Monthly Archives: October 2015

Oct 29 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

And Now a Message From Some Random Jerkface

By: Some Random Jerkface, Special Guest Contributor

Hello 3.5 readers.  Some Random Jerkface here.

For awhile now, there have been some rumors going about that Bookshelf Q. Battler isn’t real, that in fact he and his compatriots are all just the product of the imagination of some random jerkface blogging on the Internet.

Poppycock, I say!

But I understand the confusion.  I am Some Random Jerkface and I do work behind the scenes as BQB’s assistant, helping him to edit and package his posts to make the Bookshelf Battle Blog a bit more presentable and eye catching for the 3.5 readers.

Unfortunately, I’ve been on vacation for the past week and well, what with limited Internet access and to be honest, more fun stuff to do, I haven’t had the chance to put as much polish on #31ZombieAuthors for BQB the past week.

That means BQB’s zompoc journal hasn’t had any funny photos, there haven’t been as many links in the author interviews, a lot of the little touches that make the blog better have been absent recently.

Sorry BQB.  But don’t worry, 3.5 readers.  When I get back I’ll polish up the past week’s worth of posts.  Thanks to the 3.5 readers for understanding and also thank you to the #31ZombieAuthors for putting up with BQB’s lazy editorial assistant, Some Random Jerkface.

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Oct 28 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 28 Interview – A. Giacomi

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FOLLOW THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR:
Today’s guest is A. Giacomi, author of the Zombie Girl Saga, which includes Eve Brenner:  Zombie Girl and a sequel, Eve Brenner: Zombie Agent.  Believe it or not, but in these books, the zombie is actually the heroine!  After being infected by a zombifying virus at an Ancient Egyptian burial site, Eve develops supernatural zombie powers.
A Canadian born writer, educator, and artist, Ms. Giacomi is also a graduate of York University.  She devours books like a bad zombie eats brains and is an all around fangirl.  Favorites include Tim Burton, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Marvel, and Star Wars.
Thanks for taking my call, A.G.
Q.  I’ve checked out a lot of zombie books this month and I have to say, your protagonist is the only zombie I’d actually root for.  Obviously, Eve is not the traditional, old-fashioned type of zombie that shuffles slowly, has no thoughts, and just shouts “GRRR!” and “ARGGH!”  Have you pretty much turned the zombie genre upside down by creating a heroic zombie?
A.  Ha ha I’m trying! I just can’t help but think zombies were people once, they can’t possibly lose their humanity all in one go! I’d like to think that some of us would fight off the virus fully taking over like Eve does…and besides a flu bug affects everyone differently…wouldn’t a zombie virus? Is it that far fetched that someone might actually fight their zombie qualities and try to use their last bit of life for some good? I think not!
Q.  Surely Eve suffers from those bloodthirsty urges that all zombies suffer from.  How does she satisfy them?  Should I be worried about her friends?
A. She tries her best not to eat people, but you know zombies tend to get hangry. When she doesn’t feed for awhile, that’s when innocent people die. When she learns not to ignore her urges she can decide who she feasts on…she tends to stick to a diet of not so innocent people, so I’d say her friends are safe.
Q.  Is romance possible for a zombie?  I’m thinking Eve might have some issues in that department.
A. It’s possible, put her partner would have to be very patient, zombies have good days and bad days and sometimes it’s just not safe to go in for a smooch, for example if they’re hungry. Eve has a pretty big undead heart though, so she’s worth loving, she’ll fight for the ones she cares for until the very end.
Q.  What inspired you to get into the writing game?
A. I’ve been writing since high school, I just love coming up with strange characters and inconceivable situations. I write poetry all the time as part of my daily wind-down, but as for writing books that only took place a couple of years ago. I decided to just go for it, I want to be able to tell my kids I went after my dreams and they should do the same!
Q.  What’s next for Eve?  Is another book in the works?
A. Book 3 is complete and heading into editing now, it should be out Spring of 2016! As for Book 4, I’m not sure of the release date yet, but I just completed it! It’s surreal ending a series like this, the characters have lived in my head a long time, it’s hard to say farewell to them!
Q.  A.G., thanks for taking the time to take my call.  Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that could help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?
A:  Hmmmm…I always say head for the hills, or at least away from other people. If we haven’t learned anything from film or television shows like The Walking Dead, it’s people that are the real danger. They get scared and lose all sense of morality, so go hide and stay hidden with lots of supplies!
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Oct 28 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 28 (Part 2)

“Hello?”

From the other end of the line came the voice of a suave, sophisticated Yankee playboy.

“I say, Young Duffer.  Any chance you might be headed home soon?  We’ve eaten all your food and I dare say no one’s delivering a pizza what with all the creepy crawlies afoot.”

It was Sid Monroe, the protagonist of the 1920’s classic novel of fortune seeking, hard-partying ennui, The Incorrigible Monroe.

Or rather, a tiny version of him.

For those just tuning in, I’m the owner/caretaker of a magic bookshelf.  Whenever I put a book on it, the book’s characters come to life in tiny versions of themselves who then proceed to take up residence on my bookshelf and battle one another over limited shelf space.

Rarely a night goes by when I’m not woken up by the sound of itty bitty literary protagonists going to war.

