Daily Archives: April 30, 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 29

Irving St. John’s penthouse apartment in downtown Miami was ultra swanky. Fine art, fine architecture, fine everything. Even the buxom babes he was cavorting with were fine, although at this particular moment, he wasn’t able to tell, for he was engaged in his favorite past time.

“Jerth schtik ert ifn,” Irving mumbled through the leather gimp mask that covered his face. He was lying face down in bed, with his naked butt sticking straight up in the air.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Heather, a high priced escort, as she stared at a twelve inch dildo that was riddled with bumps. Heather had the looks of a storybook princess, combined with the slutty demeanor of a late night cable TV show character.

Irving unzipped the mouth hole of his mask. “Just stick it in already, baby!”

“No lube?” Heather asked.

“No!” Irving said. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. It’s not a problem…just….YOWZA! That’s the ticket…”

Heather had complied with Irving’s request without warning. Also without warning, several members of a SWAT team, the same one that had apprehended Freddie Milton, broke down Irving’s door and surrounded the agent with guns drawn.

“Irving St. John?” the SWAT team captain asked.

“Who’s asking?” Irving asked with his head buried in a pillow.

“Police,” the captain said. “Put on some pants and take that thing out. You’re going for a ride.”

“What’s this about?” Irving asked.

“Shut up and zip up your mask, freak,” the captain said.

“Umm,” Heather said. “I haven’t been paid yet.”

“Sucks for you, ma’am,” the captain said. “Always get cash up front.”

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Movie Review – Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme…etcetera, etcetera…

BQB here with a review of Disney’s latest adaptation of a classic story about bestiality and Stockholm Syndrome.

3.5 readers, do you what the hallmark of a great salesman is?

The ability to sell you something you’ve already bought before.

Animation was once the last true bastion of creativity.  If you could imagine it, animators could draw it, no matter how ludicrous.  Today, that’s all changed thanks to CGI as it is now possible to make live action films that are just as ingenious as their animated counterparts.

And with live action remakes of their classic animated tales (Cinderella, Pete’s Dragon are just two recent ones that come to mind), Disney is making big bucks.

I presume that the cryogenically preserved head of Walt Disney, which still runs the company by the way, is laughing his way to the bank…or at least he would…if he weren’t just a head.

Anyway, at the outset, this movie is beautiful.  Emma Watson shines in her first really big post Harry Potter role as Belle.  Yes, I know she’s been in films since Harry but honestly, can you name any of them?  Didn’t think so.  Between this and The Circle with Tom Hanks, Emma is having a good year.

Kevin Kline, a blast from the 1980s past when he and his mustache were big and second only to Tom Selleck, is great as Belle’s father, Maurice.

Meanwhile, it’s a veritable Who’s Who of British celebrities playing French servants because our American minds here a British person speak and we instantly think, “European” and therefore it doesn’t matter if the actor is not French.

Highlights of the servant turned household item cast include Ian McKellan as Cogsworth, Ewan McGregor as Lumiere and Emma Thompson as Mrs. Potts.  German actress Audra McDonald brings her musical stylings to the singing wardrobe, Madame Garderobe while Stanley Tucci plays the piano (as in he literally plays the role of a piano), Maestro Cadenza.

Yes, it’s a tale as old as time, but new life is breathed to the animated cartoon.  We’re given a little bit more of an understanding as to why Gaston is such a villain, as well as more of an explanation as to how a beautiful young woman falls in love with a giant frigging hairy sasquatch man.

Luke Evans captures Gaston in all of his “in love with himself” glory.  Meanwhile, Josh Gad plays a super gay version of LeFou.  Whereas in the animated cartoon, LeFou was just a sniveling toady to Gaston, this version of LeFou clearly wants access to Gaston’s butt.

What?  What?!  That’s not PC to say that?  Sheesh.  I can’t keep up with all the rules anymore.

I mean, obviously LeFou doesn’t come right out and ask for access to Gaston’s butt.  However…the back rubs, the ear massages, the longing stares…LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.

This actually leads me to think maybe Walt Disney’s frozen head isn’t in charge anymore, as he probably would not approve of such a thing.

It’s an interesting development to say the least.  As far as controversies go, this one kind of fizzles out.  Gaston and LeFou don’t come right out and play a game of pitcher vs. catcher or anything, but it’s definitely a shot across the bow from Disney in which they are testing the waters to see whether or not all hell would break loose if they were to make a movie with a gay lead character.

As this is a not a political blog, I’m not going to touch that one.  All I know is…LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.

