Daily Archives: May 3, 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 34

The dead college student on his watch. The return of his ex-wife. The threat from the Mayor to do away with the Sitwell Police Department and now, the Mayor publicly accusing him on live, international television, of having a small penis. Cole couldn’t take it anymore.

In the parking lot of Freedom Firepower, Cole lost control and threw a massive temper tantrum. He screamed. He yelled. He hurled various obscenities. He pounded his fist into the passenger’s seat over a hundred times.

Finally, Cole wore himself out. He closed his eyes and tried to take a a nap, right there in his police cruiser. Unprofessional? Sure. Did he care? Absolutely not. He had reached his breaking point.

His slumber was cut short when his phone beeped. He flipped open the phone and learned that he had seven messages in total. Six were from Sharon:

9:00 a.m – Cole, it’s Sharon. Thought you’d be in the office by now. I’d like to run some things by you. Call me.

10:17 a.m. – Hey Cole? Sharon. Just…you know…I hope you don’t think what Rusty said last night was true. I’m not trying to run you off this investigation or anything. I could use your brains on this. We’ll talk more when you stop by the station.

11:45 p.m. – Real mature, Cole. Real mature. Fine. Be that way.

1:42 p.m. – Cole. Just saw that report on NN1. That was horrible. I hope you’re ok. We need to talk because I do not want you thinking that they got that information about your penis from me. OK. Bye.

1:47 p.m. – Cole, Sharon again. I just ran what I said on that last message in my head and I think I could have said that better. I’m not saying you have a small penis. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t think I ran around telling people that you had a small penis or something.

1:51 p.m. – Cole, Sharon. Just to explain further, I would not run around telling people that you have a small penis because you don’t have a small penis. But I mean, even if you did, which you don’t, I wouldn’t run around telling people that because I’m not that kind of person. In conclusion, I am trying to establish that a) I never said anything about your penis to anyone, b) I wouldn’t tell people your penis is small because it’s a perfectly fine penis and c) even if it were small, which it isn’t, I don’t go around talking about people behind their backs like that.

The seventh message was from Rusty:

2:03 p.m. – Cole. The Cole-ster. Cole-o-rama. Coca-Cole-a. Cole-miner. Nat King Cole. It’s Rusty. Look man, we have got to get a tag team together and knock that bitch ex-wife of yours off this case. This is our case. Not her case. She should haul her ass back to Miami and investigate Countess Cucamonga and you and I should be all over this Chad Becker situation. You know she assigned me, a twenty-year veteran police officer, to stand guard over the crime scene? All day I’ve been holed up in this bathroom, Cole. All day. My talents are going to waste. And look, I’m sorry I called Sharon a bitch. I know you still love her and shit even though you won’t admit it but I knew what you were like before and after the divorce and what you are like now and there’s no question you were a much happier person before that bitch did what she did to you. Go on. Call her a bitch. You’ll feel better. Say it with me, Cole-Slaw, “Sharon is a bitch! Bitch, bitch, a-bitchitty bitch bitch ba bing bong bitchitty boo!”

Cole flipped his phone shut, then closed his eyes again. As he drifted off to sleep, the thought that Sharon was a bitch did cross his mind, as it had for many years, but in the decade since the divorce, he was never able to bring himself to say a nasty word about his beloved. Not a single one.

Meanwhile, the memories he had of the events that lead up to her departure were always on his mind.

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Movie Trailer – The Dark Tower

Hey 3.5 movie lovers.

BQB here.  Did you see that the trailer for Dark Tower is out?

I feel bad that I never read the book.  It came out many years ago.  I have nothing but excuses, sadly.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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BQB’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts is On the Way

Don’t have an exact date, but my wonderful book of badass writing prompts is rounding the bend and nearing completion.  It will probably be out sometime later this summer.

Question – does anyone out there want to review it?  As with anything I write, if you like it, I encourage a good review and if you don’t…do you know there are lots of fun cat videos on the Internet to watch?