“Sorry Monroe,”  I said.  “I’ve been bogged down by the zompoc out here.  I was stuck in a mall, then I had to try to find my Aunt, then I…”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, Young Duffer,” Monroe interrupted.  “But what about my needs?  Anara hasn’t had anything to nibble on for quite some time now and unless she gets a snack I fear she won’t be nibbling on me anytime soon.”

If you’ve read the book, then you know that Monroe spent his life chasing money and throwing elaborate parties at his mansion for the sole purpose of winning the heart of his beloved Jenny, only for her to choose the conniving Gustavo instead.

F. Scott Fitzgerald?  Never heard of the guy.

Anyway, after my quest for the meaning of life, Monroe took my advice that “there’s more fish in the sea” and began seeing Anara “Annie” Mistwake, one of the main characters of Joel L.L. Torrow’s A Dirge of Murder and Betrayal series.

I’ve always admired Torrow’s ability to kill off a dozen characters every morning before he polishes off his breakfast burrito.

George R.R. who?  Stop asking dumb questions, 3.5.  You people make no sense.

I was glad that Monroe had moved on, but it made what I had to say next that much harder.

“Monroe, you guys might have to go back into your books for awhile,”  I said.  “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get back to the Bookshelf Battle Compound.”

“Well that’s a fine how do you do, isn’t it?”  Monroe asked.  “Hold on, Young Duffer, Tessa wants a word.”

“BQB?”

It was a tiny version of Tessa Fireswarm, protagonist of the Young Adult series, Arrowblast.  The series, and the resulting eight movies, were based on the adventures of a group of plucky teenagers who, with little to no battlefield experience, were still able to take down the cruel dictator who ruled their dystopian future with an iron fist.

“Hey Tessa,”  I said.  “Are you getting along with everyone?”

Tessa was the shelf’s problem child.  The slightest insult made her reach for her bow.  It was a bad habit.  We’d been working on her anger management skills for awhile.

“Everyone except the guy from that new book you bought before you left,”  Tessa said.

“Who?”

“You know.  That guy from the sequel to that classic book that was a staple of high school English classes everywhere.”

“Oh that guy,”  I said.

“He used to be so nice,”  Tessa said.  “But now all he does is sit in his rocking chair and spout racist gibberish all day.  I really want to put an arrow in his ass.”

“No one’s putting an arrow in anyone’s ass,”  I said.

“But BQB!”  Tessa whined.

“Violence is never the answer.”

“Ugh!  Fine!”

“Put on Bookshelf Q. Battledog,”  I said.

“Hold on,”  Tessa said.

I waited a minute before I heard a “woof.”

“Battledog?”

“Woof.”

“Status report.”

“Woof woof.  Woof.”

“The Bookshelf Battle Compound is secure and my arch nemesis, the Yeti, remains imprisoned in my basement?”

“Woof.”

“You’re a top notch security chief, Battledog.”

“Woof woof.”

“What?”  I asked.  “No, I don’t have time to talk about philosophy.”

“Woof.”

“Yes, I realize that Descartes, famous saying, ‘I think, therefore I am,’ or ‘Corgito ergo sum’ is trite insomuch as those who do not think continue to exist, but is there ever a time when anyone is not thinking?  Open up the mind of the lowliest dullard and you’ll find even he is thinking about something, even if it is not anything meaningful.”

“Woof.”

“You know very well that Descartes never qualified his saying with a mandate that thoughts must be substantive in order for existence to occur.”

“Woof.”

“Really?  Fine.  I’m just going to hang up now if you’re going to be a dick about it.”

I swiped right on the space phone and cut my furry security chief off.

“Am I the only one to realize that we’ve had access to the fortress-like compound that is Bookshelf Battle Headquarters the entire time?”  VGRF asked.

“No,”  Alien Jones said.  “I realized it October 1, but I wanted BQB’s stats to climb so the Mighty Potentate will see an improvement in the Chosen One’s writing career so I can avoid meeting the business end of a vaporizer.”

“That gives me an idea,”  I said.  “VGRF, tell Mario and Janet to call a survivor’s meeting tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do now?”  my dear video game loving girlfriend asked.

“What I do best,”  I replied.  “Interview another zombie author.”

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Oct 28 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 28 – (Part 1)

I was awake.

My head felt awful.  My shoulder hurt like hell.  But I was finally sitting up in bed.

“Oh thank goodness,”  Alien Jones said.  “The Mighty Potentate won’t vaporize me!  Well, at least not for this, anyway.  He’ll probably get me on something sooner or later.”

VGRF was holding onto me like I was going out of style.  I should almost die more often.

There was a knock on the door.

In walked Mario, Janet, and a contingent of people wearing gas masks.  Whoever they were, they were the same people who shot all the zombies dead (as in dead,dead not just undead) in the gym, saving me from filling their bellies with my flesh.

“Who are you people?”  I asked.

One of them stepped forward and removed a mask to reveal the face of a kindly old woman.

“Don’t you even recognize your dear sweet auntie, bubalah?”

“Aunt Gertie?”  I asked.  “But how?  We couldn’t find you at Decrepit Oaks!  I assumed you were dead.”

