s not bouncing off the walls.

All I can say is if she doesn’t say “Hiya Puddin!” or call the Joker “Mr. J,” there’s going to be a nerd revolt.

DC’s definitely trying to pull a Marvel.  Dawn of Justice and Suicide Squad both come out next year and assumably it will all lead up to the Justice League giving evildoers what for.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Jul 14 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: The Wrong Guy – Part 9

Previously on Pop Culture Mysteries…

And now the Pop Culture Mysteries continue…

Myron and I were buried in a divot of crunched steal.  When I hit the roof of a parked tax cab with my back, the whole enchilada just wrapped around us like blanket.

The jump was a risky move, but one that paid off.shutterstock_229113658

My new sidekick was hugging me tighter than a high school senior trying to cop a feel off his prom date on the dance floor.

“Get off me, pervert!”

We jumped out of the wreckage and a number of looky-lous watched us with our tongues hanging out.  I’m not sure what attracted their attention more, the fact that I was walking away from a twelve story fall or the fact that I was waltzing down the street, a shotgun in one hand, a captive’s arm in the other, while a pair of gangsters took pot shots at us from the window.

“We’ve gotta move,”  I said.

“My car,”  Myron said as he pointed to the tiniest piece of crap I’d ever seen.  An electronic automobile.  Little, beige, and looked like it could fit a thousand clowns.

But that day, it only had two.

“This is a car?”  I asked as I forced myself into the passenger seat.

“Excellent gas mileage,”  Myron said.  “Great for the environment.  Barely leaves an eco-footprint.”

Sometimes I wondered why I bothered speaking to anyone.  I only understood half of what anyone had to say to me.

“Where’s Henneman?”  I asked.

“Why do you want to know?”  Myron asked as he sped down the street.  “Why’d you lie to Fernando?  I never cheated anyone named Frank.”

“Your buddy pumped my buddy full of lead.  I want to know why.”

Myron’s face turned grim.

“I’m sorry,”  he said.  “Diego called Craig.  Told him he was going to give have us disemboweled and beaten with our own entrails.”

“Serves you right.”

“Craig flipped out but we’d already spent the money, you know?  So he comes up with this idea, that he’s going to start knocking over stores until he comes up with the money to pay Diego back.”

“Sounds like a real rocket scientist.”

“I told him there was no way you could rob enough stores to come up with ten grand in time Diego would probably just take the money and kill us anyway.”

A barrage of bullets streaked across the compact car’s backside.

I looked in the rear view mirror.  Fernando and Brujo were gaining on us in a pick-up truck.

“Get the lead out junior.”

I tapped on the window in the roof.

“This thing open?”

Myron hit a switch and the glass retracted.  I popped out of the roof, pointed Wanda at the truck, and filled it full of buckshot.

The truck swerved and sideswiped a whole line of parked cars.

I reloaded Wanda, popped out of the roof hatch, and gave the gangsters another helping, this time directing it at one of their front tires.

The truck swerved out and flipped over.  It was a magnificent wreck.

We drove a little longer then I told Myron to stop the car.  He pulled over in front of a donut shop.

“Aw man,”  Myron said.  “That was awesome, the way you wasted those guys.  We’re a good team.”

I pulled out a pair of cuffs, slapping one bracelet around Myron’s wrist and the other around the steering wheel.

Then I grabbed the keys out of the ignition and threw them out the window.

“MAN, WHAT THE EXPLETIVE DELETED?”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  Myron invoked a derogatory word used for a sexual act.

“Tell me where Craig is.”

“Expletive deleted you.”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  You get the picture.

“I’ll get the keys for you if you tell me.”

“Fine,”  Myron said.  “Sometimes he holes up with his girl, Karen.  She’s a stripper at the Cotton Candy Alligator.   That’s all I know.”

“You got a phone?”

“Yeah.”

I reached into Myron’s pants pocket, grabbed it, and dialed 9-1-1.  Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?

“9-1-1.”

“Uh, yes, hello doll face?  Are you the gal I talked to before?”

“To what call are you referring sir?”

“What are you doing?”  Myron asked.

“Never mind,”  I said to the operator.  “Listen, sweetheart, I need you to report to the coppers that there’s a fella by the name of Myron locked up nice and tight in a real shit box of a car outside Delroy’s Donuts just off of Hollywood Boulevard.”

“I’m sure the officers can find it.”

