Monthly Archives: December 2016

Dec 08 2016
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Stop Sucking With Vinny Baggadouchio

Stop Sucking With Vinny Baggadouchio – Desuckifying the Holidays

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World Renowned Motivational Speaker, Anti-Suck Book Author and Bookshelf Battle Blog Columnist, Vinny Baggadouchio

I’m Vinny Baggadouchio and like a giant vacuum cleaner with a stuck “on” switch, I’m sucking all of the suck right out of this sucky world, one sucker at a time.

Perhaps you have read one of my fine anti-suck books:

Six Ways to Suckday

When a Problem Comes Along, You Must Suck It

Suck Less Now…Ask Me How

Have You Ever Tried to Not Suck?

Suck Free in Sixty Days

Sucky Suckers and the Sucky Suckers Who Suck Them

Get the Suck Outta Here!

Don’t Hate the Suck Game, Hate the Suck Player

The Path to a Suck-Free Life

The Super Suck Cure

Help!  I Suck!

Sucker Says What?

3.5 readers, let me tell you, the holidays are great but sometimes they can suck…especially for a person who already sucks.

Think about what a person who doesn’t suck is doing this time of year.  The non-sucker is putting up twinkly lights with his kids and setting up the Christmas tree.  He’s going shopping with his wife, putting on a tacky yet festive, drinking egg nog and singing carols around the fire with family and friends.

Alas, the average sucker does not have such a wonderful life.  The average sucker is alone.  He’s warming up a six month old TV dinner he found in the back of his freezer and Netflixing a sucky movie that was made specifically for Netflix.

That poor sucker.  Due to his sucky life, he has no one to snuggle with,n o kids to give presents to, and few prospects, if any, of turning his life around.

And yes, as that poor, downtrodden sucktastic sucker falls asleep at his computer, his mind drifts off to the promises he made to himself last Christmas.  “By Christmas of next year, I won’t suck!  I’ll have a wife who doesn’t suck and be on my way to having kids who don’t suck!”

Perhaps the sucker has some extended family he can visit, but a self-aware sucker won’t be happy.  He’ll be miserable.  No one wants to be the sucker with a pity invitation.  Non-suckers throw Christmas parties at their lavish, suck-free homes.  Suckers are invited to them so they can sit in the corner and think about all the mistakes they made to lead to the present day where the holidays suck so bad for them.

You know who else has a hard time on Christmas?  The sucker who wrote me this letter:

Dear Vinny B,

The holidays sure do suck.  My wife divorced me five years ago because I sucked up our marriage by playing hide the turnip with her sister’s best friend’s cousin’s dog-walker’s wife’s sister.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, but not so much now.

Christmas used to be a great time for me.  I’d grab a cup of coffee, snuggle up with the missus and watch the kids open their toys.

Now I live in a sucky single-bedroom apartment on the corner of Crack and Meth Streets.  I owe a ridiculous amount of alimony and child support and my children are being raised by their step-dad/my ex-wife’s former yoga instructor.

Every year, from Thanksgiving until New Year’s Day, I feel like shoving my head in the oven and cooking the suck right out of myself because I just don’t know if I will ever be able to climb the anti-suck hill in order to get back to the kind of suck-less life I used to have.

Sincerely,

Big Time Sucker in Jacksonville

Wow.  That’s a lot of suck to de-suck and dissect.

You know Big Time, I play it straight.  I don’t sugar coat things.  I’m not going to suck all over your leg and tell you that your leg doesn’t suck now.

What you did was a sucktabulous thing.  There’s no excuse for it.  That’s the bad news.

But wait.  The good news is that you realize you did a sucky thing.  So many suckers just suck their way through life with nary an understanding of why they suck so much.

You, on the other hand, feel suck shame and that means you are a self aware sucker.  You are mature enough to know the difference between what sucks and what doesn’t suck and that means there is hope for you.

So the first thing I want you to do is to take a look at yourself in the mirror and forgive the sad, depressed sucker staring back at you.  Yes, the sucker staring at you in the mirror sucked up your life.  He looked at all the non-sucking goodness you had and like a skunk in heat, squirted it with a thick layer of suck spray.

That really sucks, but it has been five years.  The mourning period is over and at this point, there’s no use crying over spilt suck.  Once that suck is out of the bag, you can’t contain it. You just have to manage it.

The second thing I want you to do is apologize to your ex-wife.  She signed up with a man she thought did not suck and did not get the non-sucker that she wanted.  Let her know you’re sorry and you know there’s no fixing the suck you brought into her life, but you want to be a man and be a father to your children.

Third, you’re going to put your foot down on the suck and de-suck your life.  Be the non-sucker you used to be again.  Getting angry at yourself for past sucky behavior is normal.  In a way, it is even healthy.  However, at this point, you’ve reached a critical mass where anger, self-hatred and self-loathing will get nowhere.

These negative feelings won’t get your wife back.  They won’t get your kids back.  If anything, they’ll just keep sucking you down, down, down deeper into the suck pit of your sucky life until one day, you find yourself so deep that you can’t crawl back to the suck-free shore and there isn’t a single non-sucker around who would be willing to throw you a suck-free life line.

Improve and take care of yourself.  Curb your sucky habits.  Exercise.  Eat right.  Take care of yourself.  Work hard at your career and find some passions that don’t suck in your spare time.

When you get time to spend with your kids, be the best, least sucky father you can be.  Be a positive role model and maybe, when they’re old enough, apologize to them.  Tell them you’re sorry you sucked things up and want to make sure they don’t repeat your mistakes so they can go on to become productive, non-sucking members of society.