“Of course you assumed I was dead, dearie,”  Aunt Gertie said.  “Everyone assumes that old people are weak and useless but that shows what you know.  The old folks and I formed the East Randomtown Prepper’s Society years ago and we were completely prepared for a zombie apocalypse!”

“But how?”

“We all had bug out bags ready to go,”  Aunt Gertie explained.

“Did you consult the sage advice of noted zombie fiction author and bug-out-bag expert Sarah Lyons Fleming too?”  I asked.

“Nah,”  Aunt Gertie said.  “You know I don’t bother with your dumb blog anymore, BQB.  I just grabbed some shit to eat, some shit to kill zombies with and stuffed it all in a bag.”

“Where’d you get the firepower?”  I asked.

“I uh..”  Gertie hesitated.  “I know a guy.  Let’s leave it at that, sweetheart.”

“Wait,”  I said.  “Who were those two bodies I found in your bathroom?”

“Hauser’s thugs,”  Gertie said.  “They tried to kidnap me and were going to hold me for ransom, demanding that you turn yourself into Hauser.  I whipped out my bowie knife and made quick work of those sons of bitches, let me tell you.  Too bad you were dumb enough to come here on your own anyway.”

“Wow Gert,”  I said.  “And here all this time I just thought you were all about knitting and bingo.”

“A gal can diversify.”

The remaining geezers removed their masks.  One old dude with a sea of white hair shook my hand.

“Bob Northrup,”  he said.  “Sorry to give you the news this way, but I’ve been sticking it to your Aunt twice a week for awhile now.  Nothing too serious, mind you.  I’m only seventy-eight so I like to keep my options open.”

Gertie furrowed her brow.

“You could have just told him we were good friends, jackass!”

“At this point I don’t care,”  I said.

Mario showed me a cell phone and clicked a button.  Up popped a video of Hauser, George, and the DiStefanos loading boxes of supplies into the Compensator, the SUV my friends and I drove to the rec center.

“BQB,”  Mario said.  “Your aunt and her friends had been surveilling the area for a long time, devising a plan to rescue you.  They shot this video that clears your good name.  On behalf of the whole settlement, I want to apologize for ever doubting you.”

“Pretty lame, Mario.  Pretty lame.”

“I know,”  Mario said.  “And I hope this makes up for it.  We took a vote and the decision was unanimous.  We’ve decided to change the name of this settlement from Fort Hauser to Fort Battler, and we’d like you to be our new Mayor.”

“Oh screw that,” was my instant response.  I didn’t even take a second to think about it.  “Like I want to lead a group of asshats who wanted to feed me to a bunch of zombies.”

VGRF, always the voice of morality, perked up.

“People make mistakes, BQB,”  she said.  “They need you now more than ever.”

Janet, who you might recall was a registered nurse as well as the settlement’s medical advisor, looked at me.

“BQB,”  Janet said.  “You created a WordPress site and promoted it to the point where it attracted an audience of 3.5 readers.  No one could ever possibly repeat that amazing feat.  Songs will surely be sung in your name for years to come.  Please, you must take the wisdom you used to build a substandard blog that people only read when they click on it accidentally and use it to guide us.”

“Oh fine,”  I said.  “But on one condition.”

“Name it,”  Janet replied.

“This place is not Fort Hauser.  It’s East Randomtown.  The thousand or so survivors on the property, they’re the last East Randomtownians left.  No more cults of personality.  No more dictatorships.  We’re a town again.  We’re a democracy.  All important decisions are made through a vote and we’ll call for elections as soon as possible.”

Janet and Mario nodded.

“You’re a good man,”  Mario said.  “You really do deserve that statue.”

“I don’t want a statue,”  I said.  “Will you people let me rest now?”

Everyone poured out of the room except Alien Jones and VGRF.

“Congratulations, Mr. Mayor,”  AJ said.

“This sucks,” I replied. “I hate politicians.  Whoever they are, whatever party they’re in, they’re all out to pick your pocket, promise you the world and deliver you a bowl of hot steamy crap instead.”

“Maybe this is your chance to make a difference,”  VGRF said.

“We’ll see about that.”

The space phone interrupted our conversation with a loud ring.

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Oct 27 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 27 Interview – Happy Birthday Jake Bible, Esteemed Inventor of the Drabble Novel

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By: Special Guest Interviewer, Alien Jones

Humans, my guest today is none other than Jake Bible.  A Bram Stoker Award nominated novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of “the Drabble Novel,” he’s entertained thousands with his horror and science fiction tales, reaching audiences of all ages with his ability to write in a wide range of genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series.  Set in Asheville, NC, the books follows residents of a suburban community as they transition from easygoing living to post-apocalyptic zombie fighting.

SIDENOTE:  Today, October 27, is also Jake’s birthday.

A recent court ruling made the “Happy Birthday Song” free to all, which is great, because knowing that old cheapskate BQB, he’d of never approved of us singing it otherwise.

So let’s all sing Jake “Happy Birthday” shall we?

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday Dear Jake Bible, Esteemed Inventor of the Drabble Novel!

Happy Birthday to you!!!!

Jake, welcome and thanks for taking my call on the space phone.

