Monthly Archives: April 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 18

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As Sharon entered the lobby of the sorority house, Cole’s heart did backflips. Sharon was walking normally, but it had been so long since Cole had seen his ex-wife that he felt as though he was staring at her while she was walking in slow motion. Every hair flip took forever, every step seemed like it was a thousand years. It was almost as if his mind was slowing the image of his long lost love down on the premise that he better drink in a good view of her now before he never sees her again.

“Hello Cole,” Sharon said as she gave her ex-husband a brief, polite hug. Cole didn’t return it. He was so surprised to see Sharon that he just stood there in a daze. Oddly enough, he could even hear his favorite romantic cowboy song. He thought that was strange, and wondered whether or not he was losing his mind.

“Oh my old lady…done got up and walked out on me.
And now I’m so lonely, I can hardly even see,
What’s the point of not drinkin’ from now until infinity?
Oh drink, yes I’ll drink, till she’s gone right out my mind.
Toss back that whiskey, till the barkeep calls quittin’ time.
But no matter how much damage I do to my liver,
I’ll try my best to forgive her,
But Lord knows I’ll never forget her.”

Rusty’s voice broke Cole out of the trance. “Sorry,” Rusty said as he poked a button on his phone. “I bumped into the wall and my ass turned on my radio app.”

“Rusty,” Sharon said as she gave the red headed a lawman an equally quick hug.

He threw Cole a confused look. “Sharon.”

“How are you?” Sharon asked Cole.

Cole found a little spot on the floor to poke with the toe of his boot, a tactic that he used to stall for time. “Oh, fine, fine.”

Gordon had been standing off to the side for awhile. He coughed to remind his partner he was still there.

“Where are my manners?” Sharon said. “Cole, meet my partner, Gordon Bishop.”

Gordon and Cole locked eyes and traded angry glares. Neither of them knew why, but they instantly did not like one another. Their hands launched out like two angry sharks, consuming one another in a handshake. Gordon squeezed Cole’s hand tightly. Cole returned the gesture with a hard squeeze of their own. The faces of both men turned red. They gritted their teeth, waiting to see who would bow out first until finally they both caved at the exact same time.

“Gordon,” Sharon said. “This is Officer Rusty Yates.”

Before Rusty even knew it, his hand was being crushed by Gordon’s giant hand.

“A pleasure,” Gordon said.

As soon as Rusty’s hand was released, he shook it to and fro until the feeling returned. “Oh shit…likewise, big fella. Likewise.”

Cole scratched the back of his head. “What brings you big time city folk to our little old neck of the woods?”

“Take a wild guess,” Sharon said.

Cole was too busy sniffing the air. It smelled of Eau de Price Town, the cheap perfume that Sharon had always worn. How he missed it. It was as if each nostril full brought him nourishment.

“Countess Cucamonga,” Rusty said.

Sharon tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “You got it.”

“You got any leads?” Rusty asked.

“Just an idiot who’s cooling his heels in lockup,” Sharon said. “But other than that, not a one. Frankly, we were hoping you’d have some.”

Cole kept staring at Sharon. Suddenly, he realized he’d been staring for too long, so he looked around the room, anywhere he could to avoid eye contact.

“Cole?” Sharon asked.

“Huh?” Cole asked as he stared at the ceiling.

“You got anything?” Sharon asked.

“Oh,” Cole said. He half-looked at Sharon. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, so he focused on the wall just to the right of her. “Not much. Bunch of college kids in the bathroom. The male’s dead. The four females were knocked unconscious and rushed to the hospital.”

“Well,” Sharon said. “We’ll have to talk to them as soon as they wake up.”

Cole nodded.

“What about that old timer in the nursing home?” Rusty asked. “Saw one of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties talking about it on NN1.”

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “And frankly, I was surprised the media found out about that so quickly. Pretty much the same situation. Man sits on the toilet, ends up all over the walls. No one knows how. No one knows a damn thing.”
Rusty cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like we got the case of the century here.”

“Sure does,” Sharon replied.

“Well, as soon as the state crime lab boys grace us with their presence, we might know more,” Rusty said. “We’ve been cooling our heels waiting on them awhile.”

“Oh,” Sharon said. “I probably should have called ahead and filled you two in. I called the state crime lab off.”

Cole was useless. Still looking around the room. Still smelling the perfumed air.

Gordon chimed in. “Because we can’t trust a crime scene of this magnitude to a bunch of backwater hayseeds, Opie.”

Rusty stepped up to Gordon. “Opie? Who are you calling Opie?”

Gordon was at least five inches taller than Rusty and had fifty pounds of extra muscle. He looked down at his challenger. “You, Opie.”

Rusty’s angry face disappeared. A fake smile emerged. “Oh! Because of my red hair! I get it. Hilarious, man.”

Sharon turned to Cole. “Thank you for everything. We’ll take it from here.”

Cole nodded.

Rusty was irate. “What?”

“The FBI will be running with the ball on this investigation,” Sharon said.

“The hell you are!” Rusty said.