But seriously.  I’m new to self-publishing and will need all the help I can get so if anyone wants to hook a nerd brotha up with a review it would be appreciated.


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The Art of the Rick Roll

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.


I do love a good Rick Roll…but what is it about this thirty some odd year old song that has the Internet going ga ga today?  Why is it considered clever to trick someone into clicking on this video?

Is it Rick’s good looks?  No.  The man’s clearly a flat-top sporting ginger.

Is it his funky dance moves?  No.  He clearly just holds his hands out, makes a couple of fists, then sways from side to side.

Is it his sense of style?  No.  The man is clearly wearing some kind of 1980s trench coat, like he’s some kind of flasher….except not, because he has clothes on underneath.

It’s none of these things.  Yet, Rick is so damn desirable to the ladies for one reason:  his song is all about pure love.

Rick isn’t one of those rappers, promising a quote unquote “bitch” money, diamonds, wealth, jewelry, power and so on in exchange for her phat ass.  No sir.  Rick may not be much to look at, but he boils love down to its core essentials, rattling off a list to a blonde woman in the video of the basics that he, and frankly any good man, would give to a woman:

I’m never gonna give you up,

Never gonna let you down,

Never gonna run around, and desert you.

Never gonna make you cry.

Never gonna say goodbye.

Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Look people, we’ve established Rick is not much to look at.  He can’t dance.  His fashion stinks.  To quote Bobby Ferrin, “He aint got no cash, aint got no style…”

But what he lacks in superficial qualities, he makes up with in heart.  He’s got a big one and he wants this lady to know it.  Rich, handsome, studly men who can dance and don’t have red hair can get all the women they want and sadly, more often than not, they can trick a woman into being used and then tossed aside like yesterday’s stale doughnut.

Not Rick, ladies.  He doesn’t have much going for him and like most of us average to below average looking dudes, the best we can do is promise you the basics of love.  We’re not going to leave you.  We’re not going to lie to you.  We aren’t going to hurt you.

Superficial men may be able to promise you material possessions, but the Rick Astleys of the world know their woman wooing abilities are limited and thus, they embrace all of the aspects of what true love is supposed to be all about, namely – honesty and commitment.

No ladies, if you pick a Rick Astley, he’s probably not going to turn all your friends’ heads and make them jealous of you when you walk into the room together.  He’s not going to buy you a bunch of expensive crap.  He’s most likely going to wear that dumb trench coat to every affair.  He’ll always have red hair.  He’ll always dance like a department store mannequin that just came to life and is trying to figure out how his new body works for the first time.

But – he will be there when you need him, ladies.  Is he cheating on you when he’s not with you?  No, for if you recall, he pledged that he would never run around.  Will he leave you?  No.  He promised he would not desert you.  Is he telling the truth?  Yes.  He made it crystal clear that he will never tell a lie.

Fidelity.  Honesty.  Commitment.  These are the cornerstones of any good relationship and Rick Astley is offering them up on a silver platter.

Rick’s promises are so pure that his career was basically one song and done.  I have no idea if he put out any other songs.  If he did, I can’t name one.  Can you?  If he did, he didn’t have to.  He said all he needed to say about love then rode off into the sunset like a ginger cowboy.

Perhaps that is why it is so fun to do a Rick Roll.  Typically, the joke is to fool narcissistic folks into clicking onto something that they are led to believe will bring them wealth, power, or something else that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things, only to be reminded of what really matters by the Rickster.

As for all of you single ladies out there trying to figure out what you want in a man, let me make it simple for you:  Choose a Rick Astley, ladies.  Choose a Rick Astley.

FYI: I can’t take credit for that meme.  It was floating around in the last election and frankly, maybe we should have elected Rick Astley president.

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Are You a Nerd?

Then you should become one of my 3.5 readers…

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 33


Professor Lambert ripped down the yellow police tape and opened up the door to the sorority house bathroom. He stepped inside and was instantly struck by the sight of the blood stained wall.