NOTE: BOLD=ALIEN JONES; ITALICS=JAKE

Q.  Here’s a question I’ve been wondering all month.  Humans live in a modern world.  Everything from technology to toilets, cars to electricity is available.  Why are so many humans fantasizing about living in a post-apocalyptic world where showers are a thing of the past and zombies want to eat them?  Are humans right in the head?

A. First, no, humans are not right in the head. That’s just a fact of life. as for why they would want to live in a post-apocalyptic world, well, that’s easy: it’s the great equalizer. Your survival depends on your skills and intelligence, not on what car you drive, how much you make, or whether or not you get a high score on a performance review. The rich can’t buy survival and the idiots won’t survive long. Win/win situation, in my opinion.

Q.  I suspect the characters that filled Whispering Pines, the suburban neighborhood featured in Z-Burbia miss their once comfortable lifestyle.  Though I don’t mean to ask for spoilers, can you give us a glimpse of what they have to go through?  How is zompoc living vs. suburban living?

A. Part of the satire in Z-Burbia is that the Whispering Pines homeowners don’t give up much after the dead rise. They keep their HOA and try to go on with life as usual. They have established power, they grow their own food, they even still have natural gas flowing. Sure, the dead want to eat their brains, but that’s what huge walls and razor wire are for, right? I mean, these people even have WiFi, just no Internet since the outside world wasn’t as lucky as the survivors in Whispering Pines.

Q.  You’re the inventor of “The Drabble Novel.”  On your blog, Brain Squeezin’s, you describe this as “a short short story written using only 100 words. Not 99 words, not 101 words, but 100 words exactly.”  You then go on to explain how you piece together several “drabbles” together to come up with a larger novel.  Am I correct in this description and how did you first discover this amazing contribution to the world of literature?

A.  I started writing drabbles to sharpen my skills as a writer. Being constrained by an exact number of words teaches you how to edit and how to make sure each word counts. When I went to write my first novel, Dead Mech, I used the writing form as an exercise to get used to characters and settings. Then I realized I liked the feel and flow of 100 words as scene sections. Instead of rewriting what I already had, I started filling in gaps and before I knew it I had the beginnings of a drabble novel where each section is exactly 100 words. It really gives the novel a cinematic, quick-cut feel which is perfect for the over the top, high-action plot.

Q. “Once upon a time, a bunny rabbit was hopping through the forest.  It stopped to eat a carrot when an enormous dragon swooped down and breathed fire in the bunny’s general direction.  Instantly, the rabbit harnessed the ancient power of the ninja masters of old, jumped into the air, and delivered a crushing roundhouse kick to the dragon’s hideous snout.  The beast fell to the ground with a deafening crash and the bunny skinned its oily hide and sold its dragon leather.  He then used the proceeds to take a gaggle of she-bunnies out on the town. Hanky panky transpired.”

ALIEN JONES: That’s one-hundred words exactly.  How’d I do?  Do I have a future in this business or what?

A.  You did great! That’s a story, right there. As for a future, well, drabbles don’t pay much. So, yes, you have a future, just a poor and hungry one. 😉

Q.  You’ve written other zombie tales outside of Z-Burbia.  One that comes to mind is Bethany and the Zombie Jesus.  To give readers a brief rundown, a stone carved likeness of Jesus decides it doesn’t want to be on a cross anymore, comes down and its up to Bethany to stop Zombie Jesus from bringing about the end of days.

I have to say, that’s one of the most unique zombie story premises I’ve observed yet.  How did you come up with that one?

A. The idea that Jesus rose from the grave makes him an easy target for zombification. So I went with that idea that instead of Jesus rising and being the world’s savior, he rose and was ready to start the zombie apocalypse a few thousand years ago and it has been left up to a handful of men and women over the millennia to keep watch over him and make sure he doesn’t get loose. Of course, eventually he gets loose and that’s where Bethany begins.

Q.  Kaiju.  Monster sharks.  Mechs.  These are just some of the topics of your other novels.  Accordingly, I have to ask, Monster Shark vs. Zombies.  Who wins?  Feel free to weigh in on a Kaiju’s or a Mech’s chances against a zombie horde as well.

A. Monster Shark will always beat zombies. Mainly because of its environment. Also, a monster shark is the ultimate apex predator. Now, if a monster shark becomes a zombie, that’s a whole other ballgame. Kaiju would take out a zombie horde, no problem. Stomp, stomp, chomp, done. Pretty much the same with mechs, minus the chomp part. Unless the mech is damaged and has no ammo then it is highly possible it can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Physics are physics.

Q.  Happy Birthday Jake.  I’d of baked you a cake but you know, I’m trapped in a zombie apocalypse and all.  Speaking of, before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help the humans and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A.  Never assume you are safe, never relax, always be on the lookout for trouble and always have an exit plan. Keep your loved ones close and your weapons closer. And cardio. That is always good advice. Cardio.

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Oct 27 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

Alien Jones’ Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 27

Night came and went and eventually Video Game Rack Fighter passed out from exhaustion, lying in bed next to her beau, Bookshelf Q. Battler, holding him tightly.