Arguably, LeFou wanting Gaston’s butt is not even the most controversial part of this movie.  After all, it is a story about a kidnapped woman who falls in love with her captor, a dog monster, thus promoting Stockholm Syndrome, abusive relationships, and bestiality.

Also, and I can’t say this enough, Gaston is the true hero, both in the animated version and the live action adaptation.  I mean, all the dude wants to do is slay the Beast and knock boots with Belle.  Belle gets kidnapped by a hairy dog monster and she doesn’t even thank the guy that’s trying to rescue her.  The nerve of some people.

Still, the tale that is as old as time does hold up after all these years.  Ultimately, the message is to not judge a book by its cover.  A handsome prince who treats ugly people like crap gets his comeuppance by becoming a super ugly beast, suffers for years as an ugly beast, learning how all the ugly people must have felt when he treated them like crap.  Eventually, he learns to not be such a jerk face and is rewarded with the love of a hot studious French chick.

Sadly, like most things in life, it falls apart after closer inspection.  Are we really to believe that Belle would love the Beast if there wasn’t a chance that he might turn into a handsome Prince?  Would Belle still love the Beast if he weren’t rich as all get out and the owner of a fat ass castle?

I mean, hell, women say they’d never touch an ugly guy all the time but then they usually do if the ugly guy has money.  Something tells me Belle wouldn’t stick around if the Beast was destined to remain a Beast forever while living in a rent controlled inner city apartment or in a trailer park in the middle of nowhere.

But then again, I am cynical.  Perhaps I am like the Beast, super jaded for no one will ever love me due to my super ugliness.  Maybe we are all like the Beast in one way or the other.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy.  Worth a trip to the theater.  LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 28

Professor Elliot rapped his knuckles on Chad Becker’s dorm room.

A few moments passed. A young man’s voice answered. “Who is it?”

Professor Elliot was surprised that anyone had answered. He’d planned to pick the lock and was just making sure no one was in the room first. “Chad?”

“Chad’s not here, man.”

Whoever was talking on the other side of the door, the professor doubted it was a person who was old enough to get the inadvertent Cheech and Chong reference. Even so, the educator persisted.

“I know that,” Professor Lambert said.

“Chad’s dead, man,” the voice said.

“I’m aware,” Professor Lambert said.

“Then why are you wasting my time asking questions you already know the answers to?” the voice asked.

Professor Lambert grew increasingly frustrated. “I’m not…you just…startled me is all. I didn’t think anyone would be in Chad’s room.”

“Because Chad’s dead man,” the voice said.

“Yes,” the professor said. “We’ve established that.”

“Well,” the voice said. “Why’d you come looking for Chad if you knew he was dead?”

“I didn’t come looking for Chad,” the professor said. “I came for…look…are you taking over Chad’s um…business affairs?”

“Maybe,” the voice said. “Who’s asking?”

Professor Lambert looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Seeing no one, he carried on. “Who’s asking me?”

“No man,” the voice said. “I’m asking you who you are.”

“I know,” Professor Lambert. “And I am, in turn, asking who you are.”

“I’m not telling, man,” the voice said. “You sound like a narc.”

“I’m not a narc,” Professor Lambert said.

“You sound old, man,” the voice said. “So old you must have sold out to the man a long time ago.”

“I did,” Professor Lambert said. “Sooner or later we all do but that’s neither here nor there. Do you have the stuff?”

“What stuff?” the voice asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” the professor said. “Open this door. I want to see your stuff!”

“Sir,” the voice said. “I don’t swing that way…”

The professor gave up on the conversation. He put his hand on the knob, planning on turning it in vain but to his surprise, the knob turned and the door opened. The professor found himself staring face to face with Paul, the frat’s Beermeister.

“Paul Keneally!” the professor said as he shut the door behind him. “I should have known it was you.”

Paul panicked and began to sweat profusely. “Professor Lambert! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Knock it off,” Professor Lambert said. “Where’s the stash?”

“Stash?” Paul asked.

“I’m not here to bust you, son,” Professor Lambert said. “I just need some Supersonic Chronic?”

“Supersonic Chronic?” Paul asked. “What’s that? I only put wholesome, organic foods in my body.”

“Don’t bullshit me, boy,” the professor said. “I know you’re holding.”

“Holding?” Paul asked. “What is this, ‘holding’ you speak of? I’m just a simple country boy from Kansas, sir.”

“Look kid,” the professor said. “If the school was trying to do you in, do you really think they’d send me?”

Paul looked the professor over, taking in the frazzled side and back head hair, the stained lab coat, the wrinkly shirt that looked like it hadn’t been changed in days. “I guess not.”

