Daily Archives: November 14, 2015

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 13

Halminotrin. Street name – huff. That stuff will grow hair on your chest and turn it curly, let me tell you. I kept a slab of it in a plastic bag in the glove compartment. I broke off a small pebble, crushed it into the tray of my vape-o-matic inhalator, mixed in some bottled water and presto, put the mask on my face, hit the on button and presto, I was ready to trip balls.

The inhalator chugged away. I sniffed in the goodness. It made me feel light. Airy. Happy even.

“You’re really going to do that now?” Jones asked.

“I can’t think of a better time to do it,” I said, my voice muffled by my apparatus. “I’ve got an edge that needs to be taken off, my friend.”

“You couldn’t just do some jumping jacks?”

I pulled the mask up, just a bit off my mouth so I can speak more clearly. I mocked my pilot, talking in a high pitched, girlish tone, which really isn’t fair, as Jonesy actually speaks in a deep, bass filled baritone, not unlock Barry White, the classical musician from the late Twentieth Century. You should listen to him sometime. You can download ten thousand songs dating back from 1900-2300 for the low, low price of fifty credits.

“‘You couldn’t just do some jumping jacks?’ God, you’re like a tiny green version of my mother.”

“Whatever,” Jones said. “That mask, you think its a cool look for you?”

“Maybe,” I said as I let it drop back on my face, which muffled my voice again. “What’s it to you?”

“You look like a space fighter pilot with sleep apnea,” Jones quipped.

A middle finger was the only response I could muster as I reclined the front passenger’s seat and closed my eyes. I needed a nap.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Our new friend was crying.

We both looked back to the jump seat, where she sat, coiled up into a ball, her face buried in her knees as she rocked back and forth.

“She’s fine,” I said as I popped the mask upwards, letting it rest on my head, the huff vapor making a warm spot on my forehead.

“She’s not fine,” Jones replied. “Go talk to her.”

“Me?” I asked. “Didn’t you used to be a diplomat?”

“I used to be a lot of things,” Jones said. “But right now she needs someone who looks like she does. Another human.”

“That’s speciesist!” I said. “Something you accuse ME of all the time!”

“It’s not speciesist,” Jones said. “It’s just common sense.”

I switched the inhalator off and removed my mask entirely.

“Fine,” I said as I walked over to the woman. “Jesus Christ, I have to do everything around here. Hello ma’am.”

She didn’t budge.

“Ma’am?” I asked as I poked her. She looked up at me and recoiled defensively.

I put both hands up. “Whoa,” I said. “It’s ok. What’s your name?”

She cocked her head and looked at me with the same expression a puppy uses when its confused by what a human just said.

I repeated myself. For some reason, I thought saying it louder would help. “YOUR NAME?”

“My name?” she asked.

“Yes, your name.”

She pointed at me. “Your name.”

“No, your name,” I said.

“Your name,” she repeated.
I slapped my warm forehead.

“Jonesy, she must be a mongo or something,” I said.

“Nah,” Jones said. “She’d be drooling all over the place if she were a mongo.”

The mongos. Humans who were subjected to illegal mind control experiments from 2745- 2801. They and their offspring have been bringing down humanity’s collective test scores ever since.

I checked her for drool. I didn’t see any.

“Let’s try this again,” I said. I put my hand on my chest. “MY NAME IS ROMAN.”

“Your name is Roman,” the woman repeated.

“Right,” I said. “There’s no flies on you, kiddo.”

“There’s no flies on me, kiddo,”  she repeated.  She had a very sweet voice.

I pointed at the pilot. “The little green man is Jonesy.”

Jones swiveled around in his chair, waved a three fingered hand and said a polite, “Hello.”

The woman perked up a bit. She stopped crying.

“The little green man is Jonesy,” she said between sniffles.

“Good,” I said. I pointed my finger at her. “And your name is…”

She got excited, smiled and clapped her hands. She pointed her finger at me and emitted a big, loud, triumphant, “YOUR NAME!”

Whoever she was, she stared at me with a pair of baby blues with all the enthusiasm of a game show contestant who was certain she’d just won a big prize by figuring out a complex puzzle.

