Monthly Archives: January 2016

#OscarsSoPretty – Snubbed Actor – Abe Vigoda

Hello 3.5 readers.

Anti-ugly discrimination activist Bookshelf Q. Battler here, continuing to spread the polite of ugly people everywhere.

Case in point. Did you know that Abe Vigoda died this week at the age of 94? It was a shock because most people thought he already died in 1995 at the age of 156.

God bless him though.  He was funny, versatile, and he entertained many despite being so very, very ugly.

His big role was as elderly detective Phil Fish on Barney Miller.  But he did have a pretty decent part in The Godfather as well.

Yes, Abe spent most of his life looking like a zombie only to get too old to play one once the zombie craze broke out in Hollywood in the past decade.  Irony.

An old detective. An evil mafioso.  Why wasn’t Abe ever offered the spot of leading man in a romantic comedy?  Why? Just because he was so ugly that women wouldn’t have been into dreaming about being with him? Discrimination, I say.

Poor Abe.  Died this week so young at 94, so young, never had a chance to experience all that life has to offer, and worse, never got the Oscar recognition he so richly deserved.

If you can think of an ugly actor or actress denied Oscar recognition for far too long, leave your suggestion in the comments.

Be strong, my ugly brothers and sisters.  We’re here.  We’re ugly. Get used to it.

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Can We Get #OscarsSoPretty Trending on Twitter?

Hello 3.5 Readers.

Anti-ugly discrimination advocate Bookshelf Q. Battler here.  You know, in my previous missive I mentioned that #OscarsSoPretty was a thing on Twitter.

Well, I looked into it some more.  Technically, it is, but only a few people had used the hashtag before I mentioned it.  So I feel we have an opportunity to make history here. Perhaps I can use my skills as a blogger for a website with 3.5 readers to get this movement going.

If you’re a proud ugly American, please tweet your support for #OscarsSoPretty.

We will not rest until Buscemi takes home the gold.

 

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The Academy Responds to #OscarsSoPretty

Reblogged in solidarity for my ugly brothers and sisters. We will not we will not be moved…

#OscarsSoPretty – Why Are No Ugly People Nominated?

Hello 3.5 readers.

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BQB’s High School Yearbook Photo.  Ten takes and this was the best one.

Bookshelf Q. Battler, here to talk to you about a very sensitive subject.

By now you’ve heard of the “#OscarsSoWhite” controversy. For the second consecutive year, no non-white actors or actresses have been nominated for the entertainment industry’s most coveted prize.

As you’re all aware, I am a paragon of fairness, and while I’m loathe to throw stones, I’m pretty sure it is safe to assume, based on the criticism levied at this completely useless awards ceremony in which the mega rich and ultra glamorous pat one another on the back, that everyone in Hollywood has a klan robe hanging in their closet.

But I’m not here to talk about that issue.  This matter has already been widely reported and will be a part of the public dialogue for weeks to come leading up to the ceremony itself.

No, what I’m here to discuss is a question that’s loomed large on my mind my entire life but I’ve never had the courage to say anything about it until now:

WHY ARE THE OSCARS SO DAMN PRETTY?

There.  I said it and as an advocate for the ugly, it felt good.

The Academy assures us that it is taking steps to ensure that the Oscars will be more diverse in the future, an excellent move of course.  However, whether you’re black or white, asian or latino, or some other ethnicity, one thing is for certain:

IF YOU ARE AN UGLY PERSON, YOU’LL BE STRUCK BY LIGHTNING ON YOUR WAY TO CASH IN YOUR WINNING POWERBALL TICKET LONG BEFORE YOU GET NOMINATED.

Not convinced?  That’s ok.  You’re probably an attractive person. You suffer from “Attractive Person Privilege” and have thus lived your entire life oblivious to the plight of the ugly person.

You were always invited to parties.  Hell, people threw parties in the hopes that you’d attend.  People feel like their lives have been enriched if you simply walk past them.  If you get lost and take a wrong turn into a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, no one calls the cops on you to report that a damn C.H.U.D. is on the loose. You’ve never cried yourself to sleep after spending an evening researching the costs of various anti-uglification surgeries.

Yes, attractive person, you should definitely sign up for some ugly person sensitivity training, but in the meantime, just take a look at this year’s nominees and tell me that there isn’t a pro attractive person bias:

BEST ACTOR:  

LEONARDO DICAPRIO

Jesus H. Christ look at this guy. It’s like when he was being made in Heaven’s people factory, God got up off his ass, walked down to the assembly line, and personally supervised the production process.  Leonardo literally cannot take two steps down the street without being slapped in the face with a vagina.  That’s how badly women want him.

In The Revenant, Leo plays a man who gets the shit mauled out of him by a damn fat ass bear and then has to drag his mortally wounded carcass across miles of unexplored territory but somehow, he still manages to cast a striking figure the entire time.

I can tell you I have to go through an entire morning routine just to upgrade myself to C.H.U.D status so if I were mauled by a damn bear I’d just end up too ugly to even walk out of the house.

