Daily Archives: March 19, 2017

Zom Fu – Chapter 50

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All but one of Rage Dog’s underlings had perished, their skulls cracked and brains demolished under the weight of General Tsang’s sword. The last undead creature was on the floor, feasting on Nianzu’s entrails. The general’s cousin, as well as Weiyuan and Tengfei, were no more.

Woosh! The general cut a wide swath through the air as Rage Dog. The undead fighter then countered with a barrage of punches to the general’s midsection.

“Who do you think you are, that you would undermine he who carries the Mandate of Heaven?” General Tsang asked as he brought the hilt of his sword down, clonking Rage Dog on the top of the head.

Rage Dog backed up, then through himself through the air with a somersault before connecting his foot with the general’s face.

“I carry the mandate of Dragonhand,” Rage Dog said upon landing on his feet. “His will is all that matters and he will have the Emperor’s brain.”

General Tsang plunged his sword into Rage Dog’s gut. The undead warrior made an annoyed face at the general, shook his head in a disapproving manner, then stepped back, relieving his stomach of the blade as he did so.

Rage Dog turned his right hand into a tiger claw, a move that caught the general’s attention.

“You are a student of the Infallible Master?” General Tsang asked.

“Ha,” Rage Dog scoffed. “He is far from infallible.”

General Tsang charged at Rage Dog but was sidestepped and was instantly punished with a kick to his back.

“That is true,” General Tsang said. “He apparently failed you.”

The general searched Rage Dog’s blank eyes for a reaction. Seeing none, he continued. “Even so, he is the best man I know.”

“Then your social circle is very limited,” Rage Dog retorted.

The opponents paced back and forth, staring one another down.

“The Infallible Master is gracious and forgiving,” General Tsang. “He is a master of magics I could not begin to comprehend. Perhaps he could be convinced to take pity on you and help you with your condition.”

Rage Dog cocked his head to one side in the manner of an actual dog who is having difficulty understanding a statement. “No thank you. I no longer serve those who do not recognize my talent.”

“Ah,” General Tsang said. “And Dragonhand does I suppose?”

“He is very wise,” Rage Dog said.

“He is a fool,” General Tsang said. “And he has played you for a fool.”

The pair paced some more.

“It doesn’t seem as though we will settle this score with words,” General Tsang said.

“Apparently not,” Rage Dog said.

A few moments passed before Rage Dog made the next move. He launched himself toward the general with his tiger clawed hand pointed straight out. The general lopped it off with a quick slice, then rammed his sword through Rage Dog’s gut once more. This time, General Tsang rushed towards the wall and pinned his opponent against it.

Rage Dog looked down at the sword that was buried inside of him, holding him against the wall. He grabbed the hilt and attempted to extricate himself, but the general had plunged the blade in too hard and deep.

General Tsang took a moment to catch his breath. He pulled back a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, then removed the dagger from his belt. He stuck it into the brain of the beast that had been feeding on his cousin. The creature fell to the side, making way for the general to close his cousin’s eyelids with his hand.

“It pains me to do this to one of the Infallible Master’s disciples,” General Tsang said as he stepped over to Rage Dog with dagger in hand. “But I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”

The general reached back and was about to pierce Rage Dog’s brain when he noticed his adversary’s eyes were locked on something. It appeared as though Rage Dog was almost in a trance. Confused, the general followed the undead warrior’s gaze until he too saw what his opponent had been staring at – the Emperor. The little boy had emerged from his hiding place. He stood amidst the carnage, trembling.

General Tsang sighed. He returned his dagger to his belt, then put his hand on the hilt of his sword, making sure it was buried as far into the wall as it would go.

“Come now, Your Majesty,” the general said as he scooped the boy up in his arms. “Close your eyes, for you are much to little too witness such sights.”

The general exited the room with his charge in hand. Rage Dog looked down at the sword in his gut. He put both hands on it and gritted his teeth as he pulled with all of his might. The blade would not budge.

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Five Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Can you believe it has been five whole weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays, 3.5 readers?  Now that’s commitment!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 5

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Like some kind of odd, six legged monster, the trio hobbled their way down a side street and onto the main campus of Sitwell Community College. It was a cool Spring night and students were bustling about, posting trivial nonsense on their Lifebox pages and getting offended over anything and everything.

“Brit,” Paul said as he huffed and puffed. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Beta Zeta Theta,” Britney replied.