Whether you are Big Time Sucker in Jacksonville, or just one of BQB’s random 3.5 readers, keep this in mind.  The holidays are a celebration of joy, happiness and love.  They are a time to reflect on the past year’s accomplishments and to plan exciting things for the year ahead.

If you feel none of that this season, it is because your life sucks but remember, you are aware of the suck.  You are not ignorant of the suck and realizing that you suck is the first step one must take on the long road to not sucking.

Most importantly, remember how bad you feel this year.  Don’t ball those sucky feelings up and bury them deep inside.  Let them out with a good cry or a loud scream, then spend the next year doing your damnedest to de-suck your sucky life so that next year at this time, you won’t feel depressed.  You won’t feel sad.  You will be one of those non-sucking people who puts on a dopey sweater and hugs his family over the holidays.

Rome wasn’t built in a day or a year, so no, you won’t fix your sucky life in a day or most likely, even in a year.  But a year is long enough to suck a lot of the suck out of your life and you never know, if you put the work in, there just might be a lady who doesn’t suck in your life next Christmas.

Just don’t suck it up this time, Big Time Sucker.

Until next time, I’m Vinny Baggadouchio, wishing you a Suck Free Christmas and a Happy New Year that Does Not Suck.

Don’t forget to buy my one of my anti-suck books at a book store that does not suck near you.

DISCLAIMER: Mr. Baggadouchio is an expert on nothing and has no credentials of any kind.  Nothing he says is to ever be relied upon as advice or taken seriously.  Those with sucky problems are advised to seek out real experts who are trained in the arts of de-sucking the lives of total suckers.

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Dec 07 2016
6 Comments
Writing Prompts

Cover for BQB’s Upcoming Writing Prompts Book

I’m on the way to becoming a self-published author, 3.5 readers.

What do you think of the cover?

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Dec 07 2016
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Things That Really Frost My Ass

Things That Really Frost My Ass – Uncle Hardass Recites Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” – Part 1

By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hello degenerate 3.5 readers.

How are your unlikely writing careers going?

I overheard my idiot nephew Bookshelf Q. Battler saying the other day that you all participated in something called “NaNoWriMo” last month.

Interesting.  Let me do my best impression of the agent that you’ll submit your book to: “NANOWRI…NO!!!”

Get a job, clowns.  The salt mines are calling your name and all that salt isn’t going to mine itself.

In the meantime you useless wastes of space, I want to tell you all about a good man whose reputation is always unfairly trashed this time of year.

That would be one Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge.

You think he’s the bad day in Dickens’ classic?  “Bah humbug!” I say.

Let me lay it all out for you so you special snowflake twerps will understand:

EBENEZER SCROOGE WAS THE ONLY ONE IN THE DAMN BOOK WHO HAD A JOB AND EVERYONE ELSE WAS A BROKE ASS HIPPIE LOOKING FOR A HANDOUT!

If you haven’t read the book yet because you’re too busy working on your writing career (which will go nowhere) then I’ll tell you what happens.

Ebenezer Scrooge is the richest son of a bitch in London and he didn’t get there by writing books and reading stupid ass blogs, let me tell you.  No, he became wealthy through the sweat of his brow and the cut of his jib.

The man was a genius who worked his ass off, saved his money, then, as all rich ass futhermuckers do, he put his money to work for him by becoming a money lender.

Thus, because he’s so friggin’ smart and rich you’d think he’d be the hero of the story and everyone would want to emulate him but noooo.  Instead, every cheap ass, lazy ass do nothing assface in Jolly Old England comes knocking on Scrooge’s door to complain because they’re a bunch of jealous losers who wish they could be half as successful as this pillar of the community.

Do they pick Scrooge’s brain and ask him for tips on how to be successful?  Do they ask him for a job so they can learn the skills they need to make it in the world?

Nope.  They just bitch and moan about what a rich prick Scrooge is rather than look at themselves in the mirror and realize they have made poor life choices and they are failures and if they had an ounce of Scrooge’s work ethic, they wouldn’t be crying poor mouth all the time.

Anyway, so a couple of do gooder charity collectors knock on Scrooge’s door looking for the old man to part with his dough in the name of the less fortunate and Scrooge is all like, “Eat a dick, do gooders, those losers can go to the workhouse or the prison or some shit.”

So then the do gooders are all like, “But shit, yo, the poor people would rather die then do that.

And the Scrooge is all like, “Good then tell them to die, bitch, I ain’t got time for this shit I’m a hard ass working man, son.  Don’t let the door hit you in your do gooders asses on the way out.”

Later, Scrooge’s nephew comes by.  I don’t remember the cat’s name so we’ll just call him Fuckface McGee.  Young Fuckface is all like, “Uncle why don’t you come to my Christmas party!  I love Christmas and I’m all happy and shit!” and then Scrooge tells him, “Yeah, well you would be dick nuts since your parents worked hard and gave you all their cash so you can mince around like a pansy and rub your lack of a need to work in everyone’s face but some of us had to work for what he have so no, go lick a scrote because I don’t have time to go to your Christmas party.”

Then Scrooge’s man secretary Bob Cratchitt gets in Scrooge’s face and he’s all like, “Scrooge can I put some coal on the fire and can I get Christmas Day off?” and Scrooge is all like, “Damn it Cratchitt. Do I look like I’m made of coal?  Does coal just pop out of my ass?  No, that shit costs money.  And you want me to pay you to NOT work on Christmas?  What kind of pinko Commie Marxist bullshit is this?”

But then Scrooge feels bad even though he shouldn’t because let me tell you, that man could have put an ad in the paper for Cratchitt’s man secretary job and have fifty candidates lined up by the end of the week and none of them would want extra coal on the fire or want the day off for Christmas or any of that other crap.

