Monthly Archives: October 2016

Halloween on a Monday

shutterstock_113293567Yeesh.

What a load of crap.

Who wants Halloween on a Monday when you’re just getting the work week started?

As the Count would say, “Bleh.”

It has been a fun month here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog with Count Krakovich, Asshat Vampire and Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian.

Hope you had a good time, 3.5 readers.

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Remember the Zombamo – Part 2 – William Travis

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William Travis is a man who believes in himself…perhaps a little too much.

Suffering from delusions of grandeur, Travis borrows big bucks to fund his law and newspaper offices.  (He likes to keep his business affairs separate.)

Unable to pay his enormous debt back, he becomes a pariah in his hometown and is to be arrested and sent to debtor’s prison.

But even when his wife and everyone else tells him to stop believing, Travis keeps believing.  So convinced is he that he is destined for greatness that he hightails it to Texas, where an officer’s commission awaits him.

Chapter 5          Chapter 6          Chapter 7          Chapter 8

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How to Defeat a Vampire – Anti-Glamour Tactics

You’ll never get hypnotized by a vampire again with Count Krakovich’s anti-glamour tactics.

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By:  Count Krakovich, Asshat Vampireshutterstock_115841497 copy

Bleh!  Look into my eyes, 3.5 readers!

You are getting sleepy.  Very sleepy.  You want to do my bidding.  You want to be my obedient slave.

You want to give me your Netflix password.

Seriously, give me your Netflix password.  Vampires like House of Cards too.

Bleh!  Why are you laughing?  No wonder the Vampire League ousted me.  I can’t even glamour the 3.5 devotees of a substandard book blog.

But rest assured, other vampires are better at the ancient art of vampire hypnosis, better known as “glamouring” and if you’re not careful, you will become a vampire’s puppet.

Here are some tips to avoid being glamoured.

#1 – BE UGLY 

Look, let’s face it.  If you’re a vampire with glamouring powers, you’re going to go after the hotties.  I know.  It’s politically incorrect.  The bloodsucking damned should go after the less attractive as well…

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How to Defeat a Vampire – Religion

Bleh!

3.5 readers, don’t forget that last year, Count Krakovich talked about, you know, actual ways to defeat a vampire, and not just 31 lame ideas that he pulled out of his ass.

In this post from last year, he educated us on how to defeat a vampire with religion.

Bookshelf Battle

By: Count Krakovich, Asshat Vampireshutterstock_115775161 copy

Bleh!  Greetings 3.5 children of the night!

I’m back again to extract my revenge on the League of Vampires for forcing me out of their organization just because I made like thirty disastrous mistakes.

Vampires?  Bunch of Douche-pires if you ask me.

So to get back at those losers I’m educating you, the 3.5 readers, on how to defeat vampires.

Today’s lesson?  Religion.

Now, you’re all aware that a crucifix can stop a vampire in its tracks.  A cross held to our skin long enough will burn us, but we usually just hiss loudly and run in the opposite direction whenever we see one, not giving the cross holder the chance to harm us in the first place.

That’s because we vampires are considered abominations in the eyes of God.  Bodies are meant for the living and for the dead to be using one really pisses…

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Top Ten Witch Pickup Lines

In case you missed it, and you should be ashamed of yourself if you did, here are the Top Ten Witch Pickup Lines that BQB does not take responsibility for if you use them on a witch at your Halloween party tonight.

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Witches.

Oh those sexy practitioners of the dark arts.

Halloween is just around the corner, so if you’re looking to score a hot date with a fine ass witch, you best school yourself on these witch pickup lines, player:

#10 – “Bubble bubble, toil and trouble, damn girl, you make my heart burn and my pants bubble.”

PRO: It’s classy and Shakespearean.

CON: She might think you’re saying that she gives you heart burn as in acid reflux and not as in her setting your heart ablaze with passion.

#9 – “Hey baby, wanna ride my broomstick?”

PRO: Direct and to the point.

CON: This is a rather uncouth line and thus will only work on the most promiscuous witches with low morals.  Sure, they’ll rock your world but beware witch STDs. There’s no spell to get rid of that.

Not that I’d know.

No, I haven’t been scratching myself for…

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#31WaystoDefeatAVampire – Way #31 – Happy Halloween – Blogging for 31 Days

By: Count Krakovich, Asshat Vampire

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Bleh!

It’s time for me, your favorite asshat vampire, to channel that one hit wonder 1990s band Semisonic, 3.5 readers.

Here we go:

Closing time, bleh! One more call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer, bleh!

Closing time, bleh! You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here, bleh!

Just kidding. Stay here all you want. Click on lots of posts. It makes BQB feel like his life has meaning.