“Well it’s a donut shop, darling, I’m sure they can, oh and hey listen hon, tell them this twerp’s running some kind of scam out of his apartment.  Bagging up baby powder and selling it to criminals and so forth.”

“I’ll make note of that sir.  What is your name?”

I thought about it.

“Sinatra,”  I said.  “Frank Sinatra.  If you’ll excuse me ma’am, Dino and I have to talk to a couple of showgirls.”

I hanged up and tossed Myron’s phone out the window.

“Real funny, man,”  Myron said.  “OK you got me, haha.  Let me go.”

“Fernando was right,”  I said.  “You are a dumb ass.  You may not have conned One-eyed Frank but I saw your operation back there.  How many scumbags were you going to try to pass off baby powder to?”

“So what?”  Myron said.  “Who cares if a bunch of gang bangers get robbed?”

“Normally I wouldn’t,”  I said.  “But since an innocent man was caught in the crossfire, now I do.  See you on the flip side, Myron.”

“Hey!”

I got out of the car and strolled down the street.

“Hey!  HEY!  YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

It was time to head on over to the strip club.  Oh, the things I do in the name of justice.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015

All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 13 2015
2 Comments
Movies

Comic Con 2015 – Batman vs. Superman – Dawn of Justice (Featuring Wonder Woman)

This trailer shows more of what we can expect.  Batman fears Superman’s power and vows to destroy him.  Plus, our first peak at Wonder Woman.

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Jul 13 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: The Wrong Guy – Part 8

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

I turned around to find two latinos, gangsters presumably.

I’d like to note I didn’t assume they were gangsters just because they were latino, but rather because of the heaters they were carrying.

Sorry, but Ms. Donnelly has advised me I have to be specific about these things so as to not upset today’s modern reader shutterstock_225997414-2(even though I only have 3.5 of them).

The one in the middle, the leader I presumed, was carrying a .45 Magnum.  That caliber of gun didn’t exist back in my day, but I’d seen them in a few movies over the past year and had been dying to get my hands on one of them.

(Not that it could ever replace Betsy, of course.)

The man in charge wore a long checkered shirt and he pulled a pair of sunglasses to the top of his head so he could stare the wannabe Rastafarian in the eye.

“Fernando!  So good to see you.  I was just about to call you.”

“Myron, you dumbass.  I can’t believe you’re still here.”

To Fernando’s right was a giant ox of a man, more like Mount Everest with eyes than anything.

“Told you, boss.”

“You did,”  Fernando said as he pulled out a big bulging billfold.  He pulled off a twenty-spot and handed it to his associate.

“Brujo and I had a bet,”  Fernando explained.  “I said there was no way you’d be stupid enough to still be here after that shit you and your boy pulled on Diego and Brujo said you were, in fact, that stupid.”

“Guys,”  Myron said.  “Can we all just take a deep breathe, have a seat, and talk about this?  I’ll put on a pot of coffee and we’ll really hash this thing out.  Whaddya say?”

“I say you start telling me why you were dumb enough to sell Diego a bag of baby powder for ten grand and think there wouldn’t be any consequences.”

Fernando looked at me.

“Who’re you?”

“Looks like a cop,”  Brujo said.

The situation called for some fast thinking.  Luckily, there wasn’t a private dick in LA with a speedier brain than mine.

“Nah,”  I said.  “Nah, I ‘aint no cop, see?”

I relinquished my grip on Myron’s neck, allowing him to stand freely.  I gripped Wanda’s handle and propped her barrels up against my shoulder.

Gangsters.  Sixty years since I’d been in the game and their modus operandi hadn’t changed a bit.  One bad guy hoodwinks another bad guy.  One bad guy says another bad guy owes him money and threatens to outfit him for a pair of cement shoes. It’s the same old song and dance number.

“This numbskull flim flammed my boss too, see?”

“What?”  Myron protested.  “That’s a lie!”

I backhanded Myron across the mouth.  “Shut your piehole ya’ mook ya or there’s another one where that came from!”

“Shit Myron,”  Fernando said with a grin.  “You and Craig are the two dumbest white boys in town.  Who’d you piss off now?”

Crickets.  Myron kept his mouth shut.

“Whose your boss?”  Fernando asked.

“What’re you writing a book or something?”

Fernando looked at Brujo.

“One-eyed Frank.”