“You got a problem with that, Opie?” Gordon asked.

Rusty gulped a big helping of fear down his throat, then looked up at Gordon. “As a matter of fact, I do, Gigantor. Cole and I have been patrolling this town for going on twenty years now and the one time something happens worth investigating and you two hot shots with your fancy suits think you’re going to waltz right in here and take it away from us?”

“Damn right, Ritchie Cunningham,” Gordon said.

“Ah, hell,” Rusty said. “That doesn’t even count.”

“It counts,” Gordon said.

“No it doesn’t,” Rusty said. “Because Ritchie Cunningham and Opie were played by the same person, so it’s not like you thought of a new insult.”

“You know I did, Ron Howard,” Gordon said.

Rusty pointed a finger at Gordon. “Now, see! That doesn’t count either!”

Sharon inserted herself between Gordon and Rusty, largely because she saw Gordon was getting a crazy look in his eye, a look she’d seen before her partner had gone off on people larger than Rusty and crushed them with his pinky finger.

“Boys!” Sharon said. “That’s enough. Rusty, this case is bigger than all of us. We’re not going to shut Sitwell PD out of this. You and Cole will be a very important part of the task force.”

“Task force?” Rusty said.

“I’ve got a team on the way to set up shop in your department HQ,” Sharon said.

Rusty couldn’t believe it. It was like every word out of Sharon’s mouth was worst than the last one.

“You’re taking over our department?” Rusty asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Sharon said. “Just the building. Miami’s become a madhouse with all the media coverage, so we need somewhere quiet to work. But don’t worry, Cole will still run Sitwell PD.”

“Oh,” Rusty said as he folded his arms. “That’s very kind of you, Your Highness.”

“I don’t like your attitude, Rusty,” Sharon said as she looked to Cole. “Are you going to say something to your boy here?”

Rusty also looked to his longtime partner. “Yeah, Cole. Say something to these carpetbagging bottom feeders. Kick their asses outta here.”

It took a few seconds for Cole to realize he was being spoken to. When he saw Sharon and Rusty staring at him and waiting for a response, he started to walk away.

“Sounds good, Sharon,” Cole said as he pushed the lobby door open. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As soon as Cole was out the door, Sharon stuck her tongue out at Rusty.

“Succubus!” Rusty shouted.

“See you later, Ron Howard,” Gordon said.

Rusty flipped out. “I’m not Ron Howard! Ron Howard is bald! I have a thick, luscious mane of hair!”

The redhead stormed out onto the campus and caught up to Cole.
“What are you doing?” Rusty asked.

Cole walked faster than his feet had ever taken him before, putting as much distance between himself and the crime scene as possible.

“Aww, who gives a shit, Rusty?” Cole said. “They want it? Let ‘em have it. I got more important things to do. I don’t need to be marching all over God’s green earth looking for the fat ass pop star killer.”

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Movie Review – Split (2017)

Oh my God, 3.5 readers.

After sucking for so many years, M. Night Shyamalan has returned to making good movies again.

It’s a Shyamalan renaissance!  A Shyamalan-aissance!

BQB here with a review of the horror thriller Split.

The year was 1999.  The Sixth Sense starring Bruce Willis and Haley Joel Osment premiered.  For most of the film’s run time, it seemed like a pretty decent film.  Not below average.  Not above average.  Just decent enough until…OMG!!!  Super mega did not see that coming at all surprise ending that fits with the whole movie, whoa!

And thus, director M. Night Shama…shamalama….whatever.  His career was born.

Alas, rather than try new and different things, M. Night just put himself on a quest to recreate that amazing Sixth Sense twist:

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But it never happened.  While Signs was a good film, all his other post Sixth Sense films sucked the big one.  The twists were ridiculous, absurd, and just crowbarred in as if to say, “Hey look!  I’m M. Night and I’m the twist guy!  Don’t you love my twists?”

The evidence speaks for itself:

2004 – The Village – Super dumbass twist.

2006 – Lady in the Water – Incredibly shitty twist.

2008 – The Happening – The plants were the villains all along?  OK.  Go home, M. Night.  You’re drunk!

I’d long written M. Night off as a one (maybe two) hit wonder but low and behold, he’s back in a big way with Split and it’s about damn time, M. Night Shabadu.  About damn time indeed.

The setup – Three high school girls are kidnapped and locked in a basement room by a psychopath with multiple personalities played by James McAvoy.  At various intervals, McAvoy enters the room, each time pretending to be a whole other person.  Some of these personalities are friendly, others more dangerous.

Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy) is usually made fun of by Claire and Marcia, but now that they are all captives, Casey, who knows about pain and suffering all too well, is in her element.  If anyone has a chance to save the day, it’s her, but will she be able to?

Meanwhile, Dr. Karen Fletcher (Betty Buckley), the madman’s psychiatrist, suspects her patient might be up to something, but can’t quite put her finger on it.  Will she be able to piece the mystery together before it’s all too late?

Plus, there’s an overall message to the movie – are people who have suffered pain stronger than those who haven’t?