(Millennials, C.H.U.D. stands for “Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller.” They were in a horror movie in the eighties.  They’re very ugly.  Not only would a C.H.U.D. never win an Academy Award, but you’d never want to swipe right on one if you saw it on Tinder.)

MATT DAMON 

Shit.  What a handsome son of a bitch.  He’s so good looking that every movie he is in, from Saving Private Ryan to The Martian, is about all the time, money, and effort entire teams of people are willing to expend just to get him back whenever he’s lost because that’s just how precious he is to everyone.

Do you know what The Martian would be like if I had been cast in the lead role? The entire movie would be one minute long and it’d be a bunch of dudes at NASA saying, “F$%K that I’m not going to put in overtime just to retrieve an ugly guy.  That ugly bastard can rot on Mars for all I care.”

Saving Private Ryan? Tom Hanks leads his men into enemy territory to rescue Matt Damon.

Saving Private Battler? Tom Hanks would let the Nazis keep me.

ANY QUESTIONS?

“BUT BQB, BRYAN CRANSTON WAS NOMINATED FOR TRUMBO AND HE’S NOT ALL THAT HANDSOME.”

No, but he’s not ugly either.  Believe it or not but it is possible to be in a gray area where you’re not a suave ass baller but you’re also not a C.H.U.D.

You can be just an average looking guy or gal and be considered for an Oscar.  It still isn’t as easy it is for attractive people.  You have to work extra hard, be in the business for years, take self-deprecating roles like Cranston did as the dumb Dad on Malcolm in the Middle.  If you do all that then maybe, just maybe, they’ll think about handing you a little gold statue if, but only if, you’re lucky enough to get cast in a role that you act the shit out of, like Cranston did in Breaking Bad.

Do all that and MAYBE JUST MAYBE you’ll get a nod as an average person.  Forget it if you’re a hideous mutant.

“BUT BQB, EDDIE REDMAYNE WON AN OSCAR LAST YEAR AND HE WAS NOMINATED AGAIN THIS YEAR.”

True, but here is the thing:

THERE’S A SMALL SUBSET OF UGLY PEOPLE WHO ARE UGLY IN JUST THE RIGHT WAY THAT IT MAKES THEM ADORABLE.

Eddie Redmayne is one of those people.  Benedict Cumberbatch is another.  There must be something in the water in England.  Come to think of it, the UK is the home of the pug.  Have you ever seen a pug?  You just want to smoosh their wittle faces don’t you?

If you’re a pug the Academy will look the other way.

We’ve talked about the men, but what about the women?

BEST ACTRESS:

JENNIFER LAWRENCE

Holy Crap.  Look, I’m not trying to be inappropriate here, but that chick can catch any D she wants any day of the week and twice on Sunday.  Not saying she does. Just saying that she never, ever has to worry about being alone. If she ever feels alone, she can just put her head out her front door and shout, “I’m Jennifer Lawrence! Who wants to talk to me?” and then talk to the ten thousand men that show up.

This woman is so hot that she stars in a Young Adult movie series in which she can’t figure out which of the two dudes who wants her to pick. When was the last time you ever had a choice?  Before I met Video Game Rack Fighter, I don’t recall ever having any choices to make in my past dating life. If a woman was willing to acknowledge my existence after a first date, then I asked her out again.

Jennifer Lawrence is so hot that cyber criminals actually hacked her phone because that’s how badly they wanted to see pictures of her butt.  No one wants to look at pictures of my butt I’ll tell you.  You will be scarred for life from that sight.  If anything, hackers might hack my phone to install a program on it that prevents me from taking pictures of my butt.  Not that I was going to do that anyway but still.

CATE BLANCHETT

Cate Blanchett has been in the acting biz a long time.  She’s hot when she plays straight women. In Carol, she plays a lesbian.  Just throwing it out there, if I were a woman, I’d become a lesbian just to go out with Cate Blanchett.

ANY QUESTIONS?

“BUT BQB, CHARLOTTE RAMPLING WAS NOMINATED AND SHE’S SO OLD!”

Hold on to your hats, 3.5 readers, because I’m about to let you in on one of Hollywood’s biggest Oscar loopholes:

LOOKS FADE.  EVEN ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE KNOW THAT.  AND NOT EVERY ATTRACTIVE PERSON CAN WIN AN OSCAR EVERY YEAR. ERGO, IF YOU ARE AN ACTOR OR ACTRESS AND YOU GET OLD, YOU’LL BE CONSIDERED FOR AN OSCAR AS LONG AS YOU WERE SUPER HOT WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG.

Google some pictures of Charlotte Rampling in her heyday.  Again, not trying to be inappropriate, but Charlotte Rampling in her prime was a world class source of boner inspiration.

Same scenario for Jessica Tandy. When she was young, Jessica Tandy pitched more tents than Barnum and Bailey.  That’s why they were willing to give her an Oscar for Driving Miss Daisy when she was at the end of her life and looked like the Crypt Keeper.

(Millennials, the Crypt Keeper was this boney, scary voiced mummified guy who hosted a horror show on HBO.)