“That’s it,”  Fernando said as he gestured toward me with his piece.   “One-eyed Frank is so paranoid he always tells his people to keep their mouths shut.”

Sometimes being a private dick means making a split-second decision and running with it, letting the chips fall where they may.

“Yeah,”  I said.  “Yeah, I work for One-eyed Frank.  Franky the Cyclops we call him.  What’s it to you?”

Fernando grabbed me by the neck and Brujo pressed the cold steel of his .45 up against my jaw.

“I hate One-eyed Frank.  Him and all you racist Aryan Brotherhood expletive deleted…”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  I try to keep this blog PG-13, but if you must know, Jake’s original unedited case file stated that Fernando accused the Aryan Brotherhood of fornicating with their mothers.

“I ought to blow your head off right now, chop you up and send you back to that eyepatch wearing expletive deleted…

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: More alleged mother fornication.

“…in pieces.”

I’d made a mistake by saying I worked for One-eyed Frank without knowing who he was, but it was too late to back peddle.

Aryans.  Modern day Nazis.  As the 3.5 readers of this series are aware, there’s no one who hates Nazis more than yours truly.

Come to think of it, punching Adolf Hitler in the face had been the greatest accomplishment of my life so far, even though my own government had sworn me to secrecy on the details of Operation Fuhrerpunschen.

So I didn’t like being accused of being one of those sickos, but I wasn’t in a position to argue.

Fernando let me go and backed off.

“Ahh, but the last thing Diego wants is a war.  I kill one of Frank’s guys, he kills one of ours, it all turns into a whole thing.  Who has time for it?”

“I’ve never met this man in my life and I don’t know anyone named Frank, one eye or two eyes or whatever,”  Myron added.

I slapped Myron again.  I was starting to enjoy it.

“What did I tell you jerk-o?  Keep yer yapper shut or I’ll shut it for you, see?”

“Is that true?”  Fernando asked.  “Are you bullshitting me now?”

“Nah,”  I said.  “This guy’s a degenerate liar, see?  Sold One-eyed Frank a bag of baby butt powder and told him it was one hundred percent pure snow.  Frank’s madder than a mental patient and out for blood.  Of course this turkey won’t admit it.”

Fernando tucked his hand cannon into his waistband, then grabbed Myron’s hand and slammed it down on the nightstand.

Brujo flipped open a butterfly knife.

In Myron’s eyes, I could see an ungodly fear.

“All right, check it out,”  Fernando said to me.  “Diego wants his head but it’s cool if you want to take a few fingers back to Frank as proof that Myron’s dead.  How many you want?”

“Guys, I just want to make it clear that Craig and I realize the error of our ways and if you give us some more time, I’m sure we could come up with a payment plan that would satisfy…”

“Shut up,”  Fernando said.  “Start choppin’ Brujo.”

“Eh,”  I said as I shrugged my shoulders.  “I don’t need this galoot’s digits, boys.  Frank trusts me.  You two have fun.  I’ll get out of your hair.”

I whistled a jaunty tune as I walked out of Myron’s bedroom and made my way to the door.

It felt like justice to me.  Myron was obviously an imbecile who’d nosedived into the criminal underworld without a true understanding of its rules, or rather, lack thereof.  He was about to learn the hard way that the only rule is that if you piss of the wrong guy, you’re going to end up fish food.  (Or worm food, depending if you’re buried at sea or in the ground.)

But then, as I put my hand on the knob, I heard Myron scream not like the man he was physically, but the little boy he was inside.

Sometimes it’s not easy being the good guy.  Being on the right side of the law means never leaving a man behind, even if he’s a poor excuse for one.

I walked back into the bedroom just as Brujo was about to slice off Myron’s thumb.

“Say fellas…”

The gangsters turned to me.

“I was just thinking, old Myron here is the only one who knows where Craig is and if we hack him to ribbons before he spills the beans then Craig might walk scott free and I don’t know about Diego but Frank sure won’t be happy.”

“He’s got a point,” Brujo advised Fernando.

“Talk,”  Fernando said.  “Where’s Craig?”

“OK! OK!”  Myron said as his eyes streamed tears.  “He’s at…”

Sweet Mitzi Gaynor’s garter belt, this kid held less water than thimble.

I wanted to catch Craig myself, not invite Mr. Medium and Mr. Extra-Large to carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

“Here, let me at him!”