An amazing performance by James McAvoy.  He shows great Oscar potential here with his ability to convincingly turn into other people.  It’s funny because he still looks the same, yet he is so good at taking on the various personalities that you almost begin to believe they’re real.

The suspense!  The thrills!  The chills!  M. Night’s first non-shitty movie since the Clinton administration!

Are there twists in this film?  Yes.  Many.  Will I tell you what they are?  No.  But the best part is they aren’t crowbarred and slammed in haphazardly in so many other films where M. Night tried to recreated his Sixth Sense glory.

The man has finally learned to let the twists flow naturally.  In fact, the biggest twist of this film is that it is directed by M. Night Shamalamadingdong and it does not suck.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy.  Rent it today!  Oh, M. Night!  I’m so glad you don’t suck anymore!  I always knew you had it in you to stop sucking.  It was unfortunate that this movie was released in January, because January movies tend to come and go without much interest from the public.  I do believe this film will likely grow a following via word of mouth as people start to rent it.  Crack a beer, M. Night.  It’s the first one you’ve deserved since 1999.

 

 

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 17

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Gordon pulled a standard FBI issue, black SUV into the commuter parking lot of Sitwell Community College. He and his partner walked across campus toward the sorority house.

“I’m offended,” Gordon said.

“When aren’t you offended?” Sharon said.

“Cut the bullshit,” Gordon said. “We’ve been partners for five years and not once did you ever tell me you were married.”

“Why would I?” Sharon asked. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” Gordon said. “But also, everything. We can’t keep secrets from each other if we’re going to have each others’ backs. I told you about everyone I’ve been with.”

“In more excruciating detail than I ever cared to know, Gordo,” Sharon said. “And FYI, losers you pick up in bars and have one night stands with do not count as exes.”

As the partners crossed the quad, the sorority house came into view, as did the throng of protestors waiting outside.

“Ugh,” Sharon said. “Dirty unwashed hippies.”

“Hipsters,” Gordon said.

“Same thing,” Sharon said.

“So I gotta say your complete and total lack of any kind of a personal live is starting to make a lot of sense,” Gordon said.

“Shut up,” Sharon said.

“You still hung up this guy?” Gordon asked.

“What?” Sharon asked. “No.”

“Is that why you never go to a bar and have a one night stand?” Gordon asked. “Because you’re at home in your spinster apartment, crying over your ex with a tub full of rocky road in one hand and your cat in the other?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sharon said. “And leave Special Agent Jack Meower out of this.”

A familiar voice filled Sharon’s ears. It’d been a long time since she’d heard it.

“Disperse…”

Cole had gotten his hands on a bullhorn and was barking orders at the unruly protestors through the locked glass door.

“There is nothing to see here…everyone go home…”

“We have a right to know what’s going on!” one protestor shouted.

“Yeah!” another protestor shouted. “I sat in a criminal justice seminar for three days so I know you cops are all crooked!”

“Shit,” Gordon said as he rested his hand on the handle of his sidearm. “This could get ugly.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Men. Always reaching for their little guns.”

The lady agent put two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. That got everyone’s attention. All of the protestors’ eyes were on her.

“Hello, everyone,” Sharon shouted. “My name is Sharon Walker. This is my associate, Gordon Bishop. We’re with the Florida Bureau of Labor Recruitment and we’ve been asked by the Dean of Sitwell Community College to come to campus and find jobs for all of the students.”

A particularly dopey looking hipster wearing a red and white striped, Cat in the Hat style rave hat looked at Sharon. “Say what now?”

“Helping people find good, honest work at a fair wage is what my partner and I do,” Sharon said. “And don’t worry, because everyone who is still here in five minutes will be put to work.”

Zoom! The protestors stampeded away from the sorority house, running in all different directions. Nothing was left but the crudely hand drawn posters they left behind.

“How the hell did you do that?” Gordon asked.

Sharon grinned. “Everyone knows the quickest way to get rid of a hipster is to offer him a job.”

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BQB’s Classic Movie Rewind – Fight Club (1999)

The first rule of this review is don’t talk about this review.

The second rule of this review is don’t talk about this review.

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Fight Club.  It’s been on cable lately.  I’ve caught it a couple times and I’ve become addicted to it.  I saw it when it came out and I realized even then that it was awesome and revolutionary, but I feel like I have a greater appreciation of it now that I’ve gotten older.

The general plot:  Edward Norton plays a corporate office drone.  We never get his real name. He’s a mopey sad sack, depressed with his life.  Feeling no sense of purpose, he goes to work, comes home, and spends his money buying useless crap for his home.  Stuff that he doesn’t need.  He hopes it will make him happy but nothing makes him happy.

One day, the highly opinionated, ultra violent, doesn’t give a shit about anything Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) walks into Norton’s life.  Tyler browbeats Norton into starting “Fight Club” and the first rule of Fight Club is to never talk about Fight Club.

The club consists of grown men meeting in a basement and beating the crap out of each other.  I suppose that film critics could argue about what exactly that means but the gist seems to be that the more physical pain these dudes endure, the less shits they give.

