Monthly Archives: February 2017

Stranger Things Season 2 Trailer

Hey 3.5 readers.

Video Game Rack Fighter here.  BQB continues to live a life in exile at the Random Motel.

Did you miss the Stranger Things 2 trailer during the Super Bowl?  Here it is.  Good news?  Eggos and Ghostbusters.  Bad news?  It’s not back until October!

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What a Super Bowl

Hey 3.5 readers.

Video Game Rack Fighter here.  So, never turn off a Super Bowl thinking it is all over.  Lesson learned.

Not that I care anyway.  “Ooo.  Sports.  Yay, I sports better than you.  No, you sports better than me.  No, I’m the best at sports.”

Who cares?

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An Ode to My Vagina – An Original Poem By New Bookshelf Battle Blog Proprietor Video Game Rack Fighter

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Dear 3.5 Readers,

Divorce is never easy, especially when you’re BQB and you learn that you were married due to a legal technicality.  Divorce is especially difficult on the children, or in your case, the readers.

I know all 3.5 of you must feel some sort of loyalty to BQB but don’t, for he is an epic douche who peed on the toilet seat one too many times without dropping to his knees to apologize and beg for mercy, and he now he must suffer for the rest of his life as penance.  Really, it’s only fair.

I mean, I regularly took time away from my passion of playing Car Thief Mayhem to help BQB run his stupid blog, his stupid BQB HQ, and to even walk Bookshelf Q. Battledog and the Yeti.  So when you think about it, I really deserve to take everything and BQB deserves to live in a seedy motel for the rest of his days with Leo McKoy.

I feel like I was pretty generous in the settlement negotiation process.  Not only did I let Attorney Donnelly talk me into not calling for BQB’s genitals to be slammed in a steel door for the rest of his life, but I also let BQB retain custody of the Yeti.  So really, when you think about it, I’m the good guy here.

Things are finally going to be run differently around here.  I don’t know what exactly inspired me to cast BQB into a life of misery so I could fully recognize my full womanly potential.  I’m not going to lie though, I felt motivated as soon as I watched Ashley Judd give her deranged poem on the National Mall.

As Ashley ranted and raved about the blood stains on her bedsheets that weren’t her choice, I found myself shouting at the TV, “Yes!  Yes!  I don’t need a man! Bookshelf Q. Battler is the source of all my problems!”

Listen, don’t worry.  This blog has been missing a woman’s touch for far too long.  It will still be totally awesome.  Don’t listen to all that nonsense BQB spouted that under my watch, this blog will turn into a collection of daisy photos and vagina poems.

In conclusion, please enjoy this photo of a daisy…

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…and also this original poem I wrote about my vagina.

An Ode to My Vagina

An Original Poem By New Bookshelf Battle Blog Proprietor, Video Game Rack Fighter, May BQB Never Sully This Website With His Inability to Put Urine Into the Toilet Ever Again

Vagina!  Whoa, my vagina!

Giver of life and of mirth.

Is it the source of my inner-self?

Should it be the sum total of my self-worth?

Colin Firth.  Bridget Jones could do so much better.

Won’t someone write my vagina an appreciative letter?

Eddie Vedder.  Lead singer of Pearl Jam and to him

And any other man after my vagina I say, “Scram!”

Isn’t that the plan?  A world conquered by vaginas!

An end to rule by man.  Oh, vagina!

Sing me a song!

Give me respite from the days that are so long.

Dong!  Destroy anyone who has one.

And when that happens, my vagina will have won.

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Zom Fu – Chapter 36

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As Niu and the Whirlwind entered the camp of the Clan of the Mediocre Yet Effective Club Bonk, there was great frivolity afoot. Members ate, drank, danced and partied.

“This is unlike any kung fu clan I have ever seen,” Niu said. “Where is the discipline?”

The Whirlwind sipped wine from a skin, then wiped the excess from his lips. “We don’t really care for rules here.”

At that moment, a friendly game of checkers turned ugly as one player accused the other of cheating. Fists were thrown. Faces were smashed.

“I can see that,” Niu said.

The Whirlwind smiled at the ruffians. “Keep at it, boys. That’ll work the stress right out of you!”

“Perhaps you should order them to stop,” Niu said.

“Why would I do that?” the Whirlwind asked as he passed the wine skin to Niu.