Bleh, I hate vampires because vampires have treated me badly just because my incompetence got seven or eight hundred of them killed and unlike Elsa, they do not let it go.

Vampires and your mother-in-law, both good at holding grudges, am I right, bleh?

To wrap this up – blogging. If you make a vampire blog for thirty-one days about thirty-one ways to defeat a vampire, he will end up exhausted, 3.5 readers. He really will, bleh.

I am defeated, bleh.

Thanks a lot, asshats. Hope you enjoyed it. Or do? I don’t care because I’m a douche-pire, bleh.

Happy Halloween. Eat lots of candy. Avoid the fun size candy bar scam, bleh.

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#31ZombieAuthors Rewind – Day 31 – Happy Halloween – David W. Wright of the Self Publishing Podcast

With Your Host: Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian

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Hey there, hi there, ho there, 3.5 readers.

Well, that’s it. We’ve reached the end of #31ZombieAuthors Rewind, a look back at all the interviews Bookshelf Q. Battler conducted of esteemed authors of zombie fiction last October.

BQB, why don’t you do something new, you lazy so and so?

In the coveted Halloween spot was David W. Wright, one third of the Self Publishing Podcast trio of Johnny B. Truant, Sean Platt and Dave.

BQB is a total SPP fan and if you haven’t listened to it yet, you should if you are an aspiring self-publisher.

These dudes tell you everything you know about the self publishing game and they have a fun time doing it.

Thanks for spending the time reading these interviews, 3.5.  I hope you enjoyed them as much as BQB did.

Who is your favorite zombie author? No promises, but perhaps BQB will interview your favorite zombie author in the future.

Check out that interview here.

And don’t forget to check out Dave’s Amazon author page.

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BQB’s The Walking Dead Recap – Season 7, Episode 2 – “The Well” – SPOILERS

Hey 3.5 readers.

It’s Sunday so it’s Walking Dead.

SPOILERS!

This show has been on seven years and the key to its success is that it keeps reinventing itself.  You have a large cast with people going off into different directions so there’s always an opportunity to do something new.

And they really did something new tonight.

We get introduced to King Ezekial, a dude with dreads who owns a tiger named Shiva and he speaks in an Old English accent.  His community is called “The Kingdom” and all the people who live there wear hockey pad-esque knight gear and act like their knights and shit.

The people of the Kingdom and the King all play it straight.  Carol and Morgan are weirded out, Carol more so than Morgan.

The viewer ends up assuming that the King and his friends are most like Ren Faire/Dungeons and Dragons nerds who dabbled in fantasy and are now taking advantage of the zombie apocalypse to make their fantasies reality.

You do get to learn the King’s secret though I don’t want to give it away.

Zombies are being fed to pigs. Not sure what that’s about but as much as I love bacon, I’ll pass if it comes from those pigs.

The ongoing worry whenever the regular cast members happen upon a new community is that the community always looks nice and the people are nice but then there’s inevitably some terrible secret that causes all shit to break loose.

Here’s hoping that the King is just a dude who played a little too much World of Warcraft and that’s all.

What say you, 3.5 readers?cropped-cropped-img_1753

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Remember the Zombamo – Chapter 8

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Travis rode all night and all morning. By afternoon, he was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.

None of that mattered to him. All he wanted to do was to put as much distance between himself and Claremont as possible.

Whack! Travis slapped his horse’s backside with a riding crop.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Travis said. “But desperate times and so forth.”

Whack! Travis’ horse whinnied.

A third whack. After this one, the horse reared, kicked his front legs up into the air and bucked his rider off of his back and onto the ground.

“Damn it, Montague!” Travis cried as he dusted himself off. “What’s gotten into you?”

Montague was a beige horse with a black mane. As Travis continued to shout various unpleasantries, the beast reared up a second time and persisted in kicking his two front legs into the air.

When the animal did so, Travis caught a glimpse of something shiny sticking in Montague’s horseshoe.

“You’ve stepped in something, boy,” Travis said as stepped over to the horse.

Montague reared up and kicked his front legs up a third time. Whatever was stuck in Montague’s shoe, it was bright and sparkly because it caught Travis’ eye a second time.

“Will you stand still?” Travis asked. “You’re being ridiculous.”

The horse whinnied. One could only assume it was horse talk for a suggestion that Travis perform an unsavory act upon himself.

Travis took out a pocket knife and unfolded it. The horse reared up again when he heard the blade snap into position.

“Oh stop it,” Travis said. “You know full well I’m not going to hurt you, you big baby.”

A different set of hooves clip clopped down the dusty trial. Travis turned his head to see a stone faced lawman with a U.S. Marshall’s star pinned to his shirt riding atop a dark colored steed.