The Beermeister opened up Chad’s closet to reveal a virtual black market marijuana dispensary. Hundreds of perfectly organized glass jars, each filled with a different strain of green herb, all labeled meticulously. “Cincinnati Brain Fart.” “Dragon Bite.” “Mental Disarray.” “Kookaburra Candy.” “Mellow Madness.” “The Kushtastic Voyage.”

“I think he’s all out of Supersonic Chronic,” Paul said.

“Aw, Hell’s Bells!” the professor lamented. “Fine. Just hit me up with a half pound of Minnesota Mud Bud.”

Paul grabbed the jar and began dumping its contents into a plastic baggy. He then handed the illicit substance to the professor. “Three hundred.”

“Dollars?” the professor asked.

“No,” Paul replied. “Back rubs. Of course, dollars.”

“That’s highway robbery,” the professor said. “Look Paul, Chad and I used to have a sort of…arrangement.”

“I do not want to hear about whatever creepy sex stuff you and Chad were into,” Paul said.

“Sex stuff?” Professor Lambert said. “No. I would flunk Chad out of my class again and again and in exchange, he’d sell me top notch ganja at a discount price.”

“Yeah, well,” Paul said. “Chad’s not here, anymore, man. And as his best friend, I have inherited his supply.”

“Two hundred,” the professor said. “And I’ll flunk you too if you want.”

“I don’t want,” Paul said. “And why the hell would anyone want to flunk?”

“Oh, you know Chad,” the professor said. “He just wanted his happy go lucky college days to never end. The only problem is you have to be a complete and total dumb ass drooling mongoloid to flunk out of a two-year community college, so he’d give me cheap weed, I’d fail him on his exams and bada bing, bada boom, his parents would pay for another semester.”

“That’s messed up,” Paul said.

“And now that deal can be yours,” Professor Lambert said.

“No thanks,” Paul said. “It’s been my lifelong dream to graduate from a two-year community college within two years. I’m the pride and joy of my family for even trying to achieve such a miraculous feat. I’m not going to throw it all away with six months to go.”

The Professor pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills into Paul’s waiting hand. “Fine! One hundred…two hundred…three hundred. I hope you choke on it, you lousy grifter.”

Paul handed over the baggy full of bud. “Pleasure doing business with you, Professor. I never knew you were a pot head.”

“Oh, son,” Professor Lambert said. “If you’d risen so high only to fall as low as I have, you’d need a little recreational therapy to get you through the day. Trust me.”
The professor tucked the baggy into the inner pocket of his lab coat. “So how the hell did Paul die on the toilet anyway?”

“I dunno,” Paul said.

“He strain too hard and blow himself up?” the professor asked.

“Maybe,” Paul said. “All I know is I was waiting outside when I heard these loud animal sounds…”

“Animal sounds, you say?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Like a big roar. And then I walked into the bathroom and a bunch of girls Paul was hitting on were pinned under a section of the stall wall. The bathroom was flooded, the toilet was broken, and Paul, or what was left of him, was all over the walls.”

“Did you help the girls?” the professor asked.

“Shit no,” Paul said. “I got the hell out of there. You think I’m going to stand around waiting to get killed too?”

The professor shook his head. “Well, I’ve never been one to judge others.”

“Weirdest part was the bite marks,” Paul said.

“Bite marks?” the professor asked.

“All over the door,” Paul said. “The news says some crazy guy is running around murdering people on the toilet but…I don’t now any man with teeth that big.”

The professor’s face turned milk white. “Did you tell the cops about this?”

“Hell no,” Paul said. “I never say shit to cops unless I have to.”

The professor stood in the middle of the dorm room, lost in thought.

“Something wrong?” Paul asked.

The professor patted the young man on the shoulder, then exited the room. “No. Thanks for the stuff.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 27


Big Ray’s House of Fancy Fun Bags was by far the best strip club in all of Sitwell. The joint didn’t earn this credential because it had the most beautiful dancers, or even the most classy adult entertainers. No, it was basically because it was the only nudey bar in town. Thus, Big Ray wasn’t very particular about who he hired. Toothless, overweight, stretch marks, C-section scars, old – it didn’t matter. If you were a woman and were willing to show what God gave you in exchange for sweaty singles pried out of the hands of desperate lechers, Big Ray was happy to hire you.

Even though it was noon on a weekday, there were plenty of perverts lined up by the main stage to check out the next act.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice of the club’s resident tune spinner, DJ Home Slice. “She’s hot. She’s on fire. No, literally, she’s been reporting a burning sensation when she pees. She’s fifty-five years young and still shaking her money maker. Give it up for Roxy!”