Niu pushed the skin away. “Because you are their master.”

“Meh,” the Whirlwind said. “We aren’t exactly a cohesive unit. People come and go as they please. I’m not really a ‘master’ per se. At best, I’m more of an informal organizer.”

A stark naked drunkard emerged from his tent and puked his guts out.

“There we go, friend,” the Whirlwind said as he patted the drunkard on the back. “Feeling better?”

The drunkard nodded.

“Here, take a pull of this,” the Whirlwind said as he handed his wine skin to the lush. “It’ll fix you right up.

The drunk man nodded, took a drink, then handed the skin back to its owner. The Whirlwind took another drink, then continued to walk through the camp with his guest.

“That will not help him,” Niu said.

“I don’t know that it will not, not help him,” the Whirlwind replied. “What are you? One of those pansies who goes through life sober?”

“The fates wouldn’t have given me my wits had they wanted me to dull them,” Niu said.

“Maybe,” the Whirlwind said. “But then again, would the fates have allowed for the existence of a dazzling array of fermented beverages capable of knocking you out if they didn’t think every man deserved the occasional mental break from a dangerous world from time to time?”

“Are you a fatalist?” Niu asked.

“No,” the Whirlwind said. “Just a pragmatist.”

The Whirlwind stopped in front of a large tent and walked inside, bidding his guest to join him. Inside, Niu marveled at the sight of gold pieces and glistening gems being sorted and counted by the club bonk clan’s members.

“You’re all thieves,” Niu said.

“‘Thief’ is such a crude word,” the Whirlwind said. “We prefer the term, ‘wealth redistributors.’”

“Have these riches always been yours?” Niu asked.

“No,” the Whirlwind replied. “We pinched them.”

“Then you stole all of this,” Niu said.

“From the rich,” Niu said. “To give to the poor.”

Niu shook his head. “It doesn’t appear as though you are very poor.”

The Whirlwind shrugged his shoulders. “We used to be poor and funny thing about poverty, you never know when it will come back to bite you in the ass again.  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ I always say.”

“I have no idea what my master was thinking,” Niu said. “Asking me to train common criminals.”

“Criminals?” the Whirlwind asked. “Friend, there’s nothing common or criminal about this. The Emperor’s absurdly high tax rates, courtesy of that pile of feces in the shape of a man, Advisor Zhen. That’s what’s criminal. We steal from the Emperor’s tax collectors and sometimes, from the Advisor’s friends in high places. We give most of the loot back to its rightful owners but we’re no dummies. We keep a slice.”

“The kung fu clans have always come to the Emperor’s aid when needed,” Niu said. “We’ve never taken it upon ourselves to interfere with his commands, whether or not we agree with them.”

The Whirlwind walked past a series of barrels holding all manner of pilfered fruit. He picked up an orange and started peeling it.

“Yes, well, that’s why you are all chumps.”

The Whirlwind caught himself and patted Niu on the shoulder. “Were chumps. I was quite saddened when the news of the tiger claw clan’s demise made its way to me.  Undead warriors.  Ghosts in the company of giant bald men.  My eyes have truly opened to the supernatural.”

Niu brushed the Whirlwind’s hand aside.

“This,” Niu said as he waved his arms about the tent full of treasure. “All of this. This is why your clan was never recognized as a true kung fu clan.”

The Whirlwind popped an orange slice in his mouth and swallowed. “Oh well. No skin off my balls.”

The big man was furious. That emotion was a rarity for him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then glared at the informal organizer.

“If you’re going to help the Infallible Master and I save the Emperor, you’re going to have to change your ways and start acting like a kung fu warrior,” Niu said. “No more stealing, drinking, or gambling. You’ll wake up before sunrise and train until bedtime. You will embrace discipline and clean living, all in the name of service to your Emperor.”

The Whirlwind stared at Niu with a deadpan expression on his for a moment, then pointed at the big man and laughed. Soon enough, the rest of the club bonk clan members joined in.

“Oh,” the Whirlwind said. “That was good.”

“What’s so funny?” Niu asked.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” the Whirlwind said. “The Emperor doesn’t have a lot of friends here. I’m sure he’s a fine little fellow but as long as Advisor Zhen runs things, we aren’t itching to get ourselves killed just to allow a unfairly punitive and confiscatory tax system to reign supreme. What’s in it for us?”