I walked over to the window, opened it up, then grabbed Myron by his dreadlocks and dragged him over.

“Tell us where Henneman is or out you go!”

“Oh shit,”  Fernando said.  “Frank’s boy is hardcore!”

“I’m trying to tell you!”  Myron squealed.  “He’s hiding out at…”

Like I said, sometimes being a private dick means making a split-second decision, running with it and letting the chips fall where they may.

The human mind had an uncanny ability to explain away the unexplainable.  All day long, I’d been telling myself that my throat hadn’t really been cut the night before, that I’d dreamt the whole thing.

But I knew pain and I knew it really happened.

If I could live through having my neck opened up like a Pez dispenser, then that was certainly an advantage, to say the least.

It was time to stop denying my immortality and start embracing it.

To this day, I don’t know why I did it, but I scooped Myron up in a bear hug, turned around, and hurled us both out of a twelve story window.

The things I do just to keep myself from becoming a bad guy.

Copyright (2015) Bookshelf Q. Battler.

All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 12 2015
5 Comments
Ask the Alien

Ask the Alien – 7/12/15 – Special Guest Justin Sloan

Greetings Earth Losers!  A Happy Sunday to you all and thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules of Comic Con Cosplay to read this fine column.

(Sorry, but all 3.5 of you can’t be Daenerys Targaryen.  2.5 of you are going to have to change.)

Huzzah! My favorite Game of Thrones characters is doing great and...uh oh.

Huzzah! My favorite Game of Thrones character is doing great and…uh oh.

Speaking of, Bookshelf Q. Battler, a Game of Thrones fanboy if there ever was one, not only plotzed, but passed out and had to be resuscitated by the Yeti when he received this tweet:

Yes, that’s none other than Justin Sloan, a writer for Telltale Games, who’s worked on the Game of Thrones video game, as well as Tales from the Borderlands.

He’s an optioned screen writer, a USMC veteran, and a recent guest on the Self Publishing Podcast with Johnny, Sean and Dave:

Read more about that podcast on the Sterling and Stone site.

BQB informs me he enjoyed that podcast thoroughly, because it explains how one author managed to rise above the odds and land a sweet, sweet career as video game writer.  You don’t get there without rolling up your sleeves and putting a little elbow grease in, folks, and Justin can certainly attest to that.

(Plus, Dave doesn’t even complain about the lousy service at Target and Olive Garden once in the entire show.)

Teddy Bears in Monsterland

Teddy Bears in Monsterland

Anyway, long story short, BQB reached out to Justin to inform him he enjoyed his appearance on SPP and Justin, class act that he is, requested that one of his books be pitted against a classic on bookshelfbattle.com

After reviewing Justin’s Amazon Author Page, I, Alien Jones, humble intergalactic correspondent, will now pit one of his works against a classic and decide which one is better.

Teddy Bears in Monsterland vs. Hamlet

Hamlet.  It’s considered by scholars of English literature to be the quintessential piece of writing that everyone should read at least once in their lifetime.

It’s routinely assigned in high school English classes and actors believe it is a great achievement when cast in a production of the Bard’s seminal work.

But, it’s severely lacking in the teddy bears vs. monsters department.

I’ve studied the entire play and not once do I see:

POLONIUS:  Come come, my son, for your ship doth prepare to embark and thou hast yet to encounter a teddy bear with magical powers.

LAERTES:  Fi on thee, oh father!  For I hath witnessed many bow tied teddy bears able to harness the power of the supernatural for the purposes of dispatching monsters most foul!

A great oversight on Shakespeare’s part, if you ask me.  I don’t know how he wasn’t laughed out of the industry for such an epic fail.

WINNER:  Teddy Bears in Monsterland (Book 1 of the Teddy Defenders Series, Recommended for Children ages 7-12)

Justin also mentioned that out of all of his works, he’s partial to Back By Sunrise, a Magical Children’s Fantasy Novel.

As an alien being with a superior intellect (which doesn’t take much when you’re around humans), I’m fairly certain Back by Sunrise would soundly defeat The Chronicles of Narnia.  Really, all a competitor has to do is offer Edmund a piece of candy and he’ll gladly sell out his entire family.

Are you an aspiring scribe?  Justin has some books about writing that you might want to check out as well.