Therefore, Scrooge was all like, “Yeah fine take Christmas off but get your ass here bright and early the next day because all of my important papers and records and shit aren’t going to write themselves, man secretary.”

After working a long ass day because he was such a hardworking man, Scrooge plops his old ass into bed only to hear some chains jingling.  He looks up to find the ghost of his old partner, Jacob Marley.

“Boo, bitch!” cries Marley to wit Scrooge replies, “Goddamn it, Marley!  I’m overworked and old as fuck!  Are you trying to give me a heart attack with your spooky white translucent ghost ass?!”

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Just another hippy harassing a hard-working, self-made man.

“No, bitch!” Marley says.  “My ass got sent to Hell because we cheated so many people and  stole all their money and shit and now I’m here to warn you to be nicer and do some do gooder shit and give away all your money to lazy ass incompetent freeloaders who don’t do anything!”

And Scrooge says, “What?  Eff that in the A.  Trump won so I’m not going to do all that hippy shit!”

Marley jingled his chains and was like, “Booo!  Boo!  I’m a ghost and shit and I will leave you with a warning that three more ghosts will come to haunt you this evening!”

Then Scrooge rolled his eyes and said, “Damn it.  A hard working, successful man can’t get some sleep around here.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Dec 06 2016
2 Comments
Technology

Amazon’s Checkout Line-Less Grocery Store

Hey 3.5 readers.

Skynet begins!

That’s right.  Amazon has opened up a grocery store without checkout lines, cash registers, employees taking your money or what have you.

The whole thing works with your phone and when you walk out the door, you get charged for whatever food you’ve got with you.  The food items have sensors or something and somehow this damn robot store can tell what food you have taken.

I’m curious how they’d stop shoplifters.  I mean, OK they’ll charge your phone if you have it set up so there’s in that case, even stuffing a bag of Funions down your pants won’t work because you’ll just get charge for those delicious crispy onion treats.

But what if you don’t have the app set up?  I assume Jeff Bezos just sends a team of drones to hunt you down, pick you up by your feet and jingle all the spare change out of your pockets.

It’s very interesting.  I can see some good behind it.  It speeds things up so you don’t have to wait in line.  You can just walk right out the door when you have everything you need.

On the other hand, I do feel bad as this may very well lead to less jobs for grocery store workers.  I know that personally, I have seen more and more stores up the number of self-check out registers in recent years so automation seems to be the trend.

You know what I would love?  If I could just enter all the stuff I want into an app, order it, and then when I show up at the store, someone just hands it to me because they’ve packed it up already.

Come to think of it, there are some stores that do have an online ordering/delivery feature where you can order in line and then they deliver the food to your house.  The downside is you can’t squeeze the melons in the produce section to see if they are ripe or not and I hate to miss out on that because this is the most action I get in life.

What say you, 3.5 readers?  Is this how Skynet begins?

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Dec 06 2016
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Douche Shark

Douche Shark II: Return of Douche Shark (Or, How to Chill, Bro)

By: Douche Shark, the World’s Douchiest Shark

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What up, 3.5 bros?

Pound it, bros.  Pound my fin.  Don’t leave the fin hangin’ bro.  Don’t leave it…aw nice there you go.

Check it bros, not much going on since I last checked in and downloaded my details.  I’m still dope.  I’m still fresh.  I’m still the biggest, baddest, toothiest killer fish in the sea and all the sexy, fly ass she-shark hunnies are after me.

“Oh Douche Shark,” the she-sharks say. “We can’t stop touching your fin” to wit I am known to reply, “That’s cool because there’s plenty of Douche Shark fin to go around ladies and I’m not going to be rationing it any time soon.”

But you know what, 3.5 Brosephs?  I worry about you all.  I worry that you aren’t chilling enough.  You’ve got to chill.  You’ve got to paint yourself yellow so you can totally mellow, bro.  I’m like, super serious right now.  Seriously bro.  Don’t deny my seriousness.

Here are like, some things or whatever, that I, Douche Shark, like to do when I need to chill:

  • Limp Bizkit.  You gotta have Limp Bizkit.  You just have to.  Is it rock?  Is it rap? Is it a man who just banged his thumb with a hammer by accident and now he’s screaming in pain?  You’re guess is as good as mine, Broheim.
  • I like to get my fin frosted.  You don’t got a fin, bro?  Aww, that’s bullshit bro.  You gotta get your hair tips frosted then.  Like, just mix in some blonde with some black and you know what your hair should be at least seventeen different colors bro.
  • Take and post 900 shirtless selfies of my sweet, rockin’ shark bod.  Yeah, all the she-sharks are like, “We aren’t cool with that” but what-evs, brah.  If they don’t like it they can swim aside to make room for a she-shark that digs my rockin’ shark abs.
  • Catalog my wardrobe that consists entirely of sleeveless shirts and backwards hats.  I mean, yeah, a hat isn’t backwards until you put it on your head backwards but don’t complicate the situation, bro.  Don’t contradict me bro.  I’m all hopped up on shark steroids and shark energy drinks so it puts me in a hella bad mood, bro.  FYI dude, you can’t go wrong with a backwards hat and a sleeveless shirt no matter how old you are.  Buy a metric shit ton of backwards hats and sleeveless shirts because they will complete your ensemble no matter how old your ass gets.
  • Get my ass a sweet spray on tan.  I am not a happy douche shark unless I am an orange douche shark.  Don’t blame me, bro.  The sun doesn’t reach the depths of the ocean where I live.  It’s not my fault you don’t know science, guy.
  • Talk to peeps on my bluetooth.  People are impressed by that shit, let me tell you.  When the fish see me with my bluetooth in, they’re all like, “Shit, that is one important douche shark because he can’t put the phone down for a minute and just swim.”
  • Ahh dude, you know what else is a good look bro dude guy?  I like to wear sunglasses but not over my eyes but on the tippy top of my head.  That way, I’m prepared for the sun.  The sun could attack at any minute but as long as those sunglasses are on the top of my head, I can just pull them down within seconds bro and then the sun is defeated.  I can only chill when I have my top of head sunglasses on.
  • I gotta spend at least five hours a day working on my shark car.  It’s a piece of shit from 1972 but I like to spend all my duckets on it.  Put some solid ass spinning gold rims on it.  Get some fuzzy ass dice and a horn that plays Limp Bizkit and tiger skin seat covers and big ass monster truck tires and, what?  Yo, eff you, bro.  Don’t be coming up here and telling me that for all that scratch I could just buy a brand new car.  That’s not how this douche shark rolls, son.
  • Pump those guns son.  Get your ass to the gym.  Work your muscles.  Give everyone unsolicited advice and when they aren’t interested then just say something like, “OK, fine, just keep doing it wrong then, bro” then be sure to snap at least a hundred and fifty photos of your gun pumping to throw up on Facebook.
  • While I do most of my travel by swimming because I’m a shark, I do from time to time enjoy a good cruise in my sweet ass tricked out 1972 shark ride.  When I do, I like to beep the shit out of my horn at the guy in front of me at the exact instant the light turns green.  I don’t even wait, bro.  Not thirty seconds.  Not a minute.  Just, “Green…BEEP!”  You gotta beep as soon as the light turns green, kid.  Otherwise the guy ahead of you won’t know what to do.  It’s not my fault people are stupid bro.  I blame the public school system and the asbestos and lead paint and whatnot.  So many people get stupid just by licking lead paint and asbestos its insane, bro.  It really is.

OK 3.5 bros, that’s all the douchy chillaxing advice I’ve got for you as of this moment in time, but if you’re a douche and you’ve got some advice on how to be a douche for all the other douches reading this shit then by all means, share in the comments, bro.

Until next time, I’ll be swimming up to some crunk ass parties uninvited and drinking all the beers, cuz.

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Dec 05 2016
4 Comments
Tomfoolery

An Interview with Krampus, the World’s Most Notorious Ancient Germanic Yuletide Demon

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

So, as you know, I’m a hostage of the yeti, but he is allowing me to interview my next guest because he is such a fan of his work.

I’m not a fan per se but, you know, the blog must come first and I need the clicks.

Without further ado…Krampus.

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Krampus: Vile Ancient Yuletide Demon/Denier of the Power of Facial Scrubs

BQB: Your Evil Hornyness, welcome.

KRAMPUS: Thank you, BQB. I’d say it’s good to be here but I’ve been thrown out of places much classier than your pitiful blog.  Hell, I had way more than 3.5 followers in the olden days when computers hadn’t even been invented.

BQB:  Right.  So, can you tell my 3.5 followers who you are?  I don’t mean to be rude.  I’m just not sure that they have heard of you.

KRAMPUS: That’s cool, bitch.  First of all, I am hella old.  I date back before pre-Christian times.  Second, I’m the antithesis of everyone’s favorite fat man, that rotund wishy washy do-gooder Santa Clause, or as I call him, “Old Saint Dick.”  See what I did there?

BQB: Yes.

KRAMPUS:  Because he’s really Old Saint Nick but I called him Old Saint Dick because I think he’s a dick.

BQB: Punny.  But we all know what Santa does.  He brings toys to all the good little girls and boys of the world.  What do you do?

KRAMPUS: Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone and stop the presses, Cochise.  Santa does not bring toys to good girls and boys, so let me just straighten out your bent propaganda there.

BQB: He doesn’t?

KRAMPUS:  No, he doesn’t.  Oh sure, he’s got you all hoodwinked with all the, “He sees you when you’re sleeping” and the naughty/nice list but really, honestly, truly, we all know that shit is a scam.  That fat bastard will bring a toy to a kid no matter what and he does not give a shit whether or not that kid has been naughty or nice.

BQB:  Really?

KRAMPUS:  You know it, bitch.  Look, parents love to get their misbehaving little turds to straighten up by warning them that they will get jack shit when Santa finds out all the heinous shit they’ve done, but Santa doesn’t care enough to actually cross-reference a naughty/nice list of every damn child in the entire world.  And you think the elves are going to help him do it?  Those little freaks are union.  They have like nineteen smoke breaks a day and the fat man is lucky if he can get those pointy eared butt goblins to do a half-hour’s worth of work in a day where he pays them for eight hours at a rate of fifty bucks an hour.

BQB:  Wow.

KRAMPUS: I know.  If I were that fat ass crushed red velvet suit wearing diabetes patient, the first thing I would do is send all of those Keebler cookie rejects packing and ship the entire North Pole operation to China.

BQB:  I think we’ve gotten off topic.  You still haven’t told my 3.5 readers what you do.

KRAMPUS:  Well, nothing right now, but back in ancient times, I did Santa’s job.

BQB:  Oh.  So you delivered toys to good little girls and boys?

KRAMPUS: Say what?  Bitch, please.  If a kid was good, I walked my demon ass right on by that kid’s house without giving him a reward.  You’re supposed to be good and to channel my inner Chris Rock, you’re not supposed to get a “cookie” for doing something “you’re supposed to do.”

BQB:  Oh.  And the bad kids?

KRAMPUS:  Beaten with chains.