Niu considered the question. As he watched the nimble fingers of a club bonk clan member stacking gold pieces, an idea presented itself.

“Though I am loathe to say this,” Niu said. “I suppose during the chaos that is about to unfold at the Forbidden City, my first priority would be the Emperor’s safety and therefore…”

The Whirlwind listened patiently.

“…if a certain group of criminal thieves…”

The Whirlwind coughed into his hand and corrected Niu. “Wealth redistributors.”

Niu rolled his eyes. “If a certain group of wealth redistributors were to abscond with the Emperor’s wealth, I would no doubt be too distracted to do anything about it.”

The Whirlwind ate another orange slice, then winked at the big man. “I like it.”

The informal organizer turned to his merry band of wealth redistributors. “You hear that boys? We’re going to save the Emperor, then rob his ass blind!”

A chorus of “Hooray!” broke out throughout the tent.

“Very good then,” the Whirlwind said as he took a pull from his wine skin. “How hard could it be to learn kung fu?”

Niu smiled, then backhanded the wine skin out of the Whirlwind’s hand, sending a fruity scented booze spray throughout the tent.

“You have no idea.”

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Zom Fu Continues

Hey 3.5 readers.

VGRF here.  I didn’t think to look into it, but it since I’ve been awarded custody of the Bookshelf Battle Blog, I should totally be awarded custody of all of BQB’s book attempts.  It’s only fair, right?

Anyway, to that end, I’ll keep posting the Zom Fu chapters that BQB hasn’t gotten around to posting yet.

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What Are Your Favorite Super Bowl Commercials?

Hey 3.5 readers.

VGRF here again.  What are you favorite super bowl commercials, either from tonight or from the past?

The one I remember the most from last year is Mountain Dew’s “Puppy, Monkey, Baby” though only because it was very weird.

Anyway, let me know and also BQB, enjoy watching the Super Bowl with Leo and the Yeti.

Hmm.  “Leo and the Yeti.”  Sounds like a good 1970s buddy cop drama.

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Who Are You Rooting For in the Super Bowl?

Hey 3.5 readers.

Video Game Rack Fighter here.  Just curious, who are you all rooting for in the Super Bowl?

Honestly, I was with BQB on this one.  Really, who cares?  This guy throws a ball, that guy throws a ball…who needs it?

Oh well, who cares what BQB thinks now that I have won his blog in the divorce and he is left to spoon with Leo McCoy in the Random Motel.

#worstboyfriendever

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My Side of the Story – Bookshelf Q. Battler

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Hey 3.5 readers.

A sad day in East Randomtown.  As my attorney, Ms. Donnelly, has notified you, VGRF and I are done, over, kaputsville.  Even worse, I have lost the Bookshelf Battle Blog, BQB HQ, Bookshelf Q. Battledog, and my action figure collection in the divorce, which, by the way came as a big surprise to me because I didn’t even know that VGRF and I were married.  Thanks Obama.

So this will be my last post.  This was a site for manly nerds and no, that’s not an oxymoron.  Now I can only assume that Video Game Rack Fighter will turn this fine website that I have spent three years of my life building into an online repository of daisy photos and vagina poems.  I mean, I don’t know that for sure, but I can only assume that most women spend 99.99% of their time looking at photos of daisies and writing poems about their vaginas.

It all started when I left one errant pee sprinkle on the toilet seat.  Totally wasn’t intentional.  It’s not like I meant to.  When VGRF brought it to my attention, I immediately dispatched the Yeti to clean it up.  I don’t know why, but the Yeti is into cleaning up weird messes.  I don’t know why.  I don’t ask.

But Video Game Rack Fighter was all like, “Well, you made the mess so you should clean it up and not make the Yeti do your dirty work” and I was all like, “Who cares?  He’s just a stupid yeti” and then she was all like, “It doesn’t matter.  You should take responsibility.”

So then I was all like, “You know, I don’t give you this much shit over the giant toe nails that you clip and just leave strewn all over BQB HQ.  This is a place of online blog business yet everywhere I go I’m stepping on toenails the size of Fritos!”

At that moment, I was reminded that it is impossible to win an argument with a woman because VGRF gave up on having any kind of rational discussion and proceeded to round house kick me in the face repeatedly until I passed out.

When I woke up, I found myself in the Random Motel with my freaking archenemy Leo McKoy of all people as a room mate.