Finally, and avert your eyes Game of Thrones fans if you don’t want to read a SPOILER but, come on Justin.  Seriously.  What’s next for Jon Snow?  Is there a resurrection afoot?  Maybe the Red Woman works a little hocus pocus?  Perhaps a little eye of newt gets dropped into a potion and Jon’s back to his old mopey know nothing self again?

Come on.  Spill the beans. The secret will be safe here.  Only 3.5 people read this blog anyway, and one of them is Bookshelf Q. Battler’s aunt.

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 an inquiry for the Esteemed Brainy One? Tweet it to @bookshelfbattle or leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com. If he likes your question, he might even promote your book, blog, or other project in his answer.

Green alien image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 12 2015
2 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Future Ideas for Pop Culture Mysteries

Happy Sunday, 3.5 Readers.

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB's exceptionally attractive henchwoman...er, attorney.

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s exceptionally attractive henchwoman…er, attorney.

Here’s the deal.

In my personal life, I’m busier than a porcupine at a pin cushion convention.

If I get an hour a day to write, I consider myself lucky.

That’s why blogging works for me.  Every day, a short daily post, and then I move on.

That’s also why Jake, Ms. Donnelly and I are doing so well with Pop Culture Mysteries.  Ms. Donnelly delivers, Jake reports, I post.  Who could ask for anything more?

Here’s some ideas for the future.  Since you’re my 3.5 readers, you tell me if any, all, or none of these are appealing:

#1 – A Spin-Off Site

I’m mulling over the possibility of creating a spin-off Pop Culture Mysteries site.  Already secured the site and everything.  It’d be all Jake all the time.

PRO:  Jake gets his own digs.  More Internet presence for the Bookshelf Battle goodness.

CON:  It’s been an uphill battle in the snow with no shoes on to get people to feast their peepers on this site.  The idea of splitting visits and views among two sites rather than just bring them all here worries me.

But if I did create a spin-off site:

#2 – Both Sites Work Together 

As said above, I have less free time than a cat a yarn ball factory.

Jake and I would set up the Pop Culture Mystery posts here on bookshelfbattle.com.  You, the 3.5 readers, would give us advice, feedback, criticism, ideas to make them better.

In fact, as the gumshoe and I consider directions the various plot lines of the series will take in the future, we can already see some things we’d like to change in what’s been posted so far.

(Jake and I have still yet to meet in person.  Ms. Donnelly handles all our correspondence, of course.)

Am I going to fully rely on you 3.5 readers?  No.  In the future, I hope to retain the help of an editor.  But, for those interested in self-publishing, this is a chance to see how the sausage is made.

The posts on bookshelfbattle.com would essentially be rough drafts.

After Jake and I get the time to flush them out (with your feedback), I’d post the polished posts on the Pop Culture Mysteries spin-off site to be preserved for the ages.

Which brings us to:

#3 – Seasons, Arcs and Books

Multiple posts would be put together on the spin-off site as seasons.  Each season would follow Hatcher through different story arcs.

And each season would end a book that would be sold on Amazon (perhaps even other book distribution platforms in the future).

For example, we’re in season one right now.  It’s an introductory season where we are learning who the characters are.  I hope to end it with… Mr. Devil Man (read a sneak peak of the first chapter here).

The books would be stand-alone, meaning a) you could buy it, read it, and understand it without ever having read the site posts but b) hopefully book readers would enjoy it enough that they’d go in search of more Bookshelf Battle goodness by visiting the sites (this one and the spin-off), thus increasing platform traffic.

I foresee a lot of audience interactivity:

  • Self-publishing nerds advise Jake and I here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
  • Mystery nerds enjoy Jake’s stories on the spin-off blog
  • Book nerds enjoy Jake’s books sold on Amazon.
  • I enjoy the profits because Ms. Donnelly is one hell of a lawyer and Jake doesn’t bother to read the fine print.

Speaking of…

#4 – Putting Money Into This

Relax.  I’m talking about my money.

I don’t want to knock self-publishers, writers and other artists who rattle their electronic tin cup to ask for donations.

Some people have accomplished great deeds doing that.  The Veronica Mars and Super Troopers 2 campaigns being examples that come to mind.

Personally, I find it icky so I’m not going to do that.

I look at this as a business and if it’s to go forward I need to put some skin in the game.  What does that mean?  I don’t know.

Enlisting some editing help, character artwork, images etc.