“BUT BQB, SHOULD YOU BE SAYING SUCH MEAN THINGS ABOUT UGLY PEOPLE?”

It’s ok.  I’m ugly.  They’re my people.  It’s our thing.  Behind closed doors, we go up to each other and say, “Yo, what up, my uggo?”

You can’t do that to an ugly person if you’re attractive.  That’s OUR thing.

“BUT BQB, I WATCH MOVIES ALL THE TIME AND I ALWAYS SEE UGLY CHARACTERS ON SCREEN.”

Oh sure. Ugly people aren’t completely banned from Hollywood.  But they are tired of being typecast as trolls, demons, monsters, psychotic murderers, homeless people, bloated corpses being investigated by attractive detectives who end up humping because they can’t keep their hands off each other because they’re so damn attractive, hobgoblins, villains, and of course, the sassy office assistant who tells the female lead of a romantic comedy, “Go get him, girlfriend!”

In the Academy’s defense here, this could be an issue that isn’t the movie industry’s fault.  Amidst the #OscarsSoWhite discussion, there is another discussion as to whether or not art imitates life and if so, then perhaps the issue is that Oscar winning movies are often about historical events and sadly, due to racism, many minorities have been kept from taking part in the activities that become fodder for Academy recognized films.

I feel like I speak for ugly people everywhere when I ask society to keep an open mind when it comes to hiring an ugly person.  Sure, you’d rather have a hottie to stare at in your office, but the ugly person will work harder because they know they have to and they might actually help you get shit done.

“NO REALLY, BQB, I HAVE SEEN MOVIES WHERE AN UGLY PERSON WAS THE MAIN CHARACTER!”

Again, we have to make a distinction between ugly characters and the attractive people hired to ugly themselves up with makeup and prosthetics to play them.

Yup.  That’s right.  Even when there’s a role that calls for an ugly person, Hollywood will not call on any one of the many ugly people who, against the advice of their friends and family, travelled to Hollywood in search of fame, ignoring all the cries of, “You’ll never make it!  You’re too ugly!”

Instead, they’ll just take an attractive person and apply some ugly makeup.

For instance, take the 2003 film, Monster, about the life of Aileen Wuornos, a very unattractive female serial killer.

Did Hollywood give an ugly actress her big break?  Nope. They just took inconceivably hot actress Charlize Theron and uglied her up.  Put a shitty hair wig on her, used makeup to add wrinkles and acne and blotches and so on.

And she won an Oscar!  And you know, she’s a great actress and all, but come on.  This chick wakes up every morning looking like a damn Disney princess.  If I were a blue jay I’d want to fly into her room and land on her arm just to listen to her sing and then do all of her housework for her.  That’s how hot she is.

Plenty of roles available for hot chicks.  Hollywood could have let an ugly chick have her fifteen minutes of fame to play an ugly serial killer.

Hollywood does this all the time, often with villains.  It’s like they just ugly up a good looking person and then wink at the audience and say, “Don’t worry folks!  There’s a really good looking person under this get up!  We’d never let an ugly person star in a movie!  Ha ha ha!”

What if a real life nerd defies the odds to achieve greatness?  Surely they’ll allow a nerd to play a nerd, right?

Wrong.  Steve Jobs was the ultimate king of the nerds.  Did they hire a nerd to play him?  Nope.  They just slapped a pair of glasses on Michael Fassbender.  Typical Hollywood.

If I may wax controversial for a moment, “black face” or when a white person applies black makeup and pretends to be black, is a highly offensive practice and rightly so.

As an ugly person, I don’t like it when attractive people walk around in “ugly face.”  That fake ugly face does not give the attractive person any insight into the suffering of the ugly.  Everyone knows attractive people in ugly face are still good looking under there.  They’re still getting invited to the party anyway.

WHAT ABOUT BEHIND THE SCENES OSCARS?

They don’t count.  We fully understand that Hollywood will allow you to work behind the scenes as a director, or a cinematographer or a writer even if you’re a total mutant.  My hat goes off to them.  In today’s economy, it is hard to get a job at McDonald’s if you’re an ugly person, so ugly people have really pulled off a hat trick if they’re allowed to do anything at all in the film industry.

But I’m talking about putting more ugly people on screen so that the nation’s vast supply of ugly people will learn to love themselves, ugliness and all.

WHAT ABOUT DEMOGRAPHICS?

According to the Fake Institute for Bogus Statistics, attractive people make up a mere twenty-percent of all movie going audiences.

That’s because attractive people have so many better options for a Saturday night.  When surveyed, attractive couples stated that instead of watching a movie, they’d rather go sky diving, or white water rafting, or skinny dipping, or go for a frolic in a field of daisies without a care in the world, or lie on a beach and make love with one another, completely oblivious to the waves crashing all around them, or travel to a third world nation and take a selfie with a starving child so they can slap it up on Facebook and pretend that they care, or attend any of the millions upon millions of parties they are invited to or have thrown in their honor per year.

Good looking people just do not have time for movies unless they’re starring in them.