“Stop giving a shit” is essentially Tyler’s message to Norton.  Tyler informs Norton that he needs to give up on the idea that he’ll live forever, that he must accept that he’ll die one day, that everything is in a sense of decay and people just waste their lives doing pointless shit and coming up with excuses as to why they can’t do what they want.

Millennials, you guys think you’re depressed?  Please.  You don’t hold a candle to Generation X and in many ways, this film captures the ennui my generation suffered in our younger days.

Take Tyler’s “Great Depression” Speech, for example:

“Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who have ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. Goddammit, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables, slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man; no purpose or place. We have no Great War, no Great Depression. Our Great War is a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised by television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars. But we won’t; and we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”

Shit.  I was just a youngster when I first heard Tyler say that.  I didn’t think much of it.  Many years later, I realize the meaning.  He’s right.  Generation X didn’t have World War II, or Vietnam.  Things were actually pretty good in the world and you’d think that’s a good thing but the problem that arises is when the people of a generation don’t have to worry about a great cause, or a big war or what have you, then they have time to focus on doing what they actually want…and sadly, it’s just human nature to come up with excuses to explain away why we aren’t doing what we want to do.  Even worse, try as we might, there just aren’t enough resources for everyone to do what they want to do.

Oddly, I’m in a weird place where I’m on the tail end of Generation X.  A few years later, I could have been a millennial.  Tyler may have been off a little bit.  Little did he know that two years after this movie, 9/11 would happen and that would change the world, especially people like me who were just becoming adults around that time.

In a way, the movie makes a lot of points about life and how its too easy to feel hopeless.  It captures the mood of Generation X well, but then again, after 9/11, it seems kind of sad that we felt bad that there wasn’t a great conflict.  Hell, I’d do anything to go back to the pre-9/11 days and be like Ed Norton with nothing to worry about but what useless crap to buy from the catalog.

Anyway, enough of the philosophy.  From a writing standpoint, the film is brilliant.  There are many twists and turns that are unexpected yet they blow you away.  The film also builds a formula and that it feeds on and uses to build itself.  Fight Club grows, the number of Fight Club members grow, they all become pawns for Tyler to move around in  the giant mental game of chess he’s playing.

Helena Bonham Carter stars as Marla Singer, a crazy lady loved by Norton but banged by Tyler, much to Norton’s dismay.

Meanwhile, a young Jared Leto appears in a supporting role as the platinum blonde Angel Face.  Even 1970s music legend Meat Loaf joins Fight Club as the large breasted Robert Paulson.

I dunno, 3.5 readers.  Check out the film.  There’s a lot of different meanings.  You can sort of get a sense of the purpose-less-ness (if that’s a word) that young people felt at the time, and then again, there’s the message of stop pursuing materialism, stop making excuses for why you aren’t doing what you want to do, stop living a boring life.  No, you don’t (and should not) start an illegal Fight Club turned widespread criminal organization, but you could realize that life is short and it is a shame if you don’t at least try to do what you want to do.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.

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Zom Fu – Chapter 61

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Crunch, crunch, crunch. Junjie’s teeth chewed through veins and gray matter, then swallowed. The taste was abhorrent, yet the anticipation of the knowledge to come took his mind off it. Something had drawn him to this brain and he had to know what.

Junjie closed his eyes. When he opened them, he felt big, bold, strong…and angry…oh, so very angry. He was in the sanctuary of the Clan of the Sacred Yet Inscrutable Tiger Claw, walking hurriedly toward the courtyard. Honghui stood up ahead, next to the Infallible Master, who was holding a baby.

“Junjie?” the master said as he looked down at the infant. “That means ‘handsome hero,’ you know. An awful lot of pressure to put on one so small.”

“Yes,” Honghui said. “But I have no doubt he will live up to the name, master. Ling felt the same way.”

“And where is Ling?” the master asked.

Honghui looked down, sullenly. “Gone.”

The master frowned. “How?”

“Longwei,” Honghui said. “When he learned that Ling and I were leaving the clan so that we could be married, he went mad. He somehow saw it as offense to him, that he was your greatest student and that we could not leave until he’d bested us in a fight.”

The master sighed. “That sounds like Longwei.”

“I declined,” Honghui said. “As did Ling. But Longwei’s words were so cruel that I lost control and called him a fool. That enraged him so much that he laid in wait and as soon as I left, he…he…”

Honghui’s eyes teared up. “…took the brain of the woman I loved.”

The master gasped. “Took her brain?”

Longwei finally reached the courtyard. “Yes! And it was delicious!”

The master pointed the Staff of Ages at Longwei. “Longwei! What has come over you?”

Longwei chuckled. “Destiny,” Longwei said. “That is what has come over me.”

“Away with you,” the master said. “You’ve gone insane.”

“No, master,” Longwei said. “I assure you, I’ve never had a better understanding of the world.”

“I will hear no more of your drivel,” the master said. “You’ve already taken one member of our clan today. You will not take another. Look at what you have become!”