“Oh no,” the professor said.

The Professor leaned town over the broken stall wall, which was still lying on the floor. He took out his cell phone and snapped several photos of the scratch marks on the door.

“No!” the Professor said. “Not again!”

The professor pulled out a rolling paper, then sprinkled some Mississippi Mud bud onto it. He then rolled a tight joint, stuck it in is mouth, then lit it up with a cigarette lighter.

“Aww yeah,” the professor said. “That really takes the edge off.”

The professor snapped a photo of the bloody wall. “These people have no idea what they’re in for.”

The bathroom door swung open. Rusty walked inside, sipping on an ice cold frappuccino. The office stopped in his tracks when he spotted the professor standing in the middle of the crime scene.

“This is a restricted area!” Rusty barked. “You can’t be here!”

The professor played dumb. “Huh? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I seem to have wandered in here by mistake. I’ll get out of your way.”

Rusty sniffed the air, then pointed at the joint. “Is that weed?”

“I don’t know,” the professor said as he pointed at Rusty’s frappuccino. “Is that a frozen novelty beverage that you walked away from your post for, thus allowing a complete and total stranger to tromp all over what is supposed to be a secure crime scene related to a series of high profile murders?”

“Shit,” Rusty said.

“Indeed,” the professor replied.

“I won’t tell if you won’t?” Rusty asked.

“Mum’s the word,” the professor said as he walked toward the door.

“Just tell me what you’re doing here,” Rusty said. “You some kind of pervert with a thing for sniffing college girls’ toilet seats or something?”

“Not at all,” the professor said. “Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.”

“And what’s your concern?” Rusty asked.

The professor opened his mouth, then stopped himself. “No. No, I’m sorry but I must locate your superior. You’re just not important enough and I don’t want to tell my story twice.”

And with that, the professor exited the bathroom. Rusty stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink and sipped on his frappuccino.

“Stupid prick,” Rusty said. “I could be important. How does he know?”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 32

Once Moses was walking upright again, he soothed his pain with another beer while he watched the Network News One Coverage of the Countess Cucamonga murder.

“Round the clock with this shit,” Moses said. “On every damn channel too. I once saw a machine gun nest take out twenty of my brothers in a matter of seconds. No fancy pants hot blonde chick lady reporter with big fake titties ever uttered so much as a peep about that but some famous girl with a fat ass kicks the bucket and boo hoo, here comes the waterworks, America.”

“Yup,” Cole said.

“I didn’t think you’d even be in today what with that college kid that got killed on the shitter,” Moses said.

Cole didn’t feel like explaining why he wasn’t working on the case. Instead, he kept quiet and loaded a new bullet into his Angry Barracuda. Meanwhile, Network News One began replaying Sharon’s press conference from earlier in the morning.

“Whoa nelly,” Moses said as he stared at the screen. “Is that?”

“Yup,” Cole said.

“So she’s there?” Moses asked.

“Yup,” Cole said.

“And you’re here?” Moses asked.

“Yup,” Cole said.

“Lord Almighty, Cole,” Moses said. “You’re a stronger man than I am. I’d eat a bullet from that big ass heater if one of my ex-wives ever became my boss.”

“Tell me about it,” Cole said.

“You and her…”

“What?” Cole asked.

“You talk?” Moses asked. “Do a little fence mendin?’ Maybe a little bridge buildin’?”

“What the hell does everyone want to ask me about her?” Cole asked.

Moses sipped his beer. “Sorry, Mr. Sensitive Sally. I wasn’t tryin’ to pry.”

“She left,” Cole said. “Nothing I can do or say will change that. She’ll be here awhile for her job, then she’ll be gone. No used talking about things that can’t be fixed.”

Moses pointed at Cole. “Damn right. You ever say one thing that lets a woman think she’s still got her hooks in you and she’ll abuse that power. Guaranteed.”

Cole ignored Moses. Something came on the TV screen that was way more interesting. Natalie Brock, or, a “Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