Travis stepped towards Montague only for the horse to kick his legs up into the air again.

“Oh Lord,” Travis said as he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees. “The people of my hometown don’t believe in me. My one and only law client didn’t believe in me. My newspaper readers didn’t believe in me. In fact, between you and I, Lord, I’m not sure I ever had more than three or four readers if that.”

The marshall drew closer.

“My wife doesn’t believe in me,” Travis said. “If my children were of age I have no doubt they would not believe in me but please Lord, is it too much to ask that my horse believe in me?”

Montague whinnied.

“I guess it is,” Travis said.

Or was it? Immediately, it dawned on Travis that he’d been kneeling on the ground next to Montague for several seconds and had not taken a hoof to the face.

Slowly, Travis lifted the horse’s hoof up. Montague complied and bent his leg at the knee at an angle that allowed his owner to see what was the matter.

There it was. The shiny piece of metal jammed into Montague’s shoe. Ever so carefully, Travis dug the piece out with his knife. Once it was removed, he gently returned Montague’s foot to the ground.

“Howdy pardnah,” the Marshall said.

Travis stood up and turned around to find the lawman trotting his own horse over.

“Howdy,” Travis replied.

Travis and the marshall looked each other over for a spell, each man sizing the other up.

“Horse giving you trouble?” the marshall asked as he brought his steed to a stop.

“Eh,” Travis said. “Horses and women. Always complaining about something.”

“Ha,” the marshall said. “You’re alright.”

The lawman kicked his horse with his spurs and galloped away. “Take ‘er easy, pardnah.”

“I will,” Travis said.

Travis opened up his hand and examined the piece of metal. It was, in fact, a scuffed up silver ring with an “I” etched into it.

“Huh,” Travis said as he slid the ring onto his finger. “Perhaps my luck has changed for the better.”

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Remember the Zombamo – Chapter 7

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Rosanna sat on the hardwood floor, weeping and wailing as she snuggled with her babes. Three year old Charlie slept on the floor with his head resting on his mother’s lap. Susan, a tiny infant, was bundled up in her mothers arms. Both children slept soundly.

The door creaked as Travis entered the room. He sat on the floor opposite his wife. A flickering candle stuck in a holder sat on the floor between them.

Travis waited for the crying to subside.

“Father was right,” Rosanna said. “I’ve married a charlatan.”

“Darling, please,” Travis replied.

“A fraudulent reprobate,” Rosanna said.

“Rosanna…”

“A lowlife debtor!”

“Sweetheart, please,” Travis said. “As a well-read man I assure you that you mean none of these statements and they are just the product of your weak feminine mind.”

The tears stopped. Rosanna’s blue eyes lit up. “My weak feminine mind?”

“The female brain is not as advanced as the male brain, my dear,” Travis said. “All the scientific treatises I have read say so. You can’t argue with science.”

“So, what?” Rosanna said. “Our home isn’t getting foreclosed on? All these people who have been ransacking our house all day and buying everything we own…I just imagined all of this?”

“No,” Travis said. “But there’s no reason to be emotional.”

“Emotional?” Rosanna said. “We don’t have a pot to piss in!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Travis said. “I’m sure they left us a pot to piss in.”

On cue, two voices traveled into the room from the other side of the house.

“Thanks for selling this pot to piss in, sheriff,” a random man said. “Sure can’t wait to piss in it.”

“No problem,” the sheriff replied. “Piss in that pot in good health.”

Rosanna shot her husband an angry look, as if to communicate, “See?”

“There will be other pots,” Travis said.

Rosanna frowned. “Now the children and I have to move back in with father. He despised you so vigorously.”

“I know,” Travis said. “I recall the toast he gave at our wedding in which he wished for my death. It was charming in an odd way.”

“Father will tell me that he told me so about you all day long,” Rosanna said. “He will be positively insufferable.”

Travis scooched closer to his wife and stroked his son’s hair.

“I still love you though, William,” Rosanna said. “I shall pray for you every day as you rot to death in debtor’s prison.”

“Darling,” Travis said. “That’s what I have come to talk to you about. You will not have to live with your terrible father forever…and I will not spend a day in prison.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Rosanna said. “Whenever you get one of your bright ideas it inevitably makes things worse.”

Travis wrapped his arm around his wife. “I haven’t much time so please listen. Now, I realized about a year ago that my financial woes would inevitably get the best of me.”

“Yet you continued to print your foolish paper,” Rosanna lamented. “Absolutely no one read it, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Travis said. “Moving on, a year ago I struck up a correspondence with Sam Houston.”

“The drunken adulterer?” Rosanna asked.