Jones laughed. I hanged my head in defeat. “Oh for the love of…”

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 12

I was free falling.  Twenty-five thousand feet and plummeting over primo real estate.  Beings paid good money to get this kind of view but they were usually aboard sightseeing ships.  Between the spotlights, the city lights, and the incessantly blinking advertising boards below, I could barely see what I was doing.

Sourcemind aka Ninety-five was nowhere to be found.  He was so heavy that his burnt out carcass made a beeline to the planet below.  My mystery woman, on the other hand, was a bit of a waif.  Tall, skinny, yet curvy in all the right places.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  Jones shouted.

“Improvising!  Get down there!”

Jonesy abided.  The Star Streaker roared past me on a vertical course.  I aimed myself in the general direction of my quarry, but I needed some help.

The LaMonza Corporation’s CTK Sparkmatic Attack Cord is an essential tool found inside the duster of discriminating bounty hunters everywhere.  You’ve probably heard of it by its more commonly used nickname, the spark whip.

I drew mine but I didn’t arm it.  I didn’t want to fry the poor gal after all.  I whirled around a few times and then let it loose with a deafening crack sound as it coiled around the woman.  It caused her considerable pain as she woke with a start, a frightened expression on her face.  I didn’t want to hurt her but I was low on options and the world below was getting closer and closer.

With a flick of my wrist I snapped her up to me and uncoiled the whip from around her body.  The exchange we had next went something like this:

ME:  Hello.


ME:  You’re not much of a conversationalist.

Together, we fell past our ship. Jones was hovering steadily, waiting for orders. I cracked the whip again, catching it by the side bay door’s handle.

“You’re insane,”  Jones said.

“Fine,”  I replied.  “Next time you fight the death bot and save the girl and I’ll fly the ship.”


“Put ‘er on autopilot and reel us in already,”  I said.

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La Marseillaise – The French National Anthem Scene From Casablanca

Bonjour 3.5 lecteurs,

BQB here.

There have been reports that when the Stade de France was evacuated, attendees sang La Marseillaise, the French National Anthem.

If you haven’t heard this part of the news coverage, one of the terrorists attempted to enter the stadium wearing a bomb vest.  He was stopped and questioned before entering and detonated himself right there.  Three people died and its terrible that they did.  It surely would have been even worse had he been able to detonate inside the stadium.

So the evacuees sang their national anthem as they exited the scene.  That protest in the face of tyranny reminded me of another time when French people sang their national anthem in defiance of evil. Although the one I’m thinking of was fictional, it’s still moving.

Casablanca, a 1942 film that brought light to the plight of European refugees fleeing their homeland via Morocco during World War II is one of the best films ever made, filled with quotable lines that still hold up today.  If you’ve ever heard someone say, “round up the usual suspects” that’s where it came from.

OK.  I’ll cry SPOILER ALERT even though its a 75 year old movie.  Whatever.  It’s about a love triangle between Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine, a night club owner who’s fled America to escape his troublesome past, Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa Lund, the hot babe he falls in love with in France and Paul Henried as Victor Laszlo, an anti-Nazi writer and activist.  Ilsa fell for Rick assuming she’d never see Victor again but voila, he returns and it’s heartbreak city all around.

But I’m not talking about that part.  I’m talking about the part where the evil Major Strasser sings a Nazi tune with his jack booted brethren, only to be drowned out by Victor and other French folk in attendance.

La Marseillaise.  It worked against Nazis.  It works against terrorists.

Casablanca – 1942

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 7 Interview – Gillian Zane – Alpha Male Lessons for BQB

For sure, I am one badass alpha male nerd. But I wasn’t always that way. I got some lessons from none other than Gillian Zana, author of the NOLA Zombie series.

Bookshelf Battle


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Today’s guest is Gillian Zane, author of the Nola Zombie Series. Follow the exploits of doomsday prepper Alexis Winter and macho ex-military man Blake Miller as they brave the streets of New Orleans in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, fight for their survival, and do it a whole helluva lot.

“Um…hey guys? Do you know there’s zombies outside and…oh what they hell, have fun you two.”