By then, Attorney Donnelly had worked out the details of the divorce I had to a woman I didn’t even know I was married to and I don’t know how but I’m still blaming this on Obama.

Part of me is mad that Ms. Donnelly didn’t get me a better settlement, one that would have allowed me to retain BQB HQ and the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  Then again, part of me thanks her for keeping me from suffering VGRF’s first bid, namely, that I end up with my genitals slammed in a steel door repeatedly for the rest of my life.

Women always have to go right for the junk, let me tell you.

So I guess that’s it.  I’m stuck as Leo McKoy’s roommate indefinitely.  Probably forever because, did you hear this?  I have to also pay VGRF 99.99% of the paycheck I earn from Beige Corp.  I don’t know why.  It’s not like VGRF is getting up every day and assisting people who assist people who assist the people who sell beige products and accessories.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to post again, 3.5 readers.  VGRF’s settlement calls for me to be shot out of a high velocity cannon and directly into the sun if I post on this blog again.  Yeah, part of me was surprised that the court system approved that part and then again, part of me wasn’t surprised at all.

I haven’t decided yet but I might ditch Leo and explore the universe with Alien Jones for awhile.  I asked him over the space phone if he would like to be intergalactic roommates but all he did was make a few staticky noises with his mouth then say, “Um…sorry…the space phone is breaking up…bzzt bzzzt….talk to you later…”

Poor guy really needs a new space phone.

Thanks for the memories, 3.5.

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TV Review – Santa Clarita Diet

Zombies!  Murder!  Mayhem!  Sitcom stupidity.

Video Game Rack Fighter here with a review of Netflix’s Santa Clarita Diet.  Meanwhile, enjoy your BQB free diet because that nerd will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever write on this blog ever again, ever.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjRnbOgoAUQ

So, Netflix has taken the iZombie idea of a zombie who can still basically function as a human who speaks normally and Dexter, where the protagonist murders bad people, except here she does it for food.

Drew Barrymore and Timothy Olyphant star as suburban California realtors Joel and Sheila Hammond, just another boring couple living a quiet life with daughter Abby (Liv Hewson) on an idyllic cul-de-sac where all the houses look the same.

In the first episode, Sheila inexplicably dies and yet, does not die.  SPOILER ALERT: there’s a lot of vomit involved.

Sheila’s heart beat stops, she can be injured without being hurt, she loses control of her base desires and just wants to have sex with her previously sex deprived husband all the time.  Clearly, there’s been a big change.

Rather than, you know, consult a doctor, the family brings in a nerd, creepy next-door neighbor kid Eric (Skyler Gisondo).  He diagnoses Sheila as a zombie because, you know, he reads comic books and shit so apparently he’s an expert.  It’s all presented tongue in cheek and the audience is winked at to just go with it.

There are parts that are funny and parts that are just gross.  I feel sad for Timothy Olyphant.  I got so used to watching him play the tough cowboy in Justified that it seems depressing to watch him become the stereotypical pussy sitcom dad, completely impotent and unable to get any respect from his wife or kid and left to write sternly worded letters to the company that failed to design his toaster oven properly.

The main rule that all good writers must follow is, “Show, don’t tell.”  Viewers prefer to see things happen rather than be told that things happened and yet, at least in the first episode, we are told that things happened rather than shown that things happened.

I almost wondered if that might be a result of the episodes only being a half hour long.  With only a half hour, the show comes across as a zany sitcom.  With an hour, the characters could be developed more without the characters just blurting out the details of scenes we missed.

The verdict is still out on this show.  The first episode had its ups and downs but it was interesting enough to get me to come back for more.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy, and I hope BQB enjoys spooning with Leo McCoy in the Randomtown Motel because he will never be allowed to Netflix and chill with me in BQB HQ ever again.

Also, as a grammar issue, I think the show should be called, “The Santa Clarita Diet.”

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Bookshelf Battle Blog Under New Management

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Good Day, 3.5 readers.

Lead Counsel for Mr. Battler, Delilah K. Donnelly here.

It is my unfortunate duty to inform all 3.5 of you that Mr. Battler and his longtime girlfriend, one Miss Video Game Rack Fighter, have split up over irreconcilable differences.