“You have always resented the fact that I was better than you, old man,” Longwei said. “My feet were faster than cheetahs. My muscles were stronger than those of an ox and my hands?”

“Enough,” the master said.

“My hands are swift and dance through my opponents like a graceful dragon twirling through the air,” Longwei said.

The master pulled the baby close to his chest and held the staff high in the air. Clouds formed in the sky. “Enough.”

“You always favored Hongui and Ling over me,” Longwei said.

“A lie you told yourself over and over until you believed it to be true,” the master replied. “I love all my students equally, even you Longwei…even after the evil you have done.”

Longwei drew closer. He gazed upon the baby.

“Give me that child, so that I might snuff it out and spare it a life of knowing what a pathetic weakling its father was.”

Honghui lost control. He charged at Longwei…only to have his brain ripped out by Longwei’s tiger claw.

The master’s heart sunk, but he wasn’t just a master of kung fu. He was a master of his own emotions and buried them down, refusing to cry as Honghui’s lifeless corpse hit the ground.

Longwei bit into Honghui’s brain as if it were an apple. He swallowed, then tossed the rest over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the master.

“Give that child here.”

A lightning bolt shot out of the sky and into the staff. Thunder rolled as the staff glowed bright.

“Do not make me do this, my son,” the master said.

“No one is making you do anything, old man,” Longwei said. “You do what you wish. I know from hereon out, I will do as I wish. I will never be held back by you ever again.”

“I was never holding you back,” the master said. “I was trying to contain your boundless ego, to get it under control before you did…something like what you have just done.”

Longwei reached for the baby. “And I’m just getting started.”

Thok! The master kicked Longwei with such force that he was launched into the air. The old man then took aim with the staff and sent the lightning bolt into Longwei’s body, killing him instantly, even before he hit the ground.

Darkness. Longwei saw nothing but darkness. Seconds later, he opened his eyes. He looked up at the master, who was standing over him, still holding the baby.

“Longwei?” the master asked.

Longwei looked into the master’s eyes, and caught the reflection of his face in them. In that reflection, Longwei was able to see that his own eyes had gone blank – pure white, devoid of anything else.

“There…there is no Longwei….there is only…Dragonhand.”

The master pointed the staff at Dragonhand’s face. “Leave here at once, creature. Do not darken this sanctuary’s doorstep again, or that will be the end of you.”

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#ThingsOnlyWomenWritersHear

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Female writers are mad as hell and they’re not taking it anymore, 3.5 readers.

They’ve taken to Twitter to share some of the nasty, rude, unkind, insensitive things that they hear as women writers.

Hmm.  You know, I’m nothing if not a friend to all female kind, so there was a part of me that just said, “Eh, don’t even write a post about it.  Let the ladies complain.”

And honestly, as I scroll through the tweets, much of it is valid.  Women get told they can’t write from a male perspective, that complex topics might be too hard for them, that they’re selfish for writing when they should be taking care of their kids and husbands and so forth.

I guess what irks me is the “only” part of the hashtag.

Look, ladies, I hear you.  You got problems.  That vagina and all the things that come with it is not a cakewalk.

However, do keep in mind that there’s something that no male writer has ever heard before:

“Here’s a million dollar book deal because you have a penis!”

It’s never happened.

This sort of reminds me how sometimes I’ll be watching TV and a woman will complain that men can be all fat and ugly while women are expected to be hot and attractive.

Umm…sure I’ll agree that it sucks when a woman is discriminated on based on their looks, but honestly, men that don’t look good get shit upon regularly too.  It’s not a male/female thing, it’s a looks thing.  The better you look, the farther you’ll go in life, whether you have a penis or a vagina.

Back to the hashtag.  Do male writers get shit on?  Yes.  Ever since I was a little BQB boy, everyone has shit on my dream of becoming a writer.  Men have shit on it.  Women have shit on it.

I work and then I try to carve out a little time at night and on the weekends to write.  Often, several weeks will go by where I don’t work on my novel projects at all because various people in my life need help.  So I help them.

In the past, I’d try saying something like, “Hey, I’m trying to write a novel here” but they, men and women, would look at me like I just said, “Hey, I’m trying to time travel to ancient times and bring back a dinosaur to be my pet.”

In other words, the average person who is not interested in writing think that attempting to write a novel is frivolous and silly.  If you tell people you’re writing a novel, some people will be polite and say, “Oh, isn’t that nice?”  or they’ll be supportive and say, “That’s awesome!” but many, if not most, will think you’re being a wide-eyed dreamer with your head in the clouds, too busy day dreaming to pay attention to everything going on around you.

Yes, it sucks when female writers get shit on and told they are bad mothers and bad wives if they dare to carve out some time to write.

But, men get shit too.  Men are expected to be manly.  Men are expected to make a lot of money and be good providers.  Men are expected to fix shit around the house when it breaks.  When men take time to write, they’re often called pussies and wimps engaging in a frivolous daydream rather than being manly and making more money or fixing a car engine or something.

Men get shit.  Women get shit.  We all get shit.  And we should be all be able to complain about the shit we get.