BQB: Umm…

KRAMPUS:  Yup.  “Hey Gunter and Greta,” all the ancient Germanic parents would say.  “Be good and do your chores and clean up the cave and wipe all the moss off the rocks and don’t talk back or else Krampus will throw you in his sack, beat you with his chains, then drag you off to Hell.”

BQB:  This interview has taken a turn for the worse.

KRAMPUS: Oh please, don’t feed me that namby-pamby bleeding heart shit.  The ancient holiday season was fun.  Ancient folk would even sing songs.  “Krampus Carols” we used to call ’em.

BQB: Please don’t sing one.

KRAMPUS: “Jingle chains, jingle chains, Krampus has got his chains…”

BQB: Stop.

KRAMPUS: “Over the river and through the woods and into Krampus’ sack we go…”

BQB:  Stop.

KRAMPUS: “…it’s slung over his back and down through the cracks of the earth and into the underworld we go-ah-oh!”

BQB:  We get the picture.  So obviously, you don’t do that anymore.

KRAMPUS:  A shame really.  So many children deserve a good in-sack, chain beating.

BQB:  Wow.  OK, just for the record and not just because my lawyer is advising me to say this…I do not condone or approve of violence against children in any way, shape or form.

KRAMPUS:  Fine, fine.  We can nix the chains and the sacks and the dragging naughty children off to Hell now that we live in quote unquote modern “enlightened” times.  But at the very least, that little shit that keeps pulling his sister’s hair and treats his parents like cash machines and personal servants should not get a present from the fat man, don’t you agree?

BQB:  Eh…kids are kids.  Sometimes the worst kids grow up, realize the difference between right and wrong and live good lives despite youthful naughtiness.

KRAMPUS:  Yeah, and like I said, no more sacks, chains, and/or draggings off to the underworld, but maybe instead of a new bicycle, Tommy can pay his penance for bullying all those nerdy kids at school by being forced to watch a week’s worth of incredibly dry documentaries.  “No Tommy.  No presents for you.  No trip to Grandma’s house to play with toys and stuff your face with cookies.  You will now watch programs about how wicker furniture is made until New Year’s Eve.

BQB:  I’m not really for it but I guess it is way better than the chains and the sack and so on.

KRAMPUS:  I’m a hip demon.  I get with the times.  I can find all kinds of new age punishments that twenty-first century hipster millennial parents will be down with.  “What?  You didn’t do your homework?  No presents for you until you eat this bowl of vegan, gluten-free tofu.”

BQB:  I think I know the answer already but I have to ask.  Why aren’t you as well-known as Santa?

KRAMPUS:  Ah.  Where do I start?  Rumor has it that Hitler had me banned.  I can’t confirm or deny that because we evil demons have to stick together, but between you, me and your 3.5 readers, I was such a shit heel that even the dude who was all like, “Hey, maybe shipping off six million people to their doom isn’t such a bad idea” heard about me and was all like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Krampus!  Enough with the chains and the sack beatings already!”

BQB:  So it was Hitler?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, you could say that but really it was commercialization.  The gift and card industry.  Those advertising pricks on Madison Avenue.  I mean, really, around this time of year, whose face do you want to see on your box of cookies, or on your soda-pop bottle or on your television?  Me and my jagged razor sharp teeth of Fatty McGoody-Two-Shoes, what with his chubby angelic cheeks and his professor glasses and his red suit and his warm smile and his overall aura of, “Hey, you all do your best, so here’s some free toys and shit and you know what?  I’ll even let you naughty kids fool yourselves into thinking you were nice all year long because that’s just what the Grandpa of the World does.”

BQB:  Well, when you put it like that…

KRAMPUS:  There’s just no way I can compete with that adorable walking “Before Jenny Craig” model.  I might be getting soft in my old age because there are times when even I want to let bygones and bygones and give old Fatty McManTits a big hug.

BQB: Why don’t you?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, Mrs. Claus and I used to date.  Santa is kind of a dick about it.  It’s all very awkward. I’ve said too much.

BQB:  It’s cool.  Only 3.5 people read this blog anyway.  So what do you do with all your free time now that you have hung up your sack and chains?

KRAMPUS:  Oh, let’s see.  What don’t I do?  Yoga.  Knitting.  A little bit of crocheting.  Spin class.  Pottery Barn.  I can’t even get within five feet of a Pottery Barn without destroying my credit rating, let me tell you.

BQB:  They do have some nice stuff at Pottery Barn.  Krampus, that’s all the time we have and I’d like to thank you for this interview, but I won’t, because it was truly awful and will no doubt give my 3.5 readers nightmares, which they don’t deserve because they are all nice people.  Before you go, do you have any last words?

KRAMPUS:  Don’t be good because an obese, raging pizza addict at the top of the world will give you a free video game if you do, because he will give it to you even if you’re a total asshat anyway.  Instead, be good because you’re supposed to be good.  And if you’re good for the right reason, then good things will come to you throughout your life.

BQB:  Wisdom found in a surprising place.  Thank you for reading, 3.5 readers.  Good night and Merry Christmas.

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Dec 05 2016
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TV

Saturday Night Live – Sump’n Claus

I’ve always laughed at this sketch.  Even if you’re too naughty for Santa, Sump’n will get you a little sump’n:

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Dec 04 2016
2 Comments
Tomfoolery

The Best Gift You Can Give BQB This Year

Hey 3.5 readers.

Did I mention I’m still a yeti hostage?

I’ve been forgetting to mention that.

The Yeti is still in control of BQB HQ, but that’s not important at the moment.

What’s important is that fact that this exemplary blog is at 1,988 followers.

That means if twelve more people follow me, I’ll be in the big leagues of having 2000 followers.