Stank Daddy’s hit rap song blew up the house speakers as Roxy took to the main stage. She was old, much too old for stripping, but she showed up to work on time and Big Ray didn’t have the heart to tell her to take a hike. She trotted down the runway with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, a palette of clownish makeup slathered on her wrinkly face, and a nicotine patch stuck to her arm.

“Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

Roxy grabbed the aluminum pole in the center stage and twirled around and around. She then attempted to climb it, only to huff and puff and fall on her ass. She immediately jumped right up.

“And she’s ok!” the DJ announced. The assorted perverts clapped and tossed dollar bills onto the stage.

One of the perverts looked way too familiar. “Momma!”

Embarrassed, Roxy folded her flabby arms over her giant saggy knockers and leaned in to talk to her son. “Buford! How many times have I got to tell you to never bother Momma while she’s at work!”

“Daddy kicked me out of the house, Momma!” Buford said.

“He did?” Roxy asked. “Why’d he go and do a thing like that for?”

“He said I play too many video games,” Buford said. “Said I gotta grow up and be a man and start making some money.”

Roxy frowned. “Oh son.”

A random pervert was none too pleased at the display. “Hey! I threw a dollar on stage and I expect to see some geriatric titties!”
Roxy let the pervert have it. “Pipe down, ya’ puke! Can’t you see I’m trying to do some parenting here?!”

The stripper ran her hand through her son’s hair. “Baby, maybe you’re Daddy’s just doing what’s best for you.”

Buford started to cry. “Oh sure. Take his side.”

“I’m not taking his side,” Roxy said. “Lord knows your Daddy can be as stubborn as a mule and dumber than a pig but he knows how to make money and, well…”

“Well, what?” Buford asked.

“Look at yourself, son,” Roxy said. “You’re twenty- eight. You got no skills. You got no girl. You’d never be able to support yourself if something happened to your Daddy.”

Buford sniffed. “Momma, I don’t need a lecture. I need a place to stay.”

Roxy appeared startled. “You want to stay with me?”

Buford shook his head up and down. “Uh huh.”

“Oh baby…”

The random pervert squawked again. “Hey, Toots! Either shake that dumper or get off the stage!”

Roxy turned and faced the pervert. “Shut your suck-hole or get ready for a high heel shoe up your ass, pecker head!”

The pervert walked away from the stage in a huff. Roxy returned her attention to the young man. “Honey, we gotta wrap this up. Your costin’ Momma money.”

“I know, Momma,” Buford said. “Please, just let me stay with you.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Roxy said. “I want to and it’s gonna break my heart to say no…”

“Then don’t say no,” Buford said.

“But I gotta say no,” Roxy said.

“Why?” Buford whined.

“Because your Daddy is right about this,” the old stripper said. “You’ll never become a man if you don’t learn how to take care of yourself.”

“But I was meant for something bigger!” Buford said.

Roxy sighed. “Buford Dufresne, you were not.”

“What?” Buford asked.

“Oh I know, it’s a shock, baby,” Roxy said. “Every little boy and girl grows up, thinking they’re special, thinking they’re gonna be all rich and famous when they grow up. You think your Momma thought she’d be dancin’ on stage for a bunch of Looky Lou’s when she was just a little girl?”

“No,” Buford said.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Roxy said. “Because that was my dream when I was young and I achieved it. But not everyone is as lucky as I am, Buford. You need to take all your dreams about becoming famous and stuff them down deep inside your soul and never speak about them again. You need to get out there and work a regular job and be a regular person just like every body else.”

“I can’t believe this,” Buford said.

“There comes a time when every young person lets go of their dreams and settles for less,” Roxy said. “You held onto yours a lot longer than most, and you were able to because your Daddy coddled you but it’s time, Buford. You got to learn how to fend for yourself.”

“But Momma!” Buford said.

“No,” Roxy said. “Besides, you know Momma does extracurricular work at home, entertaining interesting gentlemen and such.”

“I know,” Buford said.

“You get on, now,” Roxy said. “Scoot. And don’t come back until you can fend for yourself, you hear?”

Buford looked sullen, defeated. “I hear.”

“You’ll thank Momma and Daddy for this one day,” Roxy said.

Buford stormed away from the stage. “No I won’t.”

The Stank Daddy beats continued.

“Smack a bitch with a tire iron, smack a bitch with a wrench, smack a bitch with a club until her ass starts speakin’ French…”

“OK, you degenerates,” Roxy said as she twirled around the pole. “Time for Old Roxy to put on a show for you and…ergh!”

The old stripper grabbed her back. She seethed with pain. She looked at the DJ and ran her finger across her throat, in a gesture he took to mean that he needed to cut the music.