Ugly people make up the remaining 80 percent.  When surveyed as to why they enjoy movies so much, they said that they prefer to remain in the dark like the C.H.U.D.s that they are, that movies provide a form of escapism that helps them forget about the horrible lives they live as ugly people, that romance films, in particular, allow them to fantasize about what it would be like to be in a relationship because God knows no one is asking them out on a date because they’re too ugly, and finally, they have a lot of free time to spend at the movies because they’re so ugly that no one wants to make love to them in the crashing waves of a sandy beach or frolic through a field of daisies with them.

ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Yes and no.  First, yes, I get Hollywood’s side.  They’re in a visual business. They sell escapism.  I go to movies to escape from the low level of life my ugliness causes me.  I go to movies so I can pretend to be one of the attractive people on screen.  I don’t want to pretend to be ugly because I already am.

Yup.  Little known secret.  Even ugly people discriminate against ugly people.  Most ugly people have convinced themselves their transformation into an attractive person is just around the corner so they better not associate with ugly people and hold out for all the attractive people coming their way once they deuglify themselves.  So many ugly people waste their time home alone when they could be together, enjoying one another’s ugly company.

 

Ugly people must stand up and inform the public about this outrage in a productive manner.  They can’t rely on the news media to do it for them.  Have you watched the news lately?  Every anchorman looks like a perfect haired, square jawed, straight teeth having Mitt Romney looking bastard and every reporter is a Hot Ass Blonde Chick like the one who, to her credit, saved my life during last year’s East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.

The attractive people in the news media either don’t understand or don’t care about the plight of the ugly.

IS ATTRACTIVE PRIVILEGE REAL?

Yes, and not just in Hollywood but everywhere.  Attractive people have no clue how many doors to the good life magically open up for them just because they’re easy on the eyes.

Attractive people can ask someone out on a date and instantly get a yes, not a “I think I have to wash my hair that night” or “I have to take my cat to the podiatrist” or even worse, “I’ll get back to you” and then they don’t get back to you.

Do you know what attractive men reported as the number one source of their injuries last year?  Broken ribs caused by throngs of hot women throwing themselves at them.

Do you know what ugly men reported as the number one source of their injuries last year?  Pepper spray blasts to the face from attractive women they just said hello to.

Do you know what attractive women reported as the number one source of their injuries last year?  “Selfie Finger.”  Searing finger pained caused by taking too many selfies because they know they’re hot and they’re addicted to all the likes they get for their duck faced photos on social media.

Do you know what ugly women reported as the number one source of their injuries last year? Suffocation under enormous piles of cats.  So very many cats.

Attractive privilege is even prevalent in the workplace.  An ugly person could write a report on how the company’s product, if arranged in a certain way, could be used as a cure for cancer, saving countless lives and earning the company trillions and still get chewed out for interrupting the meeting with his/her ugly face.

Meanwhile, attractive people can just show up late, openly admit they didn’t do shit on the big project, and still get promoted.  The boss will say something to the effect of, “You’re such a straight shooter, attractive person!  I like it!  Lunch is on me!”

Note all this information comes from the Fake Institute for Bogus Statistics.

FINAL THOUGHTS

The vast majority of movie fans are ugly C.H.U.D.s who immerse themselves in film because their lives suck due to their atrocious appearances.

Yet, most unfairly, ugly people of all ethnicities and backgrounds are consistently denied Oscar consideration.

This February, little ugly children will tune into the Oscars and not see anyone who looks as ugly as they are, leaving them with the message that they aren’t welcome in Hollywood.

And sure, you might say, that’s good that they get that message early and get the idea of fame out of their heads so they can grow up and use all the time they aren’t spending on dates that no one wants to go with them on, on studying hard to become doctors, lawyers, scientists, professionals, heads of state and so on.

But, that would be missing the point.  Ugly people can’t help their ugliness. It isn’t their fault that God spent a little extra time baking some people, and took others out of the oven a little too early.

#OscarsSoPretty is an actually thing.  I didn’t make it up.  Ugly people have taken to Twitter to make their voices heard, mostly because they have nothing better to do since no one is asking them out on a date.

Ugly lives matter.  Attractive privilege is real.  End ugly discrimination and nominate a genuine, bonafide ugly person in 2017.

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Pop Culture Mysteries – Interview (Er, Interrogation) of Martin Turnbull

Hello 3.5 readers.

Jake Dashing, P.I. does not interview. He interrogates.  And I’d like to thank Martin Turnbull, author of the Hollywood’s Garden of Allah series and an Old Hollywood expert, for being the first writer to sit under the hot lights.

You’ll find the interview on Pop Culture Mysteries, a website that I’m currently building.  Presently, it really does only have 3.5 readers but with your help, that should change in no time.

Martin’s latest book, Reds in the Beds, is available now on Amazon.

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Zombie Western Crossroads

Howdy 3.5 buckaroos.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.  So, the 3.5 readers with me from the beginning have known that I have a problem.  I start stories, then I hit a wall, then I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to climb over that wall.

In that regard, I think that’s a problem every author faces.  Maybe its not so much a wall as a crossroads.  A fork in the road, rather.  You have to pick a direction and you worry the road you take will offend your 3.5 readers into running off and finding some other blog to read.