Even then, I only have 3.5 readers.  A lot of people follow but for some reason, only 3.5 people ever read.

So follow me nerds, as I would love to have 2,000 followers by Christmas.

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Dec 04 2016
8 Comments
top ten lists

Top Ten Gifts You Shouldn’t Buy Your Girlfriend for Christmas

Oh joyous Yuletide.  This is the time of year for couples to take a moment to let each other know how they truly feel about one another.

But men, no matter how loudly your girlfriend may shout her lack of interest in material possessions, if you leave a junky gift under her tree on Christmas Eve, then your tree will be incredibly lonely in the new year.

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From BQB HQ in fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Gifts You Shouldn’t Buy Your Girlfriend for Christmas:

#10 – Blender, Mixer, Iron, Washing Machine, Other Household Appliances

Hmm.  A dilly of a pickle here.  If she’s actually expressed an interest in a particular appliance, then go for it but only, ONLY if you also get her something else awesome in addition to said appliance.

EXAMPLE:

YES:

WOMAN:  I love to bake!  Baking is my life!  I wish I had an electric mixer so I could make more cookies!

MAN:  Here’s a mixer…

WOMAN: I hate you!

MAN: And a pair of ridiculously expensive earrings!

WOMAN:  I don’t hate you as much now!

NO:

WOMAN:  I never bake.  What the hell is this mixer for?  Are you trying to imply I should be a subservient kitchen slave, that my only purpose in life is to bake cookies to shove into your hideous, misogynistic caveman suckhole?!

MAN:  Um, it was shiny and on sale?

WOMAN:  Sleep on the floor forever!

Remember, in either case, and especially in the latter case, the household appliance should not be THE ONLY gift.

Come to think of it, even in the case where she REALLY wants that mixer (i.e. cooking/baking is her life and she keeps Rachel Ray on her DVR), you might want to wait until January just in case.  Make it look like you were just being thoughtful and it had nothing to do with Christmas.

Actually, you know what, just get her a bag of diamonds and a pony and a tiara and then if she really wants you to get her a household appliance of any kind, tell her that she’s going to have to submit that request in the form of a signed, notarized in triplicate letter.  Two impartial witnesses of upstanding moral character will also be required to confirm in a video that she asked for a household appliance.

#9 – That Damn Tub of Three Flavored Popcorn

It’s the ultimate gift you get when you get invited to a party held by someone you sort of like, but don’t really.

You know, I’m talking about that guy who you’re like, “Eh I’ve known him a long time so I don’t want to skip his Christmas party but if he gets hit by a bus tomorrow I’m not taking a day off for his funeral.”

Stores put these addictive snack canisters right out front over the holidays because they’re cheap and allow you to say that you cared enough to bring something to the party.

And yes, you did bring something to the party…THE GODDAMN HARBINGER OF THE EBOLA VIRUS!

People love popcorn.  Especially the cheese corn.  Or the caramel corn.  Or maybe you’re a buttery traditionalist.  Either way, by the end of that party, a minimum of five hundred and ninety seven hands are going to be shoved deep inside the bowels of that tub.

Statistically speaking, it will be highly unlikely that any of those hands will be washed, thus that three flavored tub of popcorn with Santa’s face on it will turn into a petri dish filled to the brim with bacteria, germs and contagion.

Bottomline – you don’t want to bring this tub to your worst enemy’s home, let alone your girlfriend’s humble abode.  Also, since those tubs usually don’t cost more than five bucks if that, your babe is going to think you are a big time cheapskate (as soon as she’s done being treated for popcorn induced Ebola virus).

#8 – Gift Cards

Yeah, I get it.  You realized this is all just one big giant mind game, so you flipped over the board, scattered the pieces all over the room and decided not to play anymore.

“Here babe.  I pay just enough attention to know what your favorite stores are but not enough to know what you’d want.”

Essentially, this is borderline treating your gal like a prostitute.  “Here’s a down payment on another year’s worth of nookie.”

I’ll just throw it out there though.  If you are confident that the gift you actually put time and effort into selecting will pass muster, than tossing in a gift card might sweeten the pot enough that she might (I stress might) forgive you if the actual gift you got turns out to be all wrong.

(SPOILER ALERT: Your gift will no doubt be wrong no matter what).

At any rate, like that mixer you got your baker girlfriend, a gift card can’t be the only gift.

#7 – Perfume

This is a real roll of the dice.  If she’s always raving about a fancy perfume, you might get her a bottle…but know how your girlfriend’s mind works (I know, that’s like asking a man to know how the atom is split or how the universe came into being, but give it your best guess).

Imagine yourself giving your girlfriend the perfume.  If you honestly can’t imagine her taking this gift as a sign that you think she stinks like a back alley dumpster, then go ahead and get her that trendy bottle of Eau du Ooo la la.

Otherwise, you might want to just skip out on this one.

#6 – Fitness Equipment

Exercise bikes.  Treadmills.  Weights.  Elliptical machines.  Even if she is a fitness nut and a professional athlete, she’ll beat you within an inch of your life if she comes downstairs to find a gift shaped like a paper wrapped stationary bike under the tree.

Seriously dude.  You might as well just hand her a card that reads, “I think you are a big fatty fat fatty so lose some weight or my magnificent junk and I are taking our business elsewhere, fatty.”

MEN: But BQB, she actually asked me for an exercise bike.  She feels this would help her with her regular fitness routine.  She’s even made a point of printing out information about her top bike choices for my perusal.

And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to sell you for a song, you big league sucker!

Do not buy your girlfriend fitness equipment, even with a signed, notarized in triplicate request letter, and even if she holds a gun to your head unless you want to be dumped like yesterday’s trash.