And before you give me shit, I feel like in the numerous project irons I’ve got in the fire, I’ve written some very strong, positive, female characters and I’ve had plots and subplots that point out some of the shit that women have to go through.

I just feel like we’re headed down a bad path in this country where the debate always turns on, “Well, I have this kind of genitalia so my life sucks and your life is great.”

No.  No.  No.  Life sucks.  It sucks in different ways for different people and sometimes the suck is even similar.  But it sucks.  It really sucks and you don’t get a pass on the suckyness of life just because you have one kind of body part or another.

OK, everyone let the point fly over their heads and proceed to bash your humble resident nerd in 3..2…1…

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Do We All See the Same Things?

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

Got a big ass mind-blowing question for you.

How sure are we that we all see the same exact things?

For example, what if the color I see as blue, you see as red?  Every time I see something I think is blue, you see it as red.  We never realize we see the color differently because technically, we’re talking about the same thing.

I see people that look like humans.  But what if what you think humans look like and what I think they look like are different?

What if people look like giant lizards to you, but they look like people to me?

What if actual lizards look like tiny people to you?

Sure, this all sounds ridiculous, and it is unlikely, but no one has ever been able to see through the eyes of another before, so how can we e so sure that we are all looking at the same thing?

Discuss.

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Movie Review – The Zookeeper’s Wife (2017)

War!  Intrigue!  Nazis vs. Zoo animals!

BQB here with a review of The Zookeeper’s Wife.

Based on a true story, this film tells the tale of Jan and Antonina Zabinski, owners/operators of the Warsaw Zoo who used their property to save persecuted Jews during World War II.

Before the war, Jan (Johan Heldenburgh) and Atonina (Jessica Chastain), live an idyllic life.  They love animals and they take care of zebras, elephants, lions, tigers, all sorts of exotic animals on their sprawling property.  They even do a good business, charging admission.

Alas, all this changes because of the Nazis.  Oh you dirty Nazis, you’re always the turd in history’s punch bowl, aren’t you?

The Zabinskis’ zoo is partially destroyed by Nazi bombs dropped all over the city.  What’s left is confiscated.  The animals are shot and turned into meat and soap for the Nazi war effort.

Sidenote:  Whether it’s during World War II or more recently in Venezuela, once the government resorts to shooting zoo animals for food, shit is not good.

Back to the review.  Long story short, what’s left of the zoo is turned over to Lutz Heck (Daniel Bruhl), a German zoologist who had once been a friend of the Zabinskis in happier times.  Sadly, once Lutz puts on a Nazi uniform and becomes Hitler’s official zoologist, he gets a little too drunk on power and becomes an insufferable douchen-dorfer.

You know you want to see this movie just because the villain is a Nazi zoologist, don’t you?

Anyway, being the good people that they are, the Zabinskis begin rescuing and hiding their close Jewish friends.  Pretty soon, they realize that with underground tunnels once used to house tigers, buildings and trucks, they have all the means necessary to run a Jewish rescue/hiding/smuggling to safety operation.

The danger comes from the fact that they must do all this right under the nose of their ex-friend turned Nazi.

Will the Zabinskis be successful?  Will they be caught?

You’ve got to watch to find out.

Overall, it’s a touching story.  So many stories came out of WWII and they continue even today.

Much credit is due to the Zabinskis.  They probably could have relied on their friendship with a Nazi to ride out World War II by just keeping their heads down and going about their business.  Instead, they put themselves into great danger and in doing so, saved the lives of hundreds of people.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.  A good movie, sort of an Oscar-bait film designed to show off Jessica Chastain’s acting chops.  Not necessary to rush out to the theater but it’s worth a rental.

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Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Clown

Ahh, clowns.  The children’s entertainers of yesteryear.  Who knows when it became fashionable for adults to put on red wigs and paint their faces white in an effort to make children laugh?  All we know is that it usual makes children cry.

Ladies, do you think it might be possible that you are dating a clown?

 

From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Clown:

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#10 – He acts like a clown.

Note that I’m not referring to “clown” as a synonym for “jerk” or “idiot.”  So, yeah, if he forgets your birthday, you can call him a clown.  However, that doesn’t mean he’s going to be entertaining anyone at the circus anytime soon.

#9 – Paints His Face White Everyday

This is a definite warning sign that he might be a clown, but then again he might also be an 18th Century French Aristocrat and forgot to tell you.  Ask him whether or not it is advisable to tell poor people to eat cake.  If his answer is “no,” then it’s highly probable that your boyfriend is a clown.

#8 – Has a Tiny Car

No, I’m not talking about a Honda Civic or a Toyota Corolla.  I’m talking about a little tiny, wind-up toy car that somehow he not only fits himself into, but also twenty of his closest friends.  Also, all of those friends look like clowns.

#7 – Has Red Hair

True, clowns have been known to wear red wigs.  However, you don’t want to start an international incident with Ireland by running around, accusing every redhead you see of clownery.