Although terrible news, this normally would not be a matter of legal concern.  However, as it turns out, Ms. Fighter was an incredible legal researcher and was able to convince a court of law that by virtue of East Randomtownian Law, she and Mr. Battler had established a common law marriage by living together in sin for so long.

After an intense, seventy-eight hour negotiation session, a divorce agreement was reached and the property of the Bookshelf Battle Blog shall be divided as follows:

  • BQB HQ – Goes entirely to Ms. Fighter in recognition of the two years she lived there, even though Mr. Battler lived his entire life there and it was gifted to him by his beloved Aunt Gertie.
  • The Magic Bookshelf – Goes to Mr. Battler as Ms. Fighter views it and the characters who live it as little more than a nuisance.
  • Ms. Fighter’s Video Game Rack – Entirely to Ms. Fighter, though Mr. Battler may borrow her copy of Car Thief Mayhem once a month but only if she is not playing it.
  • Mr. Battler’s Action Figure Collection – Entirely to Ms. Fighter, not because it has any monetary value but because Mr. Battler believes that he will not be able to attract anyone with a vagina if he retains it.
  • Mr. Battler’s Collection of Used Whoopie Cushions and Rubber Chickens – To Mr. Battler in an effort by Ms. Fighter to show that she is not a total monster.
  • Mr. Battler’s Vintage 1990s Pornographic Magazine Collection – Sold at public auction and distributed evenly between the parties.  Now the property of ex-mayoral candidate Leo McKoy, who has been known to enjoy photos of half-naked women wearing nothing but flannel lumberjack shirts and hair-dos reminiscent of Rachel from Friends.  Mr. McKoy’s only public comment on the matter was, “I’ll be there for you…ugh.”
  • Alimony – Ms. Fighter retains the right to garnish 99.99% of Mr. Battler’s earnings as an assistant to the assistant of the vice-president for corporate assistance at Beige Corp., the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories.
  • Bookshelf Q. Battledog – Full legal custody with Ms. Fighter.  Court supervised visits for Mr. Battler every third leap year.
  • The Yeti – Full legal and physical custody to Mr. Battler.  Ms. Fighter will be within her rights to sue for mental pain and suffering if Yeti visitations are attempted.
  • Alien Jones – Retains his position as Mr. Battler’s intergalactic advisor.  Will continue to nag Mr. Battler until he writes a novel that inspires the masses to abandon reality television so that the Mighty Potentate will not conquer the planet.
  • Dr. Hugo Von Science, Uncle Hardass, Vinny Baggadouchio, Search Engine Optimized Poet, Nerdstradamus and Other Assorted Bookshelf Battle Blog Columnists – Will now be employees of Ms. Fighter.
  • The Bookshelf Battle Blog – Full ownership goes to Ms. Fighter.  Mr. Battler will no longer be allowed to post on penalty of being shot into the sun via a high velocity cannon.  Ms. Fighter will be able to post whatever she wants.
  • Mr. Battler’s 3.5 Readers – Now the property of Ms. Fighter.  They are not allowed to read anything written by Mr. Battler under court order.

LEGAL CONCLUSIONS

This is indeed a horrendous development, 3.5 readers.  Mr. Battler did so enjoy posting for your enjoyment, and even when you did not enjoy it, which by my understanding was most of the time.

I understand that you know me as one of the finest attorneys in the land and therefore you may wonder how Ms. Fighter was able to reach such a one-sided settlement.  All I can say is, she started high and sold low.  The alternative to this agreement was that Mr. Battler would have been required to slam his genitalia in a steel loading dock door from now until the end of his life and record every slam and post the footage on YouTube.

All things considered, I’d say Mr. Battler got off easy.

As for Detective Dashing and myself, Ms. Battler has issued no decrees as to whether or not she will utilize our services at this time.  As far as I am concerned, I shall remain Mr. Battler’s attorney until further notice and will continue to advise him as he begins his new life in the roach infested Random Motel, East Randomtown’s premiere pay-by-the-hour lodging resort.

Mr. Battler thanks you for being his 3.5 readers and asks that you do not weep for him, for, as he bravely put it, “It was better to have had 3.5 readers and lost them than to never have had 3.5 readers at all.  Also, Video Game Rack Fighter Sucks Yeti Butt.”

His words, not mine.  I do not say such vulgarities.

Enjoy the rest of your day, 3.5 readers.

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