BQB, the illustrious host of a blog with a mere 3.5 readers, barely held on.  I scanned him with my, well, I’ll keep calling it a space phone because that’s about all your insignificant human brains could ever possibly understand.

The nerd’s life pulse was growing dim.

Suddenly, a hole was vaporized in the ceiling by a red beam of light.  Another beam of gold light took its place and my Supreme Overlord, the Mighty Potentate, materialized in the room, golden scepter in hand, oversized crown on his head.

Three of his best security aliens materialized as well.  The MP is too important not to have protection.

I dropped to my knees and proceeded to flagellate myself, as is the custom of my home world whenever one is in the presence of The Potent One.

“Oh Great Potentositude!”  I said as I flailed my arms up and down.  “I am not worthy of your presence!  Why do you honor one as lowly as I with your magnanimous appearance?”

The Mighty Potentate only had one volume – LOUD.  He didn’t have a quiet setting.  He shouted everything he had to say in the tone of a being that was planning to murder you.

Probably because most of the time he usually is but let’s not get bogged down by semantics.

“JONES!  SPARE ME YOUR RUMP SWABBERY AND STAND AT ONCE!”

I did.  My ruler pointed at BQB, who was lying there with his mouth agape.

“Why is the Chosen One is such a horrid state?  Explain yourself immediately or be vaporized!”

The security aliens cocked and locked their vaporization blasters, ready to turn me into a fine mist.

Vaporization was the Mighty Potentate’s solution for everything.  I can’t say it didn’t work for him.  My home world ran like a well oiled machine, thanks to constant, non-stop threats of vaporization.  In fact, your human leaders might want to look into this practice.

“Oh He of Vast Potent Powers,”  I said.  “Please forgive me for my failure.  Bookshelf Q. Battler, er, ‘The Chosen One’ was forced into a trial by zombie combat and was injured.”

“And you let it happen!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Do you know if the Chosen One dies, I’ll be left with no choice but to break Intergalactic Space Law, separate our planet from the Intergalactic Space Organization, and conduct a full scale invasion of Earth just to prevent the spread of reality television to the rest of the universe?”

“Mighty Potentate,”  I said.  “I am so sorry I have failed you.  Truly, an insect such as I does not deserve to bask in the glorious rays of your pleasant visage.  It’s just that you’ve put down so many edicts that sometimes I get confused.  ‘Protect the Chosen One.’  ‘Don’t do anything that will draw too much attention from the humans.’  ‘Do not interfere in human affairs.’  It’s like I can’t follow one of your orders without breaking another one.’”

The Mighty Potentate’s face turned into one of furious anger.  His volume went off the charts.

“DO YOU DARE QUESTION THE COMMANDS OF YOUR SUPREME OVERLORD?!”

I trembled.  The Mighty Potentate was the only being in the universe that ever made me afraid.  I’m not sure if it was because I was scared of vaporization, saddened by the possibility of disappointing a ruler I had tremendous respect for, or a combination of the two.

“No!  Not at all, oh Mightiest of Potentates!  It was my brain, much inferior to yours, that wasn’t able to figure out how to protect the Chosen One and follow your edicts at the same time!”

“Believe it or not, Jones, but the last thing I want to do is conquer Earth,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Are you aware that Zamfram’s Intergalactic Real Estate Guide lists Earth as the cheapest property in the entire universe?  I won’t even be able to pay a junk service to haul this miserable excuse for a planet away.”

I could tell the Mighty Potentate was ready to rant.  I didn’t interrupt.

“Do you know these hairless apes have been around for nearly two hundred thousand years and they only figured out six hundred years ago that if they sail from one side of the planet to the other they won’t fall off?”

“Imbeciles for certain,” I said.  “Humans surely rival the Moloklaxons as the dumbest species.”

“Holy Flarking Shazbo,”  the Mighty Potentate continued.  “They destroy their protective ozone layer with products that make their hair shinier.  They wage war after war in the name of one invisible man in the sky because they don’t like the idea that another group of humans would believe in a different human in the sky.  And they consume cheese stuffed crust pizza by the truck load then wonder why they’re fatter than space cows.”

“It’s a real mess down here, MP,”  I said.  “I’ve done the best I can to inform the humans as to how they can change their ways with my ‘Ask the Alien’ column.

“All of this nonsense I can put up with,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “But having my television invaded by programs about supermodels with large behinds who go shopping, plumbers who fix toilets, grizzly pawn shop owners, and stereotypical Italians from New Jersey who do nothing but party and get spray on tans is where I draw the line.  I will send my entire armada to take over this planet to prevent that from happening.”

“I understand, Mighty One,”  I said.  “You’re very protective of your beloved scripted programming.”

“Damn straight!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Why would anyone watch reality TV show when they can take in a drama full of twists and plot turns?  It makes no sense!”

“Another human mystery I suppose,”  I said.

“This is a sad state of affairs,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “The Chosen One is the only human holding my back from a global conquest.”

I had a question and as I’m sure you realize, posing a question to an unquestionable ruler is a sticky wicket to be sure.

“Mighty Potentate,”  I said.  “Know that I, your humble servant, would never question your mandates, but I have a question that will help my pitiful brain understand your declarations better.  Are you certain that BQB is, in fact, the Chosen One?”