In business, the best strategy is to put out based on what’s coming in.

In other words:

  • You build a lemonade stand.
  • Everyone on your street stops by.  You make a second pitcher of lemonade.
  • Everyone in your neighborhood comes over.  You make a third pitcher.
  • Everyone in town wants your delicious lemonade.  You dump the stand and rent a storefront.
  • People in the next town over drive all the way over just to sample your tasty lemonade.  Time to invest in a second location.
  • People just can’t get enough off that sweet yellow stuff (shut up, I’m talking about lemonade).  You need to start selling franchise rights because…profit!

What you don’t want to do:

  • You build a lemonade stand.
  • Aunt Gertie says it’s the best lemonade she’s ever hand.
  • You drain your bank account, take out a high-interest loan from a loan shark, and set up a bunch of lemonade stores on the hope that people will come only to be left with a bunch of empty stores, moldy unused lemons, and two broken legs. (Damn loan sharks).

That was my longwinded way of saying that the first season or two will look like they were produced on a modest budget, but if people like the work, I’d gladly put book proceeds towards making future seasons better.

The biggest criticism of self-publishing is that it often looks cheap.  That’s somewhat understandable because these are often works produced by people on a budget, not big time studios with cash to burn.

But there’s a difference between cheap and crappy.  It’s possible to put out respectable work on a budget.

Cheap doesn’t mean your work has to look like it was packaged by a bunch of carny folk.

Take The Simpsons. The first shorts that appeared on The Tracey Ullman Show were cheap to be sure, but they made people laugh and convinced FOX to dump some money into it.  Here they are, still kicking after 26 years.

It’s all a carefully choreographed dance.  I can’t put a ton of my own money into it now in the hopes it will pay off big time later. If it doesn’t, my bill collectors aren’t going to buy “sorry, I spent all the money on my private dick” as an excuse.

But the more eyes that end up on the sites and books, the more old BQB’s wallet can be pried open, even if moths will fly out.

#5 – Conclusions 

All I’m really asking is:

  • Does this strategy sound good or bad?
  • How have Jake and I done on the series so far?  Does it seem like something worth putting more work into?

As always, thanks for listening, 3.5 readers.

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.

All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 12 2015
1 Comment
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – The Wrong Guy – Part 7

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Hatcher’s on the hunt for Craig Henneman, a stick-up man who committed a mortal sin in Hatcher’s eyes, namely, offing the guy who supplied him with alcohol.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5    Part 6

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

For a lawman, there’s nothing more unsettling than a locked door.

I’d found myself outside a slew of them in my day and each time, only God knew what was waiting for me on the other side.

And he was never in a sharing mood.

Hatcher and Betsy back together again.

Hatcher and Betsy back together again.

I was standing outside Henneman’s apartment, Wanda still resting snugly under my arm in a nondescript flower box.

Though the scumbag I was after had taken his ID back when he rifled through my pockets earlier, I remembered the address with the help of my photographic memory.

A good memory is just one of the many traits a man has to hone in order to become an investigator of my caliber.

I rapped three times on the door.

“Delivery!”  I barked.  “I have a delivery for a Mr. Craig Henneman.”

Come out and get delivered to your maker, you rat bastard.

Hearing nothing, I pulled out my tension wrench and lock pick, two tools any good locksmith has on him.

I inserted my two little helpers and searched for that special lineup of pins that would gain me entry to the home of a murderer.

Snap.  The bolt turned and I was in.

No need for the subterfuge any more.  I dropped the box and started clearing rooms, letting Wanda’s double-barrells to lead the way.

The bathroom was clean.  To clarify, I’m saying it was “clean” in that there was no one hiding in there waiting to smash my coconut open with a beer bottle, not in the tidy sense.  The toilet looked and smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in the history of the world.  The only ones happy about that were the cockroaches who were using it as their own personal swimming pool.

Pretty sure I saw one of those nasties do the backstroke.

Moving on, I hit the kitchen.  No one there either.

In my LAPD days, I cleared out crapholes like this all the time.  As long as you treat every nook and cranny as if its being used for cover by some delinquent who wants to introduce you to the business end of a gun, there’s nothing to it.

I headed for the living room.  It was a mess, but a mess the local coppers would be interested in.

The coffee table was lousy with heaps of white powder.  Another hundred  or so small bags of stuff sat in a pile on the couch.