“What?” Travis asked. “No, the former governor of Tennessee and current General of the Texan Army.”

“I’ve heard he is a drunken adulterer,” Rosanna said.

“All politicians are drunken adulterers, darling,” Travis said. “Do try to keep up.”

“Sorry,” Rosanna said.

“General Houston has commissioned me as an officer in his Army,” Travis said.

Rosanna giggled. “You’ve never fought a day in your life. What are you, a corporal?”

“A colonel,” Travis said.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Rosanna said. “They must be really hard up.”

“Pardon?” Travis asked.

“That’s really nice,” Rosanna said. “Best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Travis said.

“When do we leave?” Rosanna asked.

Travis looked down at the floor.

“William?” Rosanna asked.

“Darling,” Travis said. “This is a very precarious situation. Tomorrow morning I’ll be considered a fugitive from justice in America. I’ll have to ride like the wind to keep the law from catching up with me. Plus, Texas is in a very precarious position right now. President Santa Anna has proven to be quite the dictator and there’s talk of rebellion. I can’t risk bringing you and the children with me now.”

Rosanna sighed. “Why couldn’t you have been a simple farmer?”

Travis returned his wife’s sigh with one of his own. “Because life is absurdly short, dearest. A man who does not spend every day striving for greatness has wasted his life.”

“The children and I are a waste?” Rosanna asked.

Travis squeezed his wife closer. “That’s your weak female mind talking again.”

Rosanna shook her head.

“Judge Harlow was harsh when he reprimanded me,” Travis said. “But I have realized he is right. I will never again take a short cut to greatness. I will earn it every step of the way as an Army man, through the sweat of my brow and the fruit of my labor and…”

“You’re going to die,” Rosanna said.

“Pardon?” Travis asked.

“You’re not cut out to be in any kind of army,” Rosanna said. “That life will kill you, one way or the other.”

Travis scoffed. “You fail to see what a great opportunity this is. How many people get the chance to take part in building a new country? Why, one day, years from now, you’ll…”

“…be looking down on your grave,” Rosanna said.

“I was going to say that you’ll be the wife of a great Texan statesman and you’ll look back on this time and laugh,” Travis said. “Why does no one believe in me?”

Rosanna kissed her husband on the lips. “Its not that we don’t believe in you. Its that you want too much and we don’t believe the world can provide it.”

Travis returned his wife’s kiss, then kissed his two sleeping children.

“This will all pass,” Travis said. “We will all be together again, but tonight I will take my leave. Rosanna, what I’m about to say is very important.”

Rosanna listened intently.

“When the sheriff comes looking for me tomorrow,” Travis said. “You must not let on that you know that I ran. All that you need tell him is that I was here when you went to sleep and when you woke up, I was gone. Understood?”

“Understood,” Rosanna said.

The door creaked as the sheriff stepped into the room. “Alright Travis, you deadbeat sack of shit, let’s go.”

“What?” Travis asked.

“I’ve sold all your shit and you’re still broke so it’s off to the hoosegow you go,” the sherrif said.

“Sir,” Travis replied. “Few are lucky enough to posses a legal mind as well versed as mine so I won’t think less of you for your ignorance, but you are incorrect. Judge Harlow said my time would not be up until tomorrow.”

“Its an hour till midnight,” the sheriff said. “Close enough. Move your ass.”

“Sir,” Travis said. “I will further point out that the judge said I will be arrested tomorrow when he has issued a warrant.”

“He will,” the sheriff said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Yes, but,” Travis said. “Until he actually issues the arrest warrant, I’m a free man.”

“Travis,” the sheriff said. “I am in no mood for your fancy mumbo jumbo.”

“And I’m in no mood to have my rights violated, sir,” Travis said. “Should you arrest me without a proper warrant then you will leave me with no choice but to file an extensive lawsuit demanding satisfaction from you in the form of financial payment.”

“Huh?” the sheriff said as he scratched his head.

“I’ll take all your money,” Travis said.

The sheriff rested his hand on the butt of the gun holstered on his hip, then grumbled.

“Fuck it,” the sheriff said as he took his hand off his gun. “Enjoy your last night as a free man, peckerwood. Hug your kids. Pork your woman. I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning with the judge’s warrant in hand.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Travis said.

The sheriff stepped out into the hallway, then poked his head back into the room one last time.

“And Travis?”

“Yes?”

“You make me chase you and you’re a dead man.”

Travis nodded. The chubby sherrif waddled out of the house and slammed the front door behind him.

“OK,” Rosanna said. “I’ll give it to you. That was impressive. You finally impressed me with your fancy book learning.”

Travis smiled. “Now imagine how many people I could impress if they’d just start believing in me for a change.”

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