Filled with “zombies, sex, romance and carnage,” this is a series designed to titillate the senses of the adult reader and thus its only intended for those 18 years and over.

Hello Gillian. I can hear you loud and clear on Alien Jones’ space phone.


Q. I have to admit, when I first heard about the concept of blending the erotic and zombie genres…

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 6 – S.G. Lee – Advice From the Journal of the Undead

S.G. Lee. He reveals zombie weaknesses in his Journal of the Undead series and was kind enough to offer his assistance in the cleaning up of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.

Also, he has his own action figure. You wish you had your own action figure.

Bookshelf Battle



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Today’s guest is S.G. Lee, author of the Journal of the Undead series and proprietor of sgleehorror.blogspot.com, where he spins yarns of zombitabulous mayhem free of charge, assuming you don’t include the hours of sleep you’ll lose thinking about the twisted horror scenarios he’s concocted.

A self-described Philly sports fan, he claims an ability to bleed all of Philadelphia’s sports team colors, much to the shock of his local medical community.

S.G. welcome.  Personally, I think the East Randomtown Mascots would trounce the Phillies any day of the week, but alas we must discuss more serious business.


Q.   I’ve just learned that my mentor, the illustrious Dr. Hugo Von Science, caused the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse on purpose as part of a villainous scheme.  For me, this begs…

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 11

Hyperion Bay. Malostet’s most picturesque tourist spot. Fireworks erupted in bursts every color of the rainbow overhead as I popped open the hatch. I climbed up onto the roof of the rickety old ship, watching my footing carefully.

Sourcemind soared across the city skyline. His hostage remained passed out over Ninety-Five’s shoulder, secured only by a metal hand. My pilot kept pace, staying a safe distance behind.

“What the hell is this thing?” I asked Jones through my Sen Pen relay as I stared at a metal bolt with a flat, round disc at the end. It was attached to a long length of cable that ran down the hatch and into the ship.

“An amantonov magnet,” Jones answered. “Strongest in the Known Universe.”

I loaded it into my harpoon gun. I always travel with one. You never know when you might spot a wild kamaratox dragon. Their hides fetch a decent price and their heads make excellent trophies. I keep one on the wall in my living room and its served me well as a magnificent conversation starter.

“What am I supposed to do? Hang a stick figure drawing on his ass?!”

“That cable’s attached to our main battery,” Jones explained. “Get it on him and I’ll fry his circuits.”

“And that’ll wipe Sourcemind out?”

“What?” Alien Jones asked, as if somehow that was a dumb question. “No. Ninety-five will be rendered a useless pile of scrap. Sourcemind will still remain in his mainframe back on Omcoros.”

“Whatever poindexter,” I scoffed. “Just keep your distance, I don’t want him to…”

Too late. He noticed us, stopped, turned, and delivered a barrage of missiles out of his chest.

“GRAB SOMETHING NOW!” Jones screamed as he took evasive maneuvers. Unfortunately for me, my sidekick’s warning was too little, too late. The ship went up and I fell back…back…back until I grabbed the corner fin with both hands..

“WORST…FLIER…EVER!!!” I shouted.

“YOU ‘AINT SEEN NOTHIN’ YET!” Jones said as he brought the ship down in a nose dive followed by a spiral, each missile exploding just inches from the hull.

The harpoon gun, precariously attached only by a cable plugged into the ship’s many battery, flapped in the breeze. I reached my right hand and after several tries, finally grabbed it.

The head clank himself hailed me on my Sen Pen.

“What the f%$k are you doing, Voss? We had a deal.”

“I didn’t know the ‘thing’ you wanted from Izok was a woman,” I replied. “What do you want her for anyway? You don’t even have a…”

Bullets from Ninety-five’s twin machine guns sprayed the ship.

“I’ve lost all respect for you, Voss!” Sourcemind said as he flew Ninety-five right up to me. “You’d give up your life for a pretty face? I’ll never understand organics.”

Jones leveled out and took us straight. Sourcemind retracted the gun that had replaced his hand and switched it back to the circular saw. He immediately went to work on the fin I was clinging to. Sparks flew as he cut it away.