“Fuck me,” Roxy said as she stumbled off the stage all hunched over. “Take five, everyone. Old Roxy needs to take her Glucosamine Chondroitin pill.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 26


The top of Professor Elliot Lambert’s head was bald and oh so shiny, but the sides of his head had yet to get the message. The hair on the back and sides of his head was brown, speckled with gray. He’d grown it down to his shoulders, perhaps out of some misguided belief that this would prove that he actually had hair.

Standing in front of his class at Sitwell Community College, the scholar was engaged in a lecture on the mating habits of the Antarctic penguin. He found it riveting, even though no one else did.

“And so, the male penguin will perform a seductive dance, which culminates in the female to bend over and expel the feathers surrounding her hormonal glands,” Professor Lambert said. “It’s truly an amazing sight to behold. I swear, kids, if you ever get up to Antartica, you must check it out.

The professor couldn’t help but notice that something was off. Normally, his class room was packed to capacity. Although no one on campus had a particular fondness for Animal Biology 101, Professor Lambert was a notoriously easy grader, an educator who would gladly stamp an A on a paper as long as a student regurgitated something halfway legible. Further, the course satisfied a science requirement.

However, on this morning, only three students managed to show up: Connor the Hipster, Kate the Goth Chick and Mackenzie, a girl whose eyes were permanently riveted to her phone.

“Is there something I don’t know about?” the professor asked.

The three students remained silent.

“Big party last night?” Professor Lambert asked. “Everyone back at their dorms, sleeping it off?”

“You don’t know?” Declan asked.

“I don’t know what?” Professor Lambert said. “That’s a ludicrous question, young man. How could I possibly know what I don’t know? The point of asking a question is to determine what one does not know and then to persist in obtaining and answer to what one does not know, thus to facilitate an answer that can added to the mental reservoir of what one knows.”

“Chad Becker died on the toilet last night,” Ann said in her Goth monotone.

“It’s been all over the news,” Mackenzie said as she stared at her phone.

“True,” Connor said. “Although personally, I prefer not to obtain my information from corporate outlets like Network News One as most mainstream channels simply whore themselves out to big business. Instead, I prefer low key, self-sponsored blogs produced by independent owners and operators. In fact, the Bookshelf Battle Blog just reported that Countess Cucamonga may have been an alien from outer space. Now that’s an angle you’ll never hear from the bought and paid for corporate media.”

“The Bookshelf Battle Blog?” Mackenzie asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it,” Conor said. “It only has 3.5 readers.”

The Professor threw up his hands. “Slow down children. Are you telling me that Chad Becker is dead?”

“Deader than disco,” Mackenzie said.

“His soul is the property of Azaglotz, Keeper of the Demon Realm, now,” Kate said.

The professor lowered his head into his hand. “This is terrible. So terrible.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Declan said. “Were you two close?”

The professor lifted his head up and blurted out. “I bought my weed from him!”

Connor and Kate appeared shocked. Mackenzie was too glued to her phone to care.

“Um,” Professor Lambert said. “That is to say, yes, he was one of my favorite students. He took this class seven times.”

The professor picked up a remote control and punched a button. A blank, white screen rolled down in front of the dry erase board. Next, the Network News One channel was projected onto the screen. Kurt Manley was reporting, as usual.

“Witnesses on the scene report that Russian President Anatoly Verashenko pulled out his penis, plopped it down on the podium in front of the entire United Nations General Assembly, and dared the President of the United States to do the same,” Kurt Manley said. “The Russian President openly doubted that President Stugotz would accept the challenging, saying, quote, ‘Everyone knows that in an international dick measuring contest, Russia will win every time!”

Kurt shuffled some papers. A photo of Chad Becker wearing a bra on his head with a beer on his head appeared on screen. Kurt spoke in a voice over. “In our ongoing coverage of the bizarre series of toilet murders that has gripped the state of Florida, we’ve talked a lot about Countess Cucamonga. But what about the other victims? We’ll talk about retired history teacher Hugh Hogan in the next hour, but first, a retrospective on the life of Chad Becker, who, some say may hold a world record for the longest amount of time ever spent in pursuit of a two year degree. We’ll look back on Mr. Becker’s life after this commercial break. Also coming up in the next hour, could this brand of frozen pizza cause you to hallucinate and believe that you are the Second Coming of Ethel Merman? We’ll tell you which brand after sports and weather but first, a word from our sponsors.”

The Network News One announcer came one. “Network News One. The Hottest Blonde Chicks. The biggest titties. Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.”

The professor turned off the television. “Awful. Just awful.”

“Professor,” Kate said. “I don’t mean to be a downer…”

The professor and Connor looked at Kate, surprised she would say such a thing.