MEN: But BQB, if I don’t get her the exercise bike she asked for, she complain about it on Christmas.

“Honey, this diamond encrusted necklace is lovely but you forgot my exercise bike.”

Yes, she might hit you with that, but in that case, just tell her that you are an idiotic dumb ass man and all the various bells and whistles on the bikes were much too confusing so you got her a diamond encrusted necklace instead but you plan to take her to the bike store at her convenience so she can select her favorite one.

Why will you take this approach?  Because you’ll never win with fitness equipment, even with specifically asked for fitness equipment, but you also won’t win by pointing out that she’d be mad about getting fitness equipment because (follow me here) in the moment when she does not get fitness equipment, she doesn’t realize she’d be mad if she got it.  She would only actually get mad if she got it.  Since she didn’t get it, she just assumes you are a buffoon that didn’t listen to her.

You’re not getting out of this without some kind of black mark on your boyfriend record, but trust me, “buffoon” is better than the beating you’ll take after all her girlfriends work her up when they have a cry-in session and burn effigies of you while they take turns cursing your name and your decision to buy her fitness equipment for Christmas.

But if she doesn’t bring it up, you don’t bring it up.  (Just throwing it out there. That’s good advice on literally everything that will ever happen throughout your entire relationship).

#5 – Framed Photos of the Two of You

Adorable and says you really love the idea of the two of you together, but it can’t be the only gift.  If you decide to get this as one of many gifts in order to show you’re a romantic or something, be sure to pick a photo of her that she likes.  She must have said no less than three times that she likes the photo in question before having it printed and framed.

#4 – Electronic Equipment of Any Kind

Women don’t give a shit about giant TVs and HD TVs and HDMI cables and Xboxes and so on.  (Well, my Video Game Rack Fighter does but she’s a rarity).

She will instantly see this for what it is…a gift for you.

Speaking of…

#3 – Gifts That Are Really For You

Yes, it would be awesome to be the proud owner of an ATV or a jet ski or one of those frigging jet packs that you can take to a lake and user water to fly, but if you see yourself using it more than she will, then it is a gift for you and she will see through this.

Lingerie will also be considered a gift for you.  Unless she’s a Cinemax actress (that joke worked better in the 1990s) she probably doesn’t walk around in lingerie all day or think that putting on a skimpy outfit that involves 900 straps and snaps is particularly comfortable and/or a benefit to her wardrobe.

#2 – Animals

Personally, I’ve noticed a lot of women like animals.  Cats.  Dogs.  I’ve met a lot of women who are really into enormous, two-hundred pound dogs and whenever I meet such women I want to dress up like Dr. Freud and sit them down on my couch and get them to admit that they are really into enormous dogs because they see gigantic dogs as obedient men they can love and punish at will and on their own timetable.

Hmm.  That theory actually deserves a post on its own.  At any rate, don’t get your woman a pet.

First, maybe she doesn’t like pets.  If you give a person who doesn’t like pets a pet, they’re going to think, “Well, why don’t you just take a giant dump on every square inch of my home and save me the trouble.”

I mean, if she really, really, really wants a pet then you could get her a pet but again, you’re going to need the notarized request letter.  Otherwise, when the pet inevitably turns out to be a crazed, psychopathic furniture humping rug pooping nightmare beast, she will go on and on about “your brilliant idea” to buy a pet and all those times when she made googly eyes at that proverbial puppy in the window will be long forgotten.

In either case, whether she’s a pet lover or a pet hater, whether the pet was her idea or yours, you will be the asshole walking that furry little pooping machine at 3 a.m. in the middle of a rain storm so…just keep that shit in mind before you get that pet.

#1 – Jewelry, Flowers, or Anything, Really

You’d think jewelry or anything traditionally girly would be a safe bet but even this will most likely be frowned upon.  It might be your safest bet, but she’ll just view you as lacking imagination.

Come to think of it, that brings me to…

BONUS SECTION: THERE IS NO WAY YOU CAN WIN

Yup.  There’s no way to win here.

Men are simple, logical creatures.  Want to make us happy?  Bake us a cookie and touch our disgusting nether regions once in a blue moon and we’ll be happy.

Sure, some of us like to rant and rave about how if only our current girlfriends weren’t holding us back, we could be with women who would bake us cookies and touch our disgusting nether regions 24/7 but literally only ten men in the entire world are handsome and/or wealthy and/or intelligent enough to actually make that shit happen in real life.

The rest of us have just given in to the grim reality that if we take enough abuse for long enough, our women might let us get a pity boob honk in once per presidential administration.

THE AVERAGE MALE EXPERIENCE:

1996: Bill Clinton – “I feel your pain.”

HUSBAND: Can we uh…

WIFE: (ROLLS EYES): Ugh, I guess so.

2000 – George W. Bush – “Strategery!”

HUSBAND: Think it might be time to uh…

WIFE: Ugh, just get it over with.

2004: George W. Bush – “Mission Accomplished!”

HUSBAND: Babe, isn’t it time to…

WIFE: Yeah, yeah just keep the light on so I can read my book.

2008: Barack Obama – “Hope and Change.”

HUSBAND: I hope to change that uh…

WIFE: Yeah, whatever.

2012: Barack Obama – “Look, here’s the deal.”

HUSBAND:  Look, here’s my…

WIFE: Ugh!

2016: Donald J. Trump – “Grab her by the…”

HUSBAND: What say I grab that…

WIFE: You’ve grabbed enough for twenty years, pervert!

At any rate, women are mysterious.  They have no idea what they want but they feel you should.  You can’t get them nothing.  You have to get them something.

