Daily Archives: May 8, 2016

Happy Mother’s Day – Who is your favorite fictional mother?

Happy Mother’s Day 3.5 readers.

Who is your favorite fictional mother?

For me I’d say it’s a tie between Mrs. Gump, who took one for the team so that Forrest could go to school and Shaft, the baddest mother around.

Who are your favorite fictional mothers, 3.5 readers?

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 93 (Rewrite)


Gunther only had the one good eye, but that was all he needed to land a shot straight through the neck of the werewolf that had Standing Eagle pinned. The werewolf roared in pain and became distracted just long enough for the Chief to spring to his feet and bash the beast backward with multiple tomahawk smashes to the face.

Once the monster was within range, Gunther put a silver tipped bullet right in the back of its hairy skull. Eagle side stepped just in time to avoid being crushed by the collapsing carcass.

In a blood and guts fueled frenzy, Slade was using his twin pistols to pop putrid zombie heads as if they were ripe watermelons.

Eagle’s warriors fought valiantly. Bobcat jammed his blade into a zombie’s forehead, then hacked off the creature’s hand, stole its gun and used it to blow out the brains of three more zombies.

Fox scalped a zombified Buchanan Boy, using his knife to peal away the undead man’s hair and skin, not to mention the top half of his skull. Once the zombie’s brain was exposed, Fox plunged his blade deep inside it, putting the zombie’s lights out forever.

The zombies kept attacking, as did the two remaining werewolves. The cowboys and natives closed ranks, fighting in close proximity to each other as they hacked off and shot off all manner of disgusting zombie parties.

“It seems I have saved your useless hide again, Slade,” Eagle said as he hacked the arm off one of his attackers.

“I don’t feel too safe yet,” Slade replied as he put a silver tipped bullet right through the eye of a werewolf, dropping him cold. “But thanks.”

“Are you two going to kiss or are you going to kill zombies?” Gunther asked. The old timer pulled the trigger of his rifle only to hear a click. Out of ammo, the old timer improvised and bashed an incoming’s face in with the butt of his Winchester.

“We make our ancestors proud today, Eagle!” cried Bobcat as he lopped a zombie’s head clean off and tossed it into the air. It remained alive until Slade put a bullet between its eyes before it hit the ground. It was an epic trick shot.

“Am I seeing things or are there even more of these fuckers?” Gunther asked.

“You aren’t,” Snake replied as he conked a zombie over the head with his staff. “We kill more and more and they just keep coming…ugh!”

Two zombies grabbed Snake’s arms and attempted to pull him into the sea of undead that surrounded the heroes, but Screeching Owl put an arrow in each of their heads in order to free the shaman.

High up above the brawl, Blythe hovered in the air, directing his zombies in their gruesome carnage. Slade took a few shots at the vampire, but Blythe dodged them adeptly.

From his vantage point, Blythe could see a mile in any direction, and to his delight, the entire town had become filled with zombies and werewolves.

The drive was finally complete. The werewolf herdsmen had brought their zombie cattle in, and with is mind, the vampire directed all of the undead to converge on the mayhem outside the livery.

Gunther smacked and punched away the hands that grabbed him, but they were too many. The old man was hoisted into the air and held there by several different pairs of hands. Soon, Slade was overpowered and ended up joining him, as did Fox, Owl, Bobcat, and Snake.

All heroes resisted but they were unable to break the undead grips that held them up over the zombie crowd below.

Eagle wasn’t so lucky. With a werewolf’s paw around his throat, he was lifted into the air. The werewolf squeezed…and squeezed until…CRACK! The Chief’s neck snapped and his body went limp.

Slade cried out in anger and struggled to free himself to no avail.

Down the road, a rider approached on a horse. As he drew near, the zombies parted to let him through. At least twenty hulking werewolves followed in his wake.

Ezekiel “Zeke” Kane. Alpha King of a wolf pack out of Colorado. He was older, in his early fifties at least. The hair that flowed out from under his hat was grey, as was his long beard. His leather coat was worn, looking as though it had seen a lot of action on the trail.

Blythe motioned for the zombies to clear a circle. Zeke rode into the middle of it. His spurs jangled as his boots hit the ground. Blythe landed next to him.

“Mr. Kane,” Blythe said.

“Counselor,” Zeke replied in a Southern twang.

“I trust your ride in was riveting?” Blythe asked.

“Sacked and burned everything from Colorado to Missouri,” Zeke replied. “Every pack from here to the Rockies joined in. These zombies are dumber than an inbred aardvark but they respond to the whip all right. Got quite an army on your hands now.”
“The chairman will no doubt reward you and yours ten fold,” Blythe said.

“Well, my mama always said it was impolite to talk money in front of company but I sure hope so,” the alpha said. “We didn’t drag these sons of bitches cross country for our health.”