China white.  Columbian nose candy.  Big time booger sugar.

Called by any other name, it was still cocaine.

There was a bedroom off to the right.  I kicked in the door.

No one.  Nothing but trash, moldy food plates, and empty take-out containers.

It was like someone was waiting for a maid that was never going to come.

I stepped back into the living room and was about to clear the bedroom on the other side when three shots were fired through the door, the bullets narrowly missing my squash.

Wanda belched out of both barrels as I dove backward, landing on the coffee table, which smashed into splinters as it broke my fall.  The white powder went flying everywhere, turning the living room into a blizzard.

Some of it got into my mouth.  It had a fresh, pleasant smell almost like…baby powder.

Another shot.  I was flat on my back on the floor so it came nowhere near me.

I pulled two shells out of my pocket, inserted them into Wanda and cocked her with great gusto.

One more shot.

I was a firearms expert and I could tell by the sound of the blasts and the size of the holes in the door that the goon holed up in the bedroom was using my very own Betsy against me.

The sixth shot came.  The idiot was out.

“Get your ass out here and face the music, Henneman!”

The response?

“Wah gwaan, mon?!  Irie, irie!”

I sprang to my feet, kicked in the door and pointed Wanda at a fella who wasn’t the man I was looking for.

I’m not sure how to describe him.  He was white but he had these long dreadlocks, a pair of pants with a bunch of pockets and a green and yellow shirt that depicted the Jamaican flag.  I assumed his eyesight was subpar, since he squinted behind a pair of round black glasses.

I get we live in very politically correct, racially sensitive times now, the logistics of which can be hard for a fella from the 1950’s to wade through sometimes, so I’m just going to say he looked like a white guy trying to pass himself off as a black guy and hope I don’t offend Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers into flying the coop.

“Drop that piece and kick it over here.  And keep your hands where I can see ’em.”

He did as I ordered.

“You aren’t fit to have your grubby paws anywhere this six-shooter, slime ball.”

“Jah mon!  Yah come up herr actin’ the bombaclad fool!”

“Where’s Henneman?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I said.  “Craig Henneman.  He lives here.  Where is he?”

“Jah mon me yardie Craig jammin off to de Jamrock mon, the birdy fly fly away to de funkyside.”

I grabbed the weirdo by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall.

“UNHAND ME JAH FILTHY BALDHEAD!”

“TALK NORMAL!!!”

Suddenly, the clown’s accent moved from Rastafarian to clueless Californian.

“OK sir,”  he said in a shaky voice.  “I apologize for shooting at you but I hope now cooler heads can prevail and we can talk this out with some rational dialogue.”

“If you don’t tell me where your buddy is in two seconds…”

“It’s cool man, it’s cool.  He’s out there.  He’s rustling up some cash.  You can go back to Diego and tell him he’s going to get his money soon and then we can put this whole silly misunderstanding behind us.”

“Who’s Diego?”  I asked.

“You’re not here to collect for Diego?”

“No.”

From behind me, I heard the metallic sound of a hand gun slide being racked up.

“Then step aside because I am.”

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

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 11 2015
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Comic Con 2015

More out of Comic Con – Star Wars Behind the Scenes Trailer

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Jul 11 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

My Favorite Hatcher Quote Thus Far…

Dames.  It’s like the nicer you are to them, the more they want to knock you over the head.  I swear, one day I’m going to do something nice for a female and when she replies with nothing more than a “thank you,” I’m going to be so shocked that I’ll drop stone cold dead from a heart attack.

– Jake Hatcher, Pop Culture Mystery Detective

Pop Culture Mysteries:  The Wrong Guy – Part 6

To be fair, I assume there are women who feel the same way about the men in their lives.

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Jul 11 2015
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Comic Con 2015

News Out of Comic Con 7/11/15

What I’ve picked up so far through the Twitterverse…

  • New Star Wars Villains = Kylo Ren, General Hux, Captain Phasma

For more see this IGN article.

  • J Law bid a fond farewell to her Katniss character from the Hunger Games.

Fear the Walking Dead (companion series to AMC’s The Walking Dead) was released.  See it below:

https://youtu.be/3DsPdKMdWTk

According to the trailer, we learn a bit more about the zombie outbreak, namely that it is caused by some kind of virus.

You may recognize the mother of the family as Kim Dickens aka Detective Rhonda Boney from Gone Girl.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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