#6 – Makes Balloon Animals

If he can make any balloon animal that’s more complicated than a snake (which is simply, a long balloon), then that’s a dead giveaway your boyfriend went to clown college.  Balloon animal making is a very serious discipline, achieved only through six weeks of study at a small office in a seedy, rundown strip mall.

#5 – Has Big Floppy Shoes

He could be a clown but think back.  Has he ever tried to sell you to desperate perverts?  In that case, he’s probably not a clown.  In fact, he’s probably a pimp.  Clowns and pimps shop at the same oversized novelty shoe store.  Everyone knows this.

#4 – Has a Red Nose

Maybe he’s a clown.  Maybe he’s a heavy drinker.  Hard to say.

#3 – Wears Loud, Crazy Colors and Patterns

See #5 vis a vis the possibility that he might either be a clown or a pimp.  Clowns and pimps also shop at the same clothing stores.

#2 – Rides a Tiny Tricycle

It’s entirely possible that this might mean your boyfriend is a clown but then again, have you seen the gas prices these days?  I’m surprised everyone isn’t riding around on a tiny tricycle!

#1 – He Threw a Pie in Your Face

A pie in your face is usually the first unequivocal warning sign a woman gets in order to wake her up to the new reality that her boyfriend is a clown.  However, keep in mind that a) your boyfriend might just be very clumsy and didn’t throw the pie at your face on purpose or b) he did throw the pie at your face on purpose, but not because he’s a clown but because he wants to break up with you.  In case of option b, thank your boyfriend for, in these confusing times where couples rarely communicate well with each other, your boyfriend has chosen to end things with a pie in your face.  Nothing says, “it’s over” like a mug full of custard.

HONORABLE MENTION:  Sings, “doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo doo doo” during intimate moments.  He could be a clown or he could just be very excited.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 16

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The tapioca pudding wiggled and jiggled as Dolores Nelson’s boney old hand slowly moved the spoon up to her mouth. Agents Walker and Bishop sat with the old lady in the nursing home’s cafeteria. It was late and they were the only three people in the entire room.

“I’m surprised you’re able to eat after what happened,” Sharon said.

“Oh honey,” Dolores said as she dropped a dollop of pudding on her lip. She didn’t notice and just left it there while she continued to eat. “When you get to be my age, you lose the ability to give a shit. For all I know I could die tomorrow and if that’s the case then I’m not going to miss out on what could very well be my last pudding cup ever.”

“Touche,” Sharon replied.

Gordon stared the old gal down. The old gal stared back.

Wham! Gordon pounded his fist on the table. “Let’s cut to the chase, ya’ old bag. Did you do it?”

Dolores appeared confused. “Do what?”

“Calm on!” Gordon shouted. “Don’t play coy with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, young man,” Dolores said.

“You killed Herbert Hogan, didn’t you?” Gordon asked. “You eighty-sixed him! Put him under for the deep sleep, the long nap, the eternal siesta!”

Dolores clutched her pearls. “You…you think I had something to do with this?”

“I’ve been working murder cases for years and nine times out of ten the perp is always someone the victim was bumping uglies with,” Gordon said. “So what happened? Old Herb found an ugly to bump that was better than yours?”

The old lady’s eyes looked up and to the right. She took her time thinking about the question. “Not that I know of. I’m pretty much the hottest piece of ass in this joint, copper, but then again, that slut Estelle has been known to parade around in her adult diapers like some kind of common streetwalker.”

Gordon wagged his finger at Dolores. “That’s the ticket. Herb got himself way to deep in Estelle’s disposable underpants and you couldn’t take it, could you? It drove you wild with rage! It left you beside yourself with anger! You lost control and you grabbed a big blunt object and beat old Herb into oblivion!”

“No!” Dolores said. “Never!”

Wham! Gordon slammed the table again. “Admit it!”

“I admit nothing!” Dolores said. “Oink, oink, piggy!”

“And then,” Gordon said. “When you saw what you had done, you went berserk and you smashed the toilet and destroyed the water pipe. Just come clean you decrepit old hag. You’ll feel a lot better.”

Dolores set down the spoon and the pudding cup and held out her shaky hands. “Sonny, it just took me a half hour to get one spoonful of pudding out of a cup and into my face. You think I have the kind of strength it would take to beat a man to death?”

Gordon seethed with rage. Sharon patted her partner on the back, a sign that she was tagging herself in.

“Let’s try a different approach,” Sharon said.

A pile of napkins sat on the table. Sharon picked one up and dabbed the pudding off of the old lady’s chin. “I’m sorry, but that was bothering me.”

“Oh, thank you dear,” Dolores said.

Sharon picked up the cup, spooned up some pudding and brought it towards Dolores’ mouth. The old gal hesitated at first, but then she opened her mouth and ate the gooey goodness.

“Dolores,” Sharon said. “Did you have a job when you were younger?”

“Sure did,” Dolores said proudly. “I was a hooker!”

Gordon threw his hands up in the air. “That explains everything. Come on, we can’t trust a word this old bitty says.”