“…I mean, no more than usual but…I just don’t think I can concentrate given the fact that some psycho is running around murdering people while they shit.”

“I should be safe,” Connor said. “I have decided to stop using toilets as I have realized that every flush just puts another dollar into the pockets of Big Toilet.”

“Big Toilet?” Kate asked.

“The toilet industry,” Connor said. “They keep us subservient by making us believe that the only way to shit is through a toilet. I checked out a book on how to compost your own shit from the library and I’m going to do that from now on.”

“Wow,” Kate said. “That sounds hella woke. Can I join you?”

“Of course,” Connor said. “Maybe we could even, um…”

“I already told you I’m promised to Azaglotz, dirt beard boy!” Kate said.

Mackenzie yawned. “All I know is I got no sleep last night because my roommate was too afraid to shit in the bathroom after what happened to Chad, so she shit in a coffee can and stunk up the entire room.”

Professor Lambert scratched his long beard. “Hmm…yes. I suppose under the circumstances, it would be appropriate to cancel class.”

All three students jumped up to their feet with eager anticipation.

“Read chapters thirty through thirty-five in your textbooks,” Professor Lambert said. “And don’t forget there is a quiz on the anal cavity of the East Himalayan Snow Leopard next week. Good day, students.”

The students left the room. The professor sat down behind his desk. “How the hell am I supposed to get my Supersonic Chronic now?”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 25

Sharon took the seat behind Cole’s desk. Freddie was placed in the visitor’s chair on the other side. Gordon took a menacing stance in the back corner of the room, watching Freddie’s every move.

“Mr. Milton,” Sharon said as she flipped through some papers in a file. “Do you know why we’ve brought you here?”

“What?” Freddie asked. “Do I look like I just picked up a plus five psychic powers card?”

“Plus five what now?” Sharon asked.

Freddie scoffed. “Clearly you’ve never been blessed with a good game of Magicians of Montazor.”

“Clearly not,” Sharon said. “Cut the bullshit.”

“Cut the bull-what?” Freddie asked.

Gordon grabbed the nerd by the back of the neck and slammed his head down on Cole’s desk. “How’d you off Countess Cucamonga, geek?!”

“What?” Freddie asked.

Gordon lifted the nerd’s head up then slammed it down on the desk once more. “The fat ass pop star! The old man! The college student! You killed ‘em all and we want to know how!”

“But I didn’t…”

Wham! Before Freddie could finish his sentence, his head was connecting with Cole’s desk again.

“Is this even legal?” Freddie asked.

Sharon sat back. Gordon kept his hand on the back of Freddie’s head, ready to strike at any moment.

“It’s a gray area, Freddie,” Sharon said. “Abuse of a scumbag like you only becomes a problem if a) the public finds out and b) the public cares about you. But let me give you a little piece of advice. Countess Cucamonga’s songs about her big butt were universally loved by people of every race, color, and creed in the entire world. Ergo, people want her killer found and won’t give a shit about what happens to him in the process.”

Wham! Another head slam. “That means you start talking now, bitch!” Gordon said.

“You think I killed Countess Cucamonga?” Freddie asked.

“Stop restating the obvious,” Sharon said. “My colleague has no patience for it.”
“I didn’t do it!” Freddie shouted. “Why would you think I did?”

Sharon perused Freddie’s file. “You were harassing and stalking her several years ago.”

“I was harassing and stalking her with love!” Freddie said.

Wham! Down the nerd’s face went yet again.

“You were caught red handed,” Sharon said. “You broke into the Countess’ mansion and she walked in on you while you were wearing one of her dresses and singing one of her songs. You even had a pillow stuffed down the back of your underpants to simulate the Countess’ fat ass. You left her so traumatized that some speculate you were the cause of her Japanese Moki fish huffing addiction.”

“OK,” Freddie said. “You got me. Yes, I did that. But I was in a bad way back then. I just got out of college. I was depressed to discover that there weren’t that many career opportunities for sociology majors. I mean, who would have known that, right?”

“I knew that,” Sharon said.

Gordon slammed Freddie’s head into the desk. “Everyone knows that, nerd!”

Freddie’s forehead turned bright red. “Could he please stop doing that?”

Sharon looked at Gordon and nodded. “Cut him some slack.”

Gordon growled like an angry Rotweiller.

“I plead guilty,” Freddie said. “They let me off with probation. I got a job at Tasty Burger. I moved in with my Grandma. I joined the local chapter of Magicians of Montazor. I turned my life around.”

“You call living with your Grandma while you flip burgers and play kids’ games turning your life around?” Sharon asked.

“It was better than before,” Freddie said. “I used to have a problem with bath salts.”