“DO YOU DARE CAST DOUBT ON YOUR MIGHTY POTENTATE?”

“No!  Not at all!”  I said.  “It’s just…well…all BQB does is go to work then come home, watch TV and eat nachos.  Once in awhile he tries to write, gets a sentence or two down, then announces, ‘F%$k it!  I’m watching Game of Thrones!  If there is greatness in him, it must be buried deep as I have yet to see it.”

“Rest assured it is there, Jones,” the Mighty Potentate said.  “I have foreseen in a vision that this nerd will write a book so witty, so charming, so amazing that the humans will rise up and demand better from the entertainment industry, and reality television will be no more without the need of an alien invasion!”

“Your visions are never wrong,”  I said.

“Of course they aren’t!  Did I not foresee that the Moloklaxons would become the A-Holes of the Universe?”

“You did.”

“Did I not foresee that Morloff Delta would become a safe haven for intergalactic space prostitutes?”

“No one but you saw that one coming, Oh Wise Potentate,”  I replied.

“And who foretold that a race of sentient iguanas would overthrow the Voscari System?”

“You did, MP,”  I said.  “The Prime Iguana is truly a bloodthirsty ruler.”

“Then stop questioning your unquestionable ruler and get with the program, Jones!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Help this nerd get his writing career off the ground or it’s the vaporizer for you.”

“I understand,”  I said.

“Good,”  the Mighty Potentate said as he put a hand on my shoulder.  “Jones, I would not have tolerated a failure like this from any of the other aliens under my command.  I hope you know that.”

“I had a feeling.”

“Do you know why I give you such leeway?”  the Mighty Potentate asked.

“I hope you will enlighten me, oh Great Enlightened One.”

“I am in the twilight of my life, Jones,”  the Mighty Potentate explained.  “Beings of our species rarely last longer than a million years.  I’m just shy of my 990,000 birthday.  I’ve got about ten grand’s worth of years left before my body’s organs liquefy into a putrid stench.”

“Oh Potentate,”  I said.  “Please don’t say such things.  Why, you barely look a day over 500,000.”

“Well I work out,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Even so, while I have conquered much of the universe, I cannot conquer death.  I must know that my empire will be in good hands when I scream the great scream of death as my body turns itself inside out as happens to all of our elderly.”

“I cannot fathom the idea of a Mighty Potentate-less world,”  I said.

“You won’t have to,” the MP said.  “For all this time, I have been grooming you to become the next Mighty Potentate.”

My life juices boiled with shock.

“Me?”

“You,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Why do you think I appointed you to the Esteemed Council of Potentate Advisors?  There’s the Esteemed Warmonger One, who leads all of my troops into battle.  The Esteemed Medical One, who advises me on the latest advancements in medicine, and so on.  But there can only be one Esteemed Brainy One, the alien capable of advising me on ALL matters and that is you.  Surely you’re aware of the tradition that the Esteemed Brainy One always advances to the position of Mighty Potentate upon a Mighty Potentate’s demise?”

“I am,”  I said.  “But you’ve been so efficient with your threats of vaporization that I assumed you’d just threatened the Esteemed Medical One to find a way to keep you alive indefinitely.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “But honestly, I look forward to the sweet release of death that will come when my body explodes and its innards congeal into a viscous slop.  I’ve been Potentating for far too long and I need a break.”

“I shall do all I can to live up to this great honor,”  I said.

“See that you do,” the MP said.  “I’m in my golden years, Jones, and the last thing I need to do is be worrying about trying to find a buyer for a planet full of hairless apes who only figured out how to fly a hundred years ago.”

The Mighty Potentate held up his scepter and the golden beam of light returned, whisking him and his security detail away.

I dialed up another zombie author on my space phone.

“Me, the next Mighty Potentate, as long as I help the Chosen One with his writing career,”  I said.  “Let’s up BQB’s blog stats with another interview

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Oct 26 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 26 Interview – Rhiannon Frater

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By: Alien Jones, Special Guest Interviewer

Greetings 3.5 human readers.

The Esteemed Brainy One here, filling in for Bookshelf Q. Battler as he recovers from his trial by zombie combat.

Today’s guest is Rhiannon Frater, author of such zombified books as the As the World Dies Trilogy and The Last Bastion series.

A prolific author, her works also transcend the Young Adult, Vampire, and Supernatural genres.

A Texan through and through, Frater’s many accolades include a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly for As the World Dies. Further, The Last Bastion of the Living was declared the Number One Zombie Release of 2012 by Explorations Fantasy Blog and the Number One Zombie Novel of the Decade by the B&N Book Blog.

When she’s not busy writing, other past times include sci-fi and horror shows, playing video games, cooking, dyeing her hair weird colors, and shopping for Betsey Johnson purses and shoes.

Welcome Rhiannon and thanking you for agreeing to an interview conducted by an alien. P.S., if anyone asks, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell them you were interviewed by a small human disguised in hipster garb.

NOTE: BOLD=Alien Jones; ITALICS=Rhiannon 

Q.   Let’s get right to it.  Obviously, you love sci-fi, horror and the supernatural.  Lots of people do but few take that passion and turn it into a successful writing career.  What motivated you to do it?