“The sorority house?” Paul asked.

“All the other buildings are locked down for the night,” Britney said. “It’s our only shot.”

“They’ll never let him shit there,” Paul lamented.

“Why?” Britney asked.

Chad perked up and burped. “Because I totally nailed seventy-five percent of them and never called any of them back! Woot woot! Party in Chaddy’s pants, y’all!”

“Oh God,” Britney said as she caught a whiff of Chad’s silent but deadly blast. “That smells like a party no one’s going to anytime soon, trust me.”

“Don’t hate the player, babe,” Chad said. His stomach gurgled, he heaved, and the trio stopped. Chad shook his head. “False alarm.” The trio moved on.

“Only seventy-five percent?” Britney asked. “You’re showing restraint as you enter decade two of your quest for an associate’s degree.”

“Nah baby,” Chad said. “It’s cuz the other twenty-five percent were straight up uggos! Chad don’t do no dogs, baby! Woof, woof, arr arr arrrrrwoooooo!”

The trio passed all sorts of student groups. The peaceniks were strumming banjos under a tree. The cool kids were smoking joints. The nerds were playing an elaborate, card based roleplaying game involving dragons, swords, and ill-tempered elves.

“Britney!” Chad yelled.

“I’m here,” Britney said.

“Britney,” Chad said as he farted loudly. “I want you to know I have learned the error of my ways.”

“Whatever, Chad,” Britney said.

“No, really baby,” Chad said. “When I told you that I’d love you forever and then walked right on over to Jenny Sinclair’s room to get a handy that was totally uncool of me. Way, way uncool.”

“It’s all in the past,” Britney said.

“It wasn’t even a good one!” Chad said. “Her hand was all dry and calloused! And she had a bottle of lotion sitting there right there on the nightstand and I nudged my head toward it but she didn’t take the hint so the whole time I was like, ‘This must be like what it feels like to stick your junk inside a tube of sandpaper.’”

Britney sighed. “Just try not to speak.”

Chad ignored the advice. “Babe, if I live through this, I want you to take me back and I swear I’ll be a better man.”

“Not happening,” Britney said.

“Please?” Chad asked.

“Never,” Britney answered.

“Pretty please?” Chad asked.

“No,” Britney replied.

The scene became way more crowded as the trio reached the center of the campus. There, a massive rally was underway. On a prefabricated stage, a young woman wearing thick glasses, a butch haircut, combat boots and a Che Guevara t-shirt was shouting furiously to the crowd.

Britney spotted the banner hanging above the speaker’s head. It read: “The Everything is Super Offensive and Racist and Sexist So Don’t Invade My Safe Space Without a Trigger Warning or Else You Are Literally Hitler Rally.”

“Oh my God,” Britney said. “I forgot that was tonight.”

“It’s the seventh one this month,” Paul said. “After awhile, you lose track.”

“Everything is super offensive and racist and sexist!” the speaker shouted into a bullhorn.

“What about flowers?” a random member of the crowd asked.

“Sexist!” the speaker shouted. “Men try to give them to us to distract us from the fact that they are all scumbag perverts trying to rule our lives because they think their penises give them a God given right to do so!”

“Don’t say, ‘God’ please!” a second crowd member said. “As an atheist, any reference to a deity offends me.”

“I’m sorry!” the speaker shouted into her bullhorn.

“It’s cool,” the atheist said. “Just stay woke.”

“But does everyone see how we are all discriminatory piles of garbage without even realizing it?” the speaker asked. “Like I said, ‘everything is super offensive and racist and sexist!”

“What about pizza?” a third member of the crowd asked.

Without even taking a second to think about the question, the speaker launched into an angry tirade. “Pizza is one of the most ethnically discriminatory foods imaginable. Think about all the hard working Italians who came to this country and put so much hard work and labor to build our cities and infrastructure and how do we repay them? By culturally appropriating their cuisine. It should be a hate crime punished by death if you eat a piece of pizza without showing proof that you are a person of Italian ancestry. If you are not Italian and you eat pizza anyway, then you are literally worse than Hitler!”

“That’s true,” a fourth member of the crowd said. “My Dad eats burritos all the time and he isn’t even Mexican and I’ve always felt he’s literally worse than Hitler.”

Britney, Paul and Chad worked their way through the crowd, bumping into protestors left and right as they tried to pass through.