Anyway, yup, I foresee a fork in the road ahead.

You may have noticed that Part 1 has no zombies in it, just a brief mention by some Native Americans that “the undead” might be coming.  Hate to break it to you, but I don’t believe that Part 2 will have any zombies in it either.

I know.  Right now you’re channeling Dr. Malcolm from Jurassic Park.  “Uh…you do plan on having zombies in your uh zombie book, don’t you?”

Yes.  And how to handle the zombies was also a decision.  There was the option to just let them roam around uncontrollably with no one having any idea where they came from and watch as Slade and Co. fight for survival.

Hell, the Walking Dead has been on forever without informing their 3.5 billion viewers as to how the zombademic occurred.

But, I decided to go with a villain.  Henry Alan Blythe, yet to be introduced will, well I won’t spoil it, but he’ll have the ability to control the zombies.  On their own, they’ll just be dumb zombies running around eating everyone but then Blythe has the ability to take control and focus them on something…an army of the undead at his disposal.

OK, so I just gave a big spoiler.  But you’re not just my 3.5 readers.  You’re my 3.5 writing advisors too.

So the fork in the road.  How will Slade find out about Blythe’s powers?

I’m torn between two options:

OPTION 1

Blythe pulls the classic Bond villain move, capturing Slade, fully explaining himself, his motives, his powers, what he’s up to, perhaps the reason would be Slade gets an offer to join him in his evil mission or perish…oh and of course than Slade, ala Austin Powers, is “left in an easily escapable situation with one inept guard while the villain walks away without confirming his enemy’s death.”  Cheesy, but most of my stuff is a parody over something else so, I think I can get away with it.

Option 2

A new character, I’m thinking a former slave with his own supernatural powers, moseys into town.  He’s crossed paths with Blythe before so he explains everything.  PRO – avoids the Bond style villain confession.  CON – every time you add a hero, it does steal some of Slade i.e. the main hero’s thunder…though I’m thinking eventually it becomes a Scooby Gang situation (remember Buffy the Vampire Slayer?  She did all the work and her Scooby Gang, i.e. Xander, Willow et all were the support team?)

I don’t know.  What say you, 3.5 cowpokes?

 

 

 

 

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Eddie the Eagle – a Triumph for All Nerds

This movie looks great.  An unathletic nerd dreams of becoming an Olympian, chooses ski jumping because the UK hasn’t had one since 1929, and goes for it.

As a spokesman for nerds everywhere, I demand this film sweep the Oscars in 2017.

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How the West Was Zombed – Part 1 – The Stand

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U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade and his trusty deputy Gunther Beauregard are joined by traveling snake oil salesman Doctor Elias T. “Doc” Faraday in a stand against the nefarious Buchanan Boys.

Strap on your chaps and get ready to ride back to the Old West, 3.5 pardnahs.  This here’s the first part in an ongoing novel sure to appease the Mighty Potentate.

Chapter 1             Chapter 2         Chapter 3

Chapter 4            Chapter 5          Chapter 6

TRIVIA: By now, Old West movie buffs may have figured out which actor Slade is a parody of.  Feel free to share if you caught it.

Any idea who BQB had in mind when he created Gunther?  HINT: think TV instead of movies.

Oh, and if you’re one of them cowpokes who prefers a mobile friendly format, mosey on over to Wattpad.  Hell, BQB only started posting this story up there on Wednesday and its already ranked #932 in Wattpad horror.

Let’s keep it going, shall we?

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 6

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There Smelly Jack laid, face down in the dirt, defeated and humiliated, his hands and feet hogtied behind his back. His brothers, cousins, and brother-cousins were all arranged similarly in a line that stretched the entire length of the the road.

Slade and Gunther stood watch over the wanton criminal, ignoring his demands for clemency.

“Dammit Slade, ‘aint you an officer of the law?!” Jack asked. “You’re just going to let them damn dirty Injuns take me away?!”

He didn’t show it, but the Marshall enjoyed letting Smelly Jack sweat.

Standing Eagle approached.

“Let me do the talking,” Slade said to Gunther.

“Since when do you do any talking?” Gunther asked.

“Don’t do the fake Injun talk shit,” Slade said. “He hates that.”

The Chief embraced Slade, who in turn, just let his arms hang down at his sides. Slade’s machismo would not allow him to hug another man.

“I am glad I was able to save your skin, Slade,” Standing Eagle said.

“So am I,” the Marshall replied.

Gunther raised a flat palm in the air. “HOW!”

The Chief rolled his eyes and glared at Slade as if to ask, “Really?”

In turn, Slade shrugged his shoulders as if to reply, “Afraid so.

“How what?” Standing Eagle asked Gunther.

Gunther doubled down on his ignorance and repeated “HOW!”

“How what?” Standing Eagle asked. “How do you chop wood? How do you skin a deer? What do you want to know how to do?”

Gunther was overcome by bewilderment.

“ME GUNTHER,” the old man shouted. “ME…WHITE…LAW…MAN. YOU…BIG WARRIOR BRAVE! ME GIVE YOU…MANY THANKS…FOR CAPTURING BAD MEN!!!”