A.   Quite honestly, since I was a little girl I knew I was going to be a professional writer. I have never felt so certain of anything in my life. I just believed that I would one day write books that people would love. I guess it was a calling. I will admit that life got in the way of my writing and for a time I gave up on the dream. Then I reached a point where I realized how miserable I was when I wasn’t writing. My husband (then my boyfriend) encouraged me to start writing again. I did, and within five years I had a literary agent, a contract with Tor, and a solid fan base.

Q.   In the Last Bastion series, you paint a picture of a futuristic world overrun by zombies known as the Inferi Scourge.  Humans hole up inside “The Bastion” and its the job of warriors like Vanguards Lindsey Rooney or Maria Martinez to protect them.  It sounds like an awesome mashup, blending the genres of apocalyptic science-fiction and zombie horror for one fun ride.  Can you tell BQB’s 3.5 readers about this world?  And how did it first pop into your mind?

A.  Well, the Bastion is literally the last city of the living. The world is dead. The Inferi Scourge have destroyed everything. They’re not flesh-eating zombies, but they are driven with the need to infect and spread the virus that created them. The book is set far in the future, so there are some high-tech weaponry, etc, but it’s a decaying world with limited resources. In the first book, the powers that be in the Bastion are attempting to reclaim the vast valley that surrounds the Bastion. There is a natural barrier – a mountain range – between the valley and the outside world and a gate once held the Scourge out. But at some point the gate failed and the Scourge swarmed into the valley, pushing the humans into the walled city. The second book is about what remains outside the valley.

As with most ideas, I dreamed this one. It was a very terrifying nightmare, but I loved the story inside the dream so much I had to write it.

Q.  As the World Dies follows survivors struggling to survive in a zombie infested Texas.  Today, we live in a modern world where food, showers, TV, computers and other luxuries are all readily accessible.  Why then, do humans fantasize about living in a world with little to no comfort, being pursued by brain chomping beasts all the while?  I assume humans must fantasize about this quite a bit as novels such as yours do so well.  Should I be concerned about the mental stability of humanity or is it all in good fun?

A.   I don’t think we are actually fantasizing about wanting to live in a post-apocalyptic world.  I think it’s a way to live out our worst fears, but in a safe way. We fear our world collapsing, yet at the same time we crave a reset. Zombies aren’t real, so we can live out our worst fears in a fantasy landscape that we know will never come to pass. We can imagine ourselves surviving and somehow rebuilding society. It’s pure escapism. There is immense relief when you can close a book and trap the monsters inside and continue on with your life.

Q.  You also have a series about a very pretty vampire.  She’s Pretty When She Dies, Pretty When She Kills and so on.  Why are people always aghast at the possibility of being turned into a vampire?  Immortal life, youth and powers that put you above the law seem like a pretty sweet deal.  Is there a down side?

A.  Well, Amaliya is murdered and buried in a forest. Not a really awesome thing to happen. When she rises, she has no idea what is going on or what she is. So she has a very hard learning curve. Once she gets the hang of it, she likes being a vampire. There are drawbacks, of course, but she likes the power she inherits from her maker. Of course, having to deal with a psychotic creator that’s talking her not very fun. Also, the more powerful she becomes (she’s a necromancer/vampire), the more other supernatural creatures are gunning for her.

Q.  You’re a gamer.  What’s the best zombie based video game out there right now and why?

A.  I honestly don’t know. Most of them are first person shooters and I can’t play those. I throw up. I play Guild Wars 2 religiously and they have zombies called the Risen. I have to admit they’re pretty scary when they swarm you.

Q.  Rhiannon, thanks for allowing me to pepper you with questions for BQB’s humble blog.  Before I disperse, do you have any advice that might help the humans and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

Never venture out alone! Always have a zombie killing buddy. You watch their back, and they watch yours!

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Oct 26 2015
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Alien Jones’ Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26

I am an old alien.

I’m young for my species but ancient compared to you humans.

You hairless apes have no idea what a spec of dust your existence is in relation to the vast reaches of time and space.

And alas, the existence of my colleague, the human whose safety I was sworn by my ruler to make my highest priority, was in doubt.

My species is one that thinks rationally and logically, yet we are not devoid of emotion.

Thus, I understood the weeping of Video Game Rack Fighter as she sat by Bookshelf Q. Battler’s bedside, holding her loved one’s hand as his unconscious body rested in bed.

I have no junk. No genitalia of any kind. My only orifice is my mouth. Other than that, my body is water tight.

Yet I am in a relationship, of sorts. Back on my home planet, I have a government mandated life mate, Alien Rozencrantz.

There’s nothing sexual going on there, since my species is comprised of asexual beings that reproduce through a laboratory based cloning process.

The Mighty Potentate pairs us off at random, mandating that we watch out for one another as replacing a clone is expensive.

Even so, were anything to happen to Alien Rosencrantz, I would be mildly perturbed for an appropriate mourning period before reporting to His Potentosity for vaporization for failing to protect my life mate.

So I was able to relate to VGRF’s sadness at the possibility of losing the partner with which she engaged in a primitive fluid exchange ritual.