“Shit,” Sharon said. “That’s a serious addiction. A lot of junkies do bad things after they ingest them.”

“Ingest them?” Freddie asked. “No. I’d just sprinkle them in my bathtub and take long, luxurious baths while lavender scents filled my nostrils. It relaxed me so much that I lost control and did, well, you know what I did. To this day, I feel so terrible that I caused the Countess so much pain.”

“Lies,” Sharon said. “You would have killed her right then and there had her security detail not pinned you to the ground and beat the ever loving shit out of you.”

“No!” Freddie said. “I would never hurt the Countess!”
“Then why’d you break into her house, freak?” Sharon asked.

“Because I wanted to know what it was like to be her!” Freddie said. “I listened to her songs in the bathtub whenever I felt down. Big Time Booty. Booty Funk. Asstravaganza. Around the World in Fifty Cheeks. She was fabulous and I guess for once I wanted to know what it would be like to be a beautiful woman with a corpulent keister that was loved by millions.”

“Right,” Sharon said. “So you cooked up a bizarre scheme. Figured you’d kill her and replace her and no one would notice? You were caught then but you went back to the drawing board, spent the past few years devising a new scheme to kill the Countess and you finally did it!”

“No!” Freddie said.

“Just admit it!” Sharon said.

“Never!” Freddie said. “I love the Countess too much!”

“How do Hugh Hogan and Chad Becker figure into this?”

“Who?” Freddie asked.

Sharon looked to Gordon. “Do it.”

“With pleasure,” Gordon said as he slammed Freddie’s head into the desk.

“I don’t know those people!” Freddie said.

“You’re on thin ice, Freddie,” Sharon said. “And it’s about to crack.”

Tears streamed down Freddie’s face. “I didn’t do it I swear. I could never hurt a fly!”

Sharon sighed. “That’s too bad, Freddie. I thought we could cut some kind of a deal but now you’re going to do life for this. You know who else loves Countess Cucamonga? Prison inmates. Her fat ass songs helped them get through their dreary days and you took that away from them. They’ll make short work of you.”

“No!” Freddie said. “Please, you’ve got to believe me.”

“Why should I?” Sharon asked.

Gordon loosened his grip on Freddie, allowing the nerd to sit up and dry his tears. “I have an alibi.”

“Don’t play me for a fool, Freddie,” Sharon said.

“I do!” Freddie insisted. “Talk to my fellow magicians. Talk to my Grandma. I was home all night.”
“Sounds pretty flimsy, Freddie,” Sharon said. “How do I know a bunch of nerds and an old lady wouldn’t lie for you?”

“You don’t,” Freddie said. “But please. I’m telling you the truth.”

“You gotta give me something, Freddie,” Sharon said.

“Give you something?” Freddie asked.

Gordon slammed Freddie’s head down on the desk. “Give her something!” the enormous man shouted.

“OK, OK!” Freddie said. “I may have something.”

“Spill it,” Sharon said.

“Well,” Freddie said. “I may have…kind of…sort of…committed a crime to get this info, so that’s why I never told anyone.”

“No surprise there, weirdo,” Sharon said.

“So I don’t want to go to jail for this,” Freddie said.

“Depends on how good the information is,” Sharon said.

Gordon tightened his grip on the back of Freddie’s neck. “You’re not in a position to bargain, little man.”

“OK,” Freddie said. “When I broke into the Countess’ mansion…I may have…kind of…sort of….”

“Stop beating around the bush,” Sharon said.

“I’m not saying I did this,” Freddie said. “But hypothetically speaking, I might have, in theory, hacked into the Countess’ personal computer and found some troubling files.”

“Troubling files?” Sharon asked.

“Her agent was robbing her blind,” Freddie said. “I was hoping to find, you know, photos of the Countess in the buff…”

“Because you’re an insane pervert,” Sharon said.

“I’m a reformed insane pervert,” Freddie said. “But back then, yes, I was out of my mind. But instead of nude photos, I just found a bunch of emails to the Countess from her manager, Irving St. John. Concert ticket sales, merchandising rights, TV special deals, album sales…none of it added up. Her cut of the take was supposed to be one thing, but the money being deposited into her bank accounts was another…”

“You hacked into her bank accounts?” Sharon asked.

Freddie blushed. “In theory.”

“Jesus,” Sharon said.

“You want a suspect,” Freddie said. “I’d look into that guy. Maybe the Countess finally figured out Irving was skimming off the top and he rubbed her out to keep her from going to the cops.”

“Did you save any of this evidence?” Sharon said.

“In theory,” Freddie said. “I might have a flash drive I could turn over…that is, if it gets me turned loose.”