Standing Eagle asked Slade, “Why is he doing the fake Indian talk shit? I hate it when white men do the fake Indian talk shit.”

“Tried to tell him,” Slade said.

“I can speak English, white man!” Standing Eagle said to Gunther. “I always study the ways of those who intend to do me harm.”

“Oh,” Gunther said. “Well, thanks just the same. I reckon we were up shit creek without a paddle until your canoe came along.”

“Don’t mention it,” Standing Eagle said. The Chief grabbed Jack’s carcass, hoisted it up into the air, and put it over his shoulder. “Time for this monster to get what’s coming to him.”

Jack wrenched his bound up body to and fro but it was no use. “SLADE!!!! YOU GOTTA DO SOMETHIN’!”

“Whoa,” Slade said.

“Whoa?” the Chief asked.

“He’s got to stay,” Slade replied.

Standing Eagle allowed Jack’s body to drop to the ground. The outlaw screamed like a little girl the entire way down until he landed with a magnificent thud.

Slade was a tall man in his own right, but most men looked like dwarves when compared to the mighty Standing Eagle. He looked down at the Marshall with great disdain.

“We had a deal, Slade,” Standing Eagle said. “This fiend and his family have burned our homes, murdered our people, kidnapped and raped our women. You promised me justice will be done!”

Slade nodded. “He’ll swing. I guarantee.”

“You guarantee?” Standing Eagle asked. “How many guarantees have my people received from YOUR people that we will not be harmed, that we will not be forced from our lands? Your guarantees mean nothing to me!”

“Chief,” Gunther said. “What I think the Marshall’s tryin’ to say is that we got our own rules and we got our own big chiefs back in Washington that want to see Smelly Jack and his boys dead for all the havoc they’ve caused all these years. We’ll be in big trouble if we let him go.”

“HANDSOME JACK!” Jack shouted. “I TOLD THAT NEWSMAN HE WAS SUPPOSED TO CALL ME HANDSOME JACK IN THE PAPER! I OUGHTA TRACK THAT SHIT HEAD DOWN AND…”

Slade pressed his boot down on the back of Jack’s head, not so hard as to pop his skull open, but just firmly enough to keep the prisoner quiet. After a second or two of compliance through silence, Slade returned his foot to the ground.

“I already wired Judge Sampson,” Slade said.

“Shit, there you go, Chief,” Gunther said. “Judge Sampsons’ a real stickler, let me tell you. That old cuss would hang his own mother for stealin’ a piece of candy. You got nothin’ to worry about. Smelly Jack’ll be twitchin’ at the end of a rope in a week, just as soon as the Judge gets to town and makes it all formal like.”

“HANDSOME JACK!!!” Jack yelled.

“SHUT UP!” Gunther and Standing Eagle yelled at the prisoner in unison.

Doc stuck a bottle in Standing Eagle’s face. “Chief, would it be possible for us to set aside our cultural differences over a drink of my Miracle Cure-All? Not that you need it, as you appear to be a specimen of perfect health and virility but one can never be too careful when it comes to preventative medicine.”

The bottle was instantly slapped out of Doc’s hand. It went sailing through the air then shattered on the ground, spraying its contents everywhere.

“I know your tricks,” Standing Eagle said. “You offer a gift as a gesture of friendship but then it ends up being laced with diseases from across the great ocean.”

“Not as such, no,” Doc said. “Its mostly just cocaine and spider eggs for texture.”

“Slade,” Standing Eagle said. “Out of all the white men I have ever met, I always believed you were the one without a forked tongue…”

The Chief grimaced. “…but now I am beginning to see the prongs…”

“I’m…” The man of few words struggled to speak but all he could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”

Standing Eagle turned his back on the lawmen and walked toward a group of warriors. Slade and Gunther followed behind.

“Chief, this is all just a big misunderstanding,” Gunther said. “The Marshall, he ‘aint much of a talker so I don’t know what happened, maybe something somehow got mixed up in whatever chat you two had before all this happened but I swear Ole Smelly Jack will get what’s comin’ to him.”

Jack rolled over on his side, only to yell out in pain as he shifted his body’s weight onto his elbow. “HANDSOME JACK!”

Slade drew his Colt and fired a round that landed in the ground just an inch away from Jack’s head, setting off a small explosion of dirt.

“Say it again,” Slade said.

“I’ll be good,” Jack replied.

Standing Eagle folded his arms and stared at Slade and Gunther with disgust, as if they were just a couple of lowly rats in the great warrior’s eyes.

“My name is Standing Eagle,” the Chief said.

“We know,” Gunther replied.

“No,” the Chief said. “You do not know. The mighty eagle has the power of flight. With his majestic wings, he can soar high above the clouds, look down upon the world in awe, and travel anywhere at any time.”

Doc missed out on this conversation. He chatted up a pair of ladies, attempting to impress them with his massive vocabulary.