“Perhaps you should rest now, human,” I said.

“No,” VGRF said. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

Blandie, the other human female, stretched her arms out and yawned.

“Oh, look at the time,” she said. “We might as well get going Bernie. It’s not like BQB is going to get any less comatose if we hang around.”

“Nah boo,” Bernie replied. “I wanna get my homie’s back.”

Blandie’s voice turned shrill.

“I said, ‘Let’s go!’”

“Fine! Damn girl.”

Bernie was already….what’s that expression humans use when the females run the show? Ah, yes. “Whipped.”

I too headed for the door.

“I’ll be back,” I said to Video Game Rack Fighter.”

“Where are you going?”

“I must call another zombie author and continue BQB’s interview series. He’d of wanted it that way.”

Oct 26 2015
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 4

Hauser was dead as soon as he hit the ground. The zombies tore him apart, leaving little more than a pile of bones and shreds of meat.

I landed on my shoulder and felt my head smack the floor. The pain was so intense, but I fought through it and was able to get away while the walking corpses were distracted with Hauser.

I crawled under the scaffold. Cowardly, I know, but I hoped it would provide me with some cover. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me.

Fat chance.

As soon as they were done with Hauser’s remains, they grabbed the bars that held the scaffolding together and shook it until it collapsed on me.

A heavy metal bar knocked me in the head. Pinned to the ground by the wreckage, I couldn’t move and felt myself drifting into unconsciousness.

I heard gunfire. I turned to my right. There was a small area I could see out of.

I came face to face with a person wearing a gas mask. Man? Woman? I didn’t know. Said individual reached a gloved hand toward me.

Then I passed out.

Oct 26 2015
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 3

“TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES! TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES!”

So went the chant of the unruly crowd, my former friends, neighbors, and townspeople turning into monsters worse than the zombies on the gym floor below.

I don’t know if it’s the lack of law and order, or the never ending danger, but something about a zombie apocalypse sure brings out the worst in people.

The scaffold was rickety. One wrong step was going to send me sailing to the ground.

WHIFF!

Hauser’s mop handle passed an inch above my head.

“Why, Hauser?” I asked. “Why did you cut a deal with Morganstern? You didn’t have to frame me!”

BQB took another wack at me. I deflected the attack.

“BQB, from the moment you stepped in here, I’ve been plotting your demise! I was going to kill you whether the General got involved or not!”

I jumped over a thrust that was meant to knock me off my feet.

“You really think I’d allow a little piss ant like you take away my statue?”

CRACK! Our mop handles met in the heat of battle. We were at a stalemate, pushing our weapons against each other, holding each other back.

It reminded me of the time Capt. Kirk and Dr. Spock had to fight each other on the old Star Trek TV show. I can say stuff like that because I’m a nerd.

“I had nothing to do with that!” I cried.

“Bullshit!” yelled. “You know you lobbied Bramble to take down my statue and put up one of you in its place!”

“You’ve got to believe me, Doug,” I said. “I’ve ALWAYS believed that there isn’t a finite amount of success. There’s plenty of room for everyone to make it, so I’d never bring someone down just to prop myself up. I talk about this on my blog all the time.”

With one swift motion, Hauser swept my leg and I was down, the scaffold shaking as I heard the board.

“You know only 3.5 people read that shit!” Hauser said.

The crowd was divided on who it wanted to win.

“Miami Vice forever!” yelled one lady from the bleachers. “Doug Hauser is a God that walks amongst men!”

“LIES!” shouted another spectator. “Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers have put East Randomtown on the map!”

And it degenerated from there.

“Finish him, Hauser!”

“Kick his ass, BQB!”

Hauser raised his mop handle/bo staff high in the air, preparing to bring it down in a crushing blow.

“Let’s see you try to blog your way out of this, EDUARDO!”

I did the only thing I could think of.

I brought my leg up fast and kicked my opponent…right in the wang.

The Johnson. The Twig and Berries. Mr. Happy.

“Ugh,” Hauser said as he dropped his handle to grab, well, his other handle. “That was a bitch move!”

It was. It really was. Men understand how much that hurts so its definitely reserved for life or death situations.

This certainly was one, as the zombies below were grabbing hold of the scaffold and rattling, hoping to shake us loose so they could snack on us.

Hauser’s face was one of tremendous pain and he staggered backwards, misjudged the amount of space he had left, and ended up stepping off the scaffold.

I stood up and investigated. There was a single hand clutching the board.

I knelt down and looked over the side.

Hauser was barely holding on as a pack of dirty zombies, at least a dozen or so, were snapping their teeth at an expected treat.

The crowd cheered at the possibility of an impending fatality.

I reached down.

“TAKE MY HAND!”

Hauser looked up at me, confused.

“You’d…you’d save me?”

“Yes! Let’s end this madness!”

Hauser used his free hand to grab mine and began using the leverage to lift himself up.

But then he removed the hand he was using to hold the scaffold and used it to grab the back of my neck.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Hauser’s had a dead look in his eyes.

“I’d rather us both die than see my statue replaced by a dirty stinking loser with only 3.5 readers!”

Down we both went, hurtling to the ground below, where the snarling undead were waiting for a feast.

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