“A meat hooker,” Dolores said. “Worked at a meat packing plant in Wisconsin for thirty years. The slabs of beef would come in off the truck and I’d put them on hooks and send them on down the assembly line.”

Sharon smiled at Gordon. “You probably had to do some things you didn’t agree with on the job, right?”

“Oh sure,” Dolores said. “Sometimes I’d run out of hooks and I’d tell the boss, ‘If you want me to be a good hooker then you need to give me the supplies I need to the be the best damn hooker in this entire place.’”

Gordon placed his elbow on the table and leaned his chin on his hand, taking in the story as a spectator.

“We have to do things like that too,” Sharon said. “We don’t think you killed Herbert but we need to ask you if you did because eventually our boss will want to know if we asked you.”

“Oh,” Dolores said. “That makes more sense.”
Sharon spooned another glob of pudding into the old gal’s yap.

“I like you better than that shit for brains that was just here a minute ago, dear,” Dolores said.

“He’s still here,” Sharon said.

Dolores looked at Gordon. “Oh right. I knew that.”

“Let’s just get this out of the way,” Sharon said. “Did you kill Herb, Dolores?”

“And relieve my hey-nanner-nanner of his beautiful tongue tsunamis?” Dolores asked. “Not on your life, sweetheart.”

“Do you know who killed him?” Dolores asked. “Was there anyone who didn’t like him?”

“I can’t think of anyone,” Dolores said. “He kept to himself, mostly. He never bothered anyone.”

Sharon stirred the pudding. “Dolores, while you and Herb were…”

“Tripping the light fantastic?” Dolores asked.

“Sure,” Sharon said. “Did you see anyone come in your room.”

“Oh,” Dolores said. “I was the only one cumming in that room, honey.”

Gordon put the top of his fist up to his mouth to quell a dry heave.

“My love biscuit may have seen better days but it’s not ready to quit just yet,” Dolores said.

“Let me try asking this another way,” Sharon said. “No one else entered your room?”

“Nope,” Dolores said. “The only thing that entered was Herbert’s tongue…into my quivering puddle of lady jelly.”

Gordon looked away. On the cafeteria wall, there was a poster of a cat hanging onto a tree branch by its paws with the slogan, “Hang in there” printed underneath. Gordon tried his best to do just that.

“How are your eyes?” Sharon asked. “Do you see well?”

Dolores adjusted her glasses. “These seem to work but sometimes I have a hard time making things out.”

Sharon held up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Dolores squinted at Sharon’s fingers. She hemmed and hawed until she finally blurted out, “Four?”

“Useless,” Gordon said.

“Aww, shut up, shit for brains!” Dolores said.

“Stop jerking us around!” Gordon shouted.

Dolores performed a King Kong style fist thump on her chest. “You wanna go, piggy?”

“Oh,” Gordon said. “You think I won’t throw down with you just because you were born during the Woodrow Wilson administration?”

“Screw you and screw that spindly prick and his League of Nations!”

Sharon patted her partner on the shoulder, then spooned more pudding into Dolores’ pie hole, calming both adversaries down quickly.

“Let’s focus here,” Sharon said. “So OK, Dolores. You don’t see very well but, let’s say that a man with a woodchipper or a chainsaw or some big weapon were to walk into your room. You think you’d be able to see him?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Dolores asked.

“Just a theory I’m working on,” Sharon said.

“Of course,” Dolores said. “Sometimes, everything’s a bit blurry, but I can see you…”

Dolores pointed to Gordon. “…and I can see that giant gorilla you stuffed into a suit to make him like mildly presentable.”

Dolores looked around the room. “I can see tables and chairs and vending machines…”

“Right,” Sharon said. “So if a man with a big knife or something were in your room, you’d be able to realize he’s there?”

“I’d probably shit my pants,” Dolores said. “More so than usual.”

Sharon looked to her partner. Gordon nodded.

“I think we’re done here,” Sharon said.

Ted the orderly had been waiting in the back of the room the entire time. He helped Dolores up.

“Say, coppers?” Dolores said.

“Yes?” Sharon said.
“When you find that lousy, no-good son of a bitch that did in my Herbert, kick him in the balls for me, will you?”

“Sounds like you really loved him,” Sharon said.

“Well,” Dolores said. “Love is a complicated concept at my age, dear. Sure, I was fond of Herb, but what I really loved was straddling his sweet face like it was a wild, bucking bronco and holding on for dear life until completion.”

Gordon looked to Ted and pointed at the door. “Get her out of here.”

As soon as the parters were alone, they stood up.

“What a waste of time,” Gordon said.

“Not necessarily,” Sharon said. “We’ve got confirmation that in both cases, the suspect managed to sneak in and completely obliterate the victim without being seen.”

“You have an odd way of finding the bright side,” Gordon said.

“Beats being stuck in the dark side,” Sharon replied.

Gordon headed for the door. Sharon followed.

“Off to Sitwell,” Gordon said.

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “About that. There’s something about Sitwell I have to tell you about.”

“Oh?” Gordon asked.

“Actually,” Sharon said. “Make that more like someone.”

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