“But I am not Soaring Eagle, nor am I Flying Eagle. I am Standing Eagle, for an eagle is at its strongest when it knows exactly where it wishes to be and refuses to use its wings to leave. This land is my home. It is where I was born and where I will die, of old age I hope but in battle if I must. I do not need to leave for the earth provides us with all that we need to survive. There is plenty for my people and there would be plenty for yours if you would live the way you were intended to. Instead, you take, and take and take to fill the bottomless pits of your empty souls. I fear one day the white man will take until the world becomes a rotten, spent husk. I do not envy anyone living when that day comes. But until it does, I will stand with brothers and my sisters, my elders and my children, in the place where the spirits decided I should be long ago. I will fly away for no man.”

“Chief…” Slade said.

“Slade,” Standing Eagle said, “We had a relationship of trust. You were a man of your word, more so than any other man who held your position in the past. Together, we’ve kept the peace between our people for a year, but now that you’ve destroyed our trust, I fear our peace will soon follow.”

Standing Eagle pointed to one of his men.  He was shorter and skinnier.  His face was covered with war paint.  He and his leader exchanged words in their native tongue.

“This is Wandering Snake,” the Chief explained. “He is our most powerful shaman.”

“A what-man?” Gunther whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Some kind of holy magic man,” Slade answered.

“Silence, imbeciles!”  Standing Eagle said.  “He is the vessel through which the spirits make their will known and…HE WILL NOW SEAL YOUR DOOM!”

Gunther looked a little nervous.  Slade was as nonchalant as ever.

Wandering Snake proceeded with an elaborate dance, during which he chanted in a steady rhythm.

Standing Eagle translated.

“Filthy, incompetent white men!  You have angered the spirits.  You have disrupted the slumber of our ancestors.  Once again, you prove that your treachery and lies know no boundaries…”

“Chief,”  Gunther interrupted.  “Is this going to take long?”

“The man you call Jack Buchanan…and his kin…their vile misdeeds have caused much misery and suffering…”

“It’s just that I’m hungry as hell and need to get a steak in me,” Gunther complained.

“SHUT UP, DUMBASS!” Standing Eagle shouted.  “I’M TRYING TO CURSE YOU, HERE!”

Slade nodded at Gunther, a sign that he wanted the old man to pipe down.  As a good deputy, he did as instructed.

Wandering Snake pulled off a visually stunning twirl.  He was very limber and spry.

“The spirits have decreed…that if the Buchanans do not pay for the lives they have taken with their own…then your farm lands will grow useless…your…yes, your lives will be filled with torment….”

Wandering Snake kept up with his performance, dancing and chanting away.  However, Standing Eagle stopped translating and appeared to be deep in thought.  He stroked his chin, looked up to the sky, then after a minute, looked at the two lawmen and declared…

…and when your people die…they will not completely die.  Their souls will move on but their bodies will remain in motion, shells of their former selves, wandering about aimlessly as they search for the flesh of the living to devour…your punishment will be to fend off their attacks until the end of time.”

Silence.  Wandering Snake took a breather.

“Is that it?”  Gunther asked.

“That’s it,” Standing Eagle said.  “Why, do you want more?”

“Not especially,” Gunther said.

A warrior walked up leading the Chief’s horse, a white paint with brown spots.  Standing Eagle mounted his noble steed.  He didn’t bother with a saddle.

“Mark my words, Slade,” Standing Eagle said, pointing a finger toward Smelly Jack. “If he doesn’t die, you’ll wish you had.”

The warriors packed up and together they rode out of town, their noble chief leading the way.

“Damn,” Gunther said. “There goes some pissed off Injuns.”

“Yup,” Slade replied.

The law men looked at each other.  Gunther budged first.

“You don’t think…”

Slade chomped on his cigar. “Nah.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Leaving Slade on watch, Gunther returned to the Bonnie Lass, where the patrons were hiding behind the bar, under tables, and so on.

“You can come out now, chicken shits,”  Gunther said. “The desperadoes have been apprehended, relieved of their shootin’ irons, and there’s no more danger at all.  Now we just need some folks to help us stand guard over ’em until the Judge arrives.  Pays fifty cents a day and all you gotta do is point a gun at a bunch of tied up reprobates.”

Literally every hand in the bar shot up into the air.

“Yup,” Gunther said. “I figured as much.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 5

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Jack Buchannan earned the nickname “Smelly Jack” due to the fact that he and soap weren’t exactly good acquaintances. His hat and duster were covered in stains. That’s because he never bothered to wash either of them. Ever.

His beard was filled with little chunks of food. Amongst the populace, there was a difference of opinion as to whether Jack was saving his lunch for later of if he was just a sloppy eater. The answer was likely a little from Column A and a little from Column B.

Worst of all, he was bat shit crazy, a murderous psychopath who should have been thrown in an insane asylum the day he was born. And that’s just what his mother had to say about him.

BLAM! Jack blasted his Remington straight in the air. His boys were rowdy. Anxious. Itching for a fight. They shared their leader’s grooming habits. Most of them were Jack’s brothers. Some were his cousins. Some were even his brother-cousins. The Buchanan family tree was more of a flat, branchless log.

“WELL, WELL, WELL, WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!”

Jack hopped down off his horse and got right up in Slade’s face. The outlaw’s rancid breath wafted into Gunther and Doc’s nostrils, giving each man an upset stomach. Slade took the brunt of the odor but didn’t budge. He moved for no man.

“Rainier Slade!” Jack said. “‘Aint you the no good rotten louse who lead the posse that put my brother Dave on the end of a noose?”

Slade and Jack locked eyes. It was on.

“Yup,” Slade said.

“Why in the hell did you go and do that for?” Jack asked.

Slade studied Jack’s face. It was barely visible behind all the unruly whiskers. “He broke the law.”

Jack laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed some more. His boys joined in. Then abruptly, the killer shouted ever so maniacally, “I AM THE LAW!!!”

Spittle sprayed all over Slade’s face which, as you might expect by now, did nothing to dissuade our hero’s steadfast resolve.

Jack spotted the bottle in Doc’s hand. “What’s that?”

Doc’s favorite question. He handed the bottle over. “Why it’s my Miracle Cure-All, sir! Please, do help yourself, its been known to calm even the most unruly of dispositions.”

Down the hatch. Glug…glug…glug. “Not bad,” Jack said as he passed the bottle to his boys, who each took a taste. “Could be stronger.”

“Oh, as a man of science I assure you any stronger and you wouldn’t be alive,” Doc said.

Jack pressed a finger into Slade’s chest, pushing it hard, as if in an attempt to push it straight through.

“‘Aint no law out here ‘cept what the strongest man says is the law,” Jack said. “Might makes right, if you got the steel you make the deals and if you take the lead then you’re dead. Simple as that.”

Gunther cleared his throat. “I wonder if there might not be some kind of peaceful resolution to be had here.”

“SHUT UP OLD MAN!” Jack shouted. “I ‘AINT TALKIN TO YOU!”

“All right then,” Gunther replied.

“Tell you what, Marshall,” Jack said. “I’ll give you till the count of three to walk your sorry ass away before I blow your head clean off. And I’ll enjoy it too because I miss my brother somethin’ awful.”

Slade chomped on his cigar. He was moved enough to come out with a full sentence. “Looks like you got plenty of brothers to spare.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But Dave was my brother AND my uncle, so he was doubly special to me.”

Gunther and Slade traded glances. Neither one of them wanted to bother trying to figure out the scenario that made that possible.

Jack reached his hand downward, curling his fingers over his sidearm. Slade did the same, as did the rest of the Buchanan Boys. Gunther held his Winchester tight. Doc prepared to flick his wrists.

At this point, you, the noble reader should imagine yourself viewing this scene on a big screen television. The camera whips around quickly to each character and zooms in on their eyes, leaving you, the viewer, to wonder what is on their minds. Is this for real? Is everyone about to kill each other?

Throw in an emotional song filled with trumpets, whip cracks, and men grunting in a guttural manner and you’ve got the quintessential Western movie showdown scene.

“Rain,” Gunther whispered. “If you got an ace up that sleeve of yours, now would be the time to play it.”

Slade had nothing to say.

Jack started the count. “ONE…”

“Aw shit,” Gunther said. “Well, I had a good run.” He looked up to the sky. “I’m a-comin’ Mavis.”

“…TWO…”

Doc looked around. “I say, gentlemen, I just recalled that I have a very important appointment tomorrow morning and it would be quite rude of me if I were to die and miss it so I think I shall just excuse myself and…”

Slade took out his cigar and inserted two fingers into his mouth, one on each side. He blew a loud, sharp whistle.

Rustling sounds. War whoops. On the rooftops on the stores lining each side of the street, over a hundred Native American braves appeared, bow and arrows and rifles at the ready.

Behind our trio, a dusty cloud barreled down the road. Galloping sounds. More battle cries. A hundred more warriors on horseback.

“Rain, you magnificent son of a bitch!” a wide eyed Gunther said.

Jack didn’t share that assessment. “Goddamn pussy!” he said to Slade. “Lettin’ Injuns do your dirty work!”

Insults like that didn’t bother Slade. He was the type of man who had to respect a man before his insults could bother him.

“Boys,” Gunther said. “I reckon y’all will want to let your steel hit the ground and put your hands up now.”

The Buchanan Boys may not have been known for their brain power, but they knew when they were outfoxed and outnumbered, so they did as instructed.

Chief Standing Eagle. He stood over 6’5″ and had a bare, broad chest with muscles upon his muscles’ muscles. He wore a full feathered headdress. It was colorful. White. Red. Black. It shook gracefully as he dismounted his horse.

The look in the warrior’s eyes when he saw Jack. It was definitely personal. Even Jack knew it.

“Aww shit, Slade!” Jack cried. “You can’t do this!”

Standing Eagle and Slade traded nods. The Chief walked forward, darted out his right hand, clasped it around Jack’s throat and lifted him off the ground, high into the air.

“Slade…SLADE!!!” Jack’s whining was interrupted by coughs and sputters as the Chief tightened his hand. “You can’t turn me over to this…to this…SAVAGE!!!”

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