“What about staplers?” a fifth member of the crowd asked.

“What?” the speaker asked through her bullhorn.

“Staplers,” the protestor asked as she pantomimed using a stapler with her hand. “You know, the thing you keep on your desk to attach pieces of paper together.

“Oh!” the speaker said. “Staplers are by far the most offensive of all office products. I mean, why are we trying to bind pieces of paper down when pieces of paper, just like people, shouldn’t be tied down. If you use a stapler then you better start goose-stepping yourself out of here because you are literally worse than Hitler!”

The crowd cheered and clapped.

“And who decided that pieces of paper have to be white, anyway?” the speaker asked. “We’re all so used to writing on white pieces of paper with black pens, but why can’t pieces of paper be black and pens be white? Everyone in the office supply industry should drop whatever they are doing and address this injustice of epic proportions but they won’t because they’re all literally worse than Hitler!”

More applause. The trio had almost reached the edge of the crowd and were about to break free when Paul had to go and open his mouth.
“The ink,” Paul said.

The crowd gasped. The speaker looked toward Paul and raised her bullhorn to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

Paul coughed into his hand to clear his throat. “Umm…the ink?”

Britney closed her eyes and winced. “Damn it Paul, now is not the time!”

Chad burped and farted in unison.

“What about it?” the speaker asked.

“In order to make paper black, you’d have to dip it in a black dye,” Paul said. “That would not be cost effective and also a waste of precious resources. Further, white paper is one of the most easily recycled materials, but if the paper is covered with ink then that makes it more difficult to recycle, thus generating unnecessarily damage to the environment.”

A quiet hush consumed the crowd. Everyone stared at the trio.

“What have you done, Paul?” Britney asked. “What have you done?”

Paul swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

The speaker’s nostrils flared. She gritted her teethed and seethed with rage. “He exercised independent thought! Get him!”

Chad hurled his guts all over the grass, but before he could wipe off his mouth, he was being dragged across campus but his friend and ex. Over a hundred irate protestors were in hot pursuit, shaking their fists and hurling expletive laden threats sprinkled with the words “tolerance” and “understanding.”

“You and your big mouth,” Britney said.

“I said I was sorry!” Paul cried.

“My feelings were hurt beyond repair!” a sixth random protester shouted. “I’ll suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome for the rest of my life now!”

“I’m sorry!” Paul shouted back to the random protester with alleged PTSD. “Your feelings are valid and I was inconsiderate!”

“What about me?” a seventh random protester yelled. “I’ll need to pet a therapy dog and stay within the lines of my therapy coloring books for the next six months before I begin the healing process over this!”

“I’m sorry!” Paul shouted back. “I’ll buy you some crayons, I swear!”

“Come back here!” the speaker shouted into her bullhorn. “Making me run is offensive to me because I don’t identify as a runner and that makes you literally worse than Hitler!”

The trio reached the entrance to the Beta Theta Zeta sorority house. The front door was locked, but through the glass they could see a blonde sitting at the front desk, bebopping her head back and forth as she listened to music through a pair of earbuds in her ears.

“Oh thank God, it’s Lilly!” Britney said as she banged on the door. “I have English Lit with her. Lilly! Lilly, let us in!”

Lilly was too far into her jams to pay attention to the door. She mouthed the words to Stank Daddy’s latest single and swayed her head back and forth. “Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

Paul turned his head and died a little inside as the crowd of unruly protestors drew near. Somehow, they’d managed to get ahold of flaming torches and pitchforks.

“Incoming social justice warriors!” Paul shouted as he joined Britney in banging on the door. “For the love of God, Lilly, let us in!”

Chad farted, then pulled out his cellphone. “I got this.”

The drunk thumbed through his contacts, then handed the phone to Britney.

“Her too?” Britney asked as she pushed a button on the phone marked, “Hot Blonde, Decent Face, OK Ass.”

“Yup,” Chad replied.

“You’re a pig,” Britney said as she waited for Lilly’s phone to ring.

“I know,” Chad said.

Lilly’s voice came through on Chad’s phone. “Squee! O-M-G Chad, you finally called me back!”

Britney mustered up all of her lung capacity and shouted into the phone, “Let us in, bitch!”

Lilly looked at the front door. She spotted the trio and the incoming unruly mob. She hit a button under her desk.