But just keep in mind that whatever you get will be wrong.

Get her a house?  The shutters are the wrong color.

Get her a car?  She wanted a different one.

Get her an island?  She wanted an archipelago.

Damn women and their love of archipelagoes.

The point is that if you at least avoid the obvious pitfalls like fitness equipment, kitchen equipment and tubs of popcorn, then you have a small (very small) chance of preventing Christmas from turning into World War III.

Just do what I do every year.  I just lie down under the tree and curl myself up into the fetal position and when Video Game Rack Fighter comes downstairs, I throw my wallet at her and shout, “Please! Please! Just get yourself something and free my mind from this virtual hell!”

It totally works…to an extent.  Like I said, perfection is impossible and therefore should not be your goal.  Just try to do as little damage to your ability to get your disgusting nether regions touched once every four years.

Four more years!  Four more years!  Four more years!

3.5 readers, do you have any ideas on what to get a woman for Christmas?  Discuss in the comments.

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Dec 03 2016
3 Comments
Movies

Movie Review – Casablanca (1942)

Here’s looking at you, 3.5 readers.

I watched Casablanca a year ago with the intention of reviewing it for this glorious blog.  I’d seen it before but my mind needed a refresher.  Alas, as Rick and Ilsa’s song reminds us, “time goes by” and writing a review of this masterpiece slipped my mind.

Luckily, seeing Allied gave me a refresher.

So without further ado, BQB here with a review of Casablanca.

Do I need to give a spoiler warning?  You’ve had over seventy years to watch this flick.

And if you haven’t watched it yet, you should, because it holds up.

(In all seriousness, this is a review for people who have seen and loved the film.  If you haven’t seen it yet, stop reading, go watch it, then come back here.  Otherwise, you’ll be disappointed).

The set-up?  At one time, Morocco had been (owned, occupied, colonized, swiped, insert the word here) by France.  When Nazi forces swept into France in World War II, Frenchmen had to choose between surrender and fighting through underground guerrilla warfare (the French resistance).

Those who chose the former became known as the Vichy government.  Nazis officials flooded into France and backseat drove the French officials who opted not to fight.

To make matters more complicated, the situation extended into Morocco, where Nazis backseat drove the Vichy French officials there, sort of a double-occupation where French occupiers were being bossed around by their own German occupiers.

What a revolting development.

As explained in the film early on, Morocco was a den of thieves, villains, cut throats and spies.  Moreover, Europeans made a pilgrimage to the African city in the hopes of escaping the war by securing passage to Portugal (and then to other less dangerous places in the world like America).

Against this backdrop of sin and inequity, the hard drinking, clinically cynical American expatriate Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) runs a nightclub filled with all manner of depravity.  Rick’s got a seedy past that isn’t fully explained but you’re left with the impression that he isn’t exactly welcome in the States anymore.

When Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) left him waiting at a train station in France years earlier, Rick’s heart turned to stone and he swore from then on he’d live a life where he’d only look out for number one – i.e. himself.

But that resolution is tested when Ilsa enter’s Rick’s club.  “Of all the gin joints in all the world, why did she have to walk into mine?”

Without giving away too much of the story, Ilsa is now with Victor Laszlo (Paul Henried), a famed leader of the anti-Nazi movement.  Whereas Rick has long given up on idealism for quick bucks, Laszlo leaves and breathes French patriotism and is willing to die for it.

Blah, blah, blah, stuff happens and ultimately Rick must choose between seizing a love he thought was lost to him forever or sacrificing himself for the greater good of defeating the Nazis.

SPOILER ALERT – he chooses defeating the Nazis.  Surely, you knew this by now unless you have been living under a rock for years.

Even though you already know it, it is very emotional to watch.

In the end, the greater good wins out over love and it is up to the audience to decide whether or not that was the right outcome.

If you are an idealist, then you cheer Rick on as he allows Victor to take his seat on a Portugal bound plane.

If you are a cynic, then you think Rick is a schmuck for not grabbing his woman and not letting go, as a woman you love who loves you back is a rarity in this life.

But ultimately, if you are an idealist, you realize the people who need to be together, end up together.

Laszlo and Ilsa, we can only assume, go on to continue their anti-Nazi fight once Victor is away from the clutches of the villainous Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt).

As for Rick, his “beautiful friendship” with Captain Louis Renault (Claude Raines) begins.

Raines steals the show as Renault as he puts on full display the difficult situation many Frenchmen found themselves in during this time.  Louis is no fan of the Nazis, but he is a fan of breathing and having a job so like a henpecked husband he caters to his German masters, but does so in a comic manner.

Rick and Louis are foils that feed off one another.  Rick’s cynicism is dark and brooding whereas Louis’ cynicism is, at times, downright funny.  Louis realizes he is stuck in a ridiculous situation but with a deadpan tone that belies an undercurrent of sarcasm, he does what is required of him.

Example – when the Nazis order Louis to shut down Rick’s joint, Louis does so and declares, “I am shocked to find gambling in this establishment!”

Then with perfect comedic timing, a dealer hands Louis a stack of cash and says, “Your winnings, sir” to which Louis replies, “Thank you.”

That scene has served as a criticism of politicians and public officials who act “shocked” by lousy situations when in reality, they have long known of them.

Thus, the greater good wins.  Rick and Ilsa would have been happier together, but the world needed Victor and Ilsa to continue their resistance efforts, just as the world needed Rick and Louis, a couple of jaded, cynical connivers to get together and use their underhanded skills to undermine the Nazis at every turn.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy. Get out of your comfort zone and watch a black and white movie.  You’ll be glad you did.

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