Sharon nodded at Gordon. Gordon pulled the nerd up onto his feet. “Let’s go, nerd!”

“Wait!” Freddie said. “What about my deal?”

“We’ll see if your story checks out,” Sharon said. “Until then, you’ll be cooling your heals in a holding cell for awhile.”

“I want my lawyer!” Freddie cried.

Gordon dragged the nerd out of Cole’s office. “You’ll get nothing and like it you little dweeb!”

Once alone, Sharon leaned back in Cole’s chair and rested for a few moments. She spotted a turned over picture frame on the desk. She picked it up to find a photo featuring much younger versions of her and Cole, embracing on a beach. Cole’s lips were playfully pressed up against her cheek.

“Oh Cole,” Sharon said.

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Eleven Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays!

3.5 readers, I truly believe that a thousand years from now, students of English literature will be studying this excellent book:


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Rap Philosophy – “I Got Hoes in Different Area Codes”


The year was 2001.  George W. Bush had just become president and a young rapper by the name of Ludacris was burning up the charts.

His seminal treatise?  “Area Codes.”

Let’s take a look:

I’ve got hoes
I’ve got hoes, in different area codes…area codes
Hoes! Hoes… in different area codes…area codes…

Ludacris then goes on to make a number of witty ho puns.  Eat some ho-deurves, whore-mones and what have you.  He missed his calling by not becoming a comedian.

Is Luda really talking about hoes?  Or is he talking about being a man of the world?

Surely, a man of his prominence in the rap game could have the hoes brought to him.  However, he travels to various area codes in order to obtain these hoes.

One begins to wonder if he’s really traveling just for the hoes, or if he is traveling in order to expand his mind and his base of experience.

One should travel.  One should get out of one’s comfort zone.  One should see the world and experience other cultures.  Maybe you’ll find a place you truly belong.  Or, maybe you already belong at the place you’ve always call home and you’ll appreciate it that much more.

What will you seek when you travel?  New ideas?  New languages?  New forms of expression?  New works of art?  New experiences?

In Ludacris’ experience, he sought new hoes whenever he reached his new destinations.  But while Luda was looking for women with loose morals, i.e. “hoes” as commonly stated in the rap vernacular, you might be looking for any type of new experience when you travel.

What is the “ho” that you wish to experience in a new area code?  New food?  New fun?  New ways of life?

Whatever your “ho in a different area code” may be, I hope you find it.  Of course, the key to happiness is to also appreciate the hoes in your very own area code, as very few of us will ever be able to afford to be international globe trotters.

What’s your ho in a different area code, reader?  Discuss in the comments.

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Top Ten Reasons Why It Would Be Awesome to Have a Pet T-Rex

Ahh, the T-Rex.  The Thunder Lizard.  The King of All Dinosaurs.

Wouldn’t it be awesome to have one as a pet?

Sure would be.

From BQB HQ in East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Reasons Why it Would Be Awesome to Have a Tyrannosaurus Rex as a Pet:


#10 – You Can Feed Your Enemies to Him

Generally, I recommend that you don’t have enemies.  If you consider someone an enemy, just stay away from this person or if possible, make up.

However, if this person comes at you, then I see no reason why he can’t become a T-Rex treat.

Remember the law though.  You can only feed someone to your T-Rex in self-defense.  You can’t just go feeding people to your T-Rex willy nilly.

#9 – He Can Drop Giant T-Rex Poops On Your Enemies’ Lawns

This would be a more acceptable form of revenge though you might be helping your enemies to fertilize their lawns.

#8 – You Can Ride Him Like a Giant Pony

I’d recommend bonding with the T-Rex first though.  Otherwise, he might eat you.  Honestly, he might eat you anyway.  T-Rexes are notorious butt holes like that.

#7 – Solve All Your Rodent Problems

You think a rat is going to come on your property with a T-Rex watchdog?

#6 – Perfect Home Security System

Similar to #7, do you think a burglar is going to come on your property with a T-Rex watchdog?

#4 – Scare Away Bill Collectors, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Salesmen, Solicitors and Unwanted Relatives

See #6 and #7.

#3 – You Can Call Him Rexy

Best name for a pet ever.

#2 – Best Alarm Clock Ever

You’ll never sleep through a 6 AM wake up roar.  Never be late to work again!

#1 – Everyone Will Be Totally Jealous

See reasons #2-10


  • They have tiny arms!
  • They eat lawyers on toilets!
  • They have bad eyesight, so you can flip them off when they are naughty, but just don’t make any sudden movements as they can see movement.  I’m an expert because I saw Jurassic Park.
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