“You’ll make a lovely splatter on Gnozzi Street,” Sourcemind taunted. “Here’s hoping its painful!”

With my free hand, I raised the harpoon gun and took aim.

“Jonesy,” I whispered. “Get ready…on one.”

“Loud and clear, good buddy,” Jones said.


“You have no idea what you’re messing with here,” Sourcemind said. “No idea at all! When will you pathetic organics realize understand that your day has past and its the machines’ time now? When will you comprehend that we are just as real and cognizant as you?”


His tone got louder. Angrier.



I fired. The harpoon launched the magnet right into Ninety-five’s chest. Sourcemind chuckled.

“What are you going to do? Hang a stick figure drawing on me?”

The engines backfired and rocked the ship, making it harder for me to hold on. Thousands of volts surged through the cable, knocking Sourcemind’s vessel off its feet. Ninety-five shook uncontrollably but maintained a grip on the woman.

The ship dove downward.


“There’s no power going to the ship!” my pilot said. “We’re diving until the assimilator resets!”

“You could of told me!”

Jones righted the ship again, gliding straightforward. I took advantage of a distracted Sourcemind to pull myself up to my feet.


“What?” I asked as I stomped my foot down on Nintey-Five’s face. “What are you going to do?”


He kept repeating himself. The surge was working. The ship moved faster.

“Engines are back,” Jones said.


Slowly, the robot lifted itself back on its feet. That sharp circular saw spinned round and round as he swung it over my head.

“HIT HIM AGAIN!” I shouted.

“Hitting him again,” Jones confirmed.

I grabbed an antenna, the closest thing I could get my hands on, and braced myself. The engines backfired again and the ship went down once more. My body flew through the air as I held on.

Ninety-five convulsed wildly as sparks flew out of his chassis. His head caught fire, blew up, and both robot and hostage tumbled into the night.



“We didn’t have a plan if he took the girl with him, did we?” I asked.

“No,” Jones said. “I’ve been pretty much pulling this out of my non-existent ass as we go along.”

“Shit,” I said.

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Take a knee, 3.5 readers.

I’m not old.  Depending on your age, you might consider me old or young.

I am old enough to remember the 9/11 attacks, and also, that there was a pre-9/11 world and a post-9/11 world, and I don’t think any of us understood how naive, maybe even innocent we were in those pre-9/11 days until after the World Trade Center came down.

Much has happened since then.  America responded.  Republicans and Democrats have been at each others’ throats as to what’s the best response, leaving the country more divided than ever, to the point where everyone involved in politics hates each other so much that it makes me wonder if the terrorists didn’t in fact win that day.

I don’t get political on this blog.  Prior to 9/11, I was vocal about my political opinions, but that was back in the day when people were able to talk, listen, agree to disagree, and then have a beer together after.

Now each side is so hell bent on convincing the world that the other side is a bunch of fire breathing kitten kickers that I’ll have no part of it.

What I will say this.  The Western World, with all of its democracy, freedom, capitalism, and opportunity, is not a bad place.  If it was, people wouldn’t be flocking in droves to come here.

It should be protected.  More importantly, it deserves to be protected.  The fate of humanity rests on it being protected.

How exactly to do that…I hope the powers that be can come together and find a way.

I’d offer my thoughts, but I’d rather be universally loved then partially hated, and if there’s one thing for sure these days, offering your opinion on anything political is a surefire way to get 50% of the population to hate your guts.

So I’ll just stick with my humble blog and my fun stories and more importantly, with my beloved 3.5 readers, who approve of me at a whopping 100%.

Wait.  This just in.  The .5th reader thinks I stink.  Fine.  95% of my readers love me.  Did I even do the math right on that?  Someone get a pen and paper and figure it out.

I am thinking of you, Paris.  It’s a lame thing to say.  Really, how does me thinking of Paris help them but alas, it’s all I can do.

Politicians of the world, good luck, and make an effort to come together as the free world needs you to do so now more than ever.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be here at BQB HQ with my head buried in the sand, writing my goofy stories that only 3.5 people read.

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