The door buzzed open. Paul, Britney and Chad ducked into the sorority and shut the door just in time to watch one protestor after another slam themselves up against the glass.

“I am offended by this!” a seventh random protestor said.

“Glass is offensive!” an eighth random protestor said. “It allows me to see who victimized me and ruined my life with inappropriate speech but doesn’t allow me to kick their ass. Whoever invented glass is literally worse than Hitler.”

The speaker pushed her way through the crowd and tried the door handle. The door was locked once more. She lifted up her bullhorn. “Sorry everyone. It looks like we won’t be able to rip those three limb from limb and bathe in their blood tonight. Everyone go home, get some sleep, and meet back here tomorrow morning for the anti-violence rally.”

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TV Review – 2 Broke Girls (2011 – Present)

They’re broke.  They’re girls.  They’re 2 broke girls.

BQB here with a…wait for it…review of two broke girls.

2011 was an up and down year for comedian Whitney Cummings.  The show she starred in, Whitney, premiered and it was ultra awful.  Even so, NBC kept it going long after they should have pulled the blog.

I don’t even know how to explain it.  The best I can do is that it was a show that was supposed to be funny and yet, everyone on the show was beautiful, they all made a lot of money doing jobs like “blogger” and they all complained about their problems.  Ultimately, characters with Manhattan problems just don’t play in Poughkeepsie.  Jerry Seinfeld was the last comic to make that schtick work.

Yet, that year, the show Whitney created, 2 Broke Girls, premiered and it’s been going on strong on CBS ever since.  As the show’s title suggests, Max (Kat Dennings) and Caroline (Beth Behrs) are two broke girls, struggling as poorly paid waitresses and living as roommates in a run down apartment.

They toil away at a diner, where they endlessly harass their diminutive boss Han (Matthew Moy) with one stereotypically Asian joke after another, mostly revolving around Han’s height, or lack thereof.

Max and Caroline are the female version of The Odd Couple.  Max has been poor and boorish her whole life, whereas Caroline was raised in wealth and luxury, only to fall to the bottom of the heap when her father is arrested and sent to prison for running a Bernie Madoff type scam.  Thus, Max teaches Caroline how to slum it, and Caroline makes an effort to give Max some class, though those efforts are rarely successful.

Overall, no one ever speaks normally but rather, the dialogue has jokes crowbarred in from every last angle.  Most of those jokes never land but rather, are of the so bad they’re good variety.

Surprisingly, the show revolves around a lot of stereotype humor.  In addition to endless jokes about Han’s Asian heritage, the girls are also friends with a duo of Polish immigrants, Oleg and Sofie (Jonathan Kite and Jennifer Coolidge aka Stiffler’s Mom from American Pie).  Oleg and Sofie are portrayed as as being exceptionally dumb (i.e. the worst of all Polish stereotypes) and yet in many ways they often ending up providing the girls with sage like advice, often on accident.

Garret Morris, an alum from SNL’s golden age,  rounds out the cast as Earl, the plucky diner cashier who shouts out a joke or a dig at random from time to time.

You know, I’m no prude when it comes to humor.  In fact, I’ve often opined on this fine site that people need to lighten up and chill out if we’re all going to ever get along in this great big melting pot that is America.  Even so, I avoid ethnic/stereotypical humor like the plague because I don’t want to offend people and/or have a picket line outside BQB HQ, so I’m surprised Whitney doesn’t have a similar picket line outside Whitney HQ.

I mean, it’s a funny show and I don’t see any intent on the part of the writers to emotionally wound anyone, but literally every episode there’s someone being made fun of their ethnicity, or there are gay dudes talking with a flamboyant lisp or something.  Whitney has somehow unbolted the magic formula to allow her to make these jokes and not get run out of Hollywood on a rail.  (FYI I’m not saying that I’m some sort of evil person that wants that formula).

Ultimately,  I enjoy the show, but I tend to take it or leave it.  Its the one show that I watch if I need something mindless to preoccupy my time, but I never watched it from the beginning and I often can go like ten episodes before checking back in and jump right back in without feeling like I need to go back and watch those ten episodes.  You can jump right in too, it’s not like you’re going to miss any great plot points.  Just Max making jokes about her boobs.

STATUS: Moderately shelf-worthy, though to the show’s credit, it may never “Jump the Shark” because the show has had a “We’re funny because we jump the shark every episode” kind of a feel.

 

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