Slade, Gunther and the natives were on their feet now, being restrained by the zombie hordes. The werewolf who bested Eagle tossed the Chief’s carcass at Blythe’s feet.

“Good boy,” Blythe said to the werewolf.

“Glory be,” Zeke said as he looked over Eagle’s muscular frame. “That’s the biggest Injun I ever seen.”

Bobcat refused to be silent. “You know not what you do, demon,” he shouted at Blythe. “You have taken the life of a warrior far, far better than you could ever be and the spirits will demand justice. They will demand…”

“Shut him up,” Blythe said. His undead stooges obeyed and clamped their hands tightly over Bobcat’s face.

Gunther and Slade were already subdued in a similar manner, disgusting hands over their mouths preventing them from saying anything.

“Mr. Kane,” Blythe said. “I hate to give you another job before you’ve had a moment to put your feet up, but there is an urgent matter in need of your skill.”

“Let’s hear it,” Zeke replied.

Blythe pointed to Slade. “This one has two women.”

“Two?!” Zeke balked as he walked over to Slade. “God damn, boy. Leave some for the rest of us, will ya?”

“They escaped,” Blythe said. “I need them back unharmed.”

Slade winced as Zeke sniffed him. “He reeks of both of them. I got their scent.”

The King flexed his muscles. They grew and grew until his clothing ripped off of him. He morphed into a mighty werewolf but unlike the others, his fur was mangy and grey.

He dropped down on all fours and scurried through the zombie hordes. Two wolves joined him.

“Take them inside,” Blythe commanded. His zombies obeyed and carried the prisoners into the livery.

Blythe rose into the air and flew back to the Marvel, where Mr. Mayhew and the other conductors were waiting.

“Shall we begin boarding sir?”

“Yes, Blythe replied as his feet touched down on the platform. “But your men can handle that. I need you to head off to the bridge and make sure it’s clear of any rabble.”

“Consider it done sir,” Mayhew replied.

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How the West Was Zombed – Why I Rewrote Chapter 93


Hey 3.5 Readers.

BQB here.

Earlier this week, I wrote Chapter 92.

Lot of stuff jammed into that one.

  • Slade, Gunther and the natives fight until they realize the town’s been overrun with zombies. Blythe’s werewolf herdsmen have finally reached Highwater after driving the zombies across the West by whipping them like cattle. Ha. Zombie cattle.
  • Standing Eagle dies. Sigh. Main characters biting the dust.  “Kill your darlings” as writers say.  Joe Freeman died earlier. Now the Chief. It’s getting depressing.
  • In the original version, we’re introduced to a character, “Molly Harper” a Werewolf Queen.
  • Like the Buchanan Boys, the werewolves have become interchangeable. They all more or less look alike so they just eventually all become dopey henchmen for the heroes to fight.
  • Every character has an arc in this story, something they need to overcome by the end. For Miles, it’s that he is an “amateur werewolf.” Young, hasn’t really had much practice at were wolfing, he’s got a conscience that weighs heavily on him so he doesn’t want to use his powers to kill people. So by the end of the book he needs to overcome that.
  • I liked the Molly Harper she-wolf character because at least she was different. Set apart and distinguished from the other wolves.  To me, she was a good character as she came to life for me in my mind, riding in on her horse, sniffing Slade to get his two females’ scent, going after them, etc.
  • But call me old fashioned, if Miles needs a showdown with a wolf by the end of this thing, it just seems wrong to me to ask the reader to cheer for him killing a woman.  Is that sexist? If women are allowed to rise through the ranks of evil-dom and equality demands that they be deemed just as cunning, ruthless and evil as men, then shouldn’t we cheer a hero for taking out a woman who thanks to equal rights is just as evil as a man?
  • Eh I dunno.  So I put the book aside a few days and thought about it.  Then I thought about how werewolves would most likely choose their leaders. I have to assume they choose them just as real wolves do. They scratch and claw each other in a fight and whoever comes out on top is the “alpha.”
  • Then it dawned on me it could be a humorous story line that Molly had clawed her way into becoming a rare female werewolf boss but…I don’t know. My mind just goes back to this character needing to be a foil for Miles, someone for him to beat to prove his werewolfiness and him beating a woman didn’t sit well with me.
  • Deadpool had this same issue.  He fights a bunch of ninja women and he’s like, “I don’t know what to do here. Your a woman and I don’t want to shoot you but is it sexist if I don’t shoot you?”
  • In short, I liked Molly’s character better but Zeke will be more in keeping with what Miles has to do.
  • Tell me what you think though, 3.5. If you can convince me to leave Molly be we aren’t so forgone that that can’t happen.
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Jon Snow on Saturday Night Live (Funny but SPOILERY)

“Hello. Tis I,  Melisandre. Remember? With the thousand year old puss.”

Ha. Saturday Night Live opines Jon Snow’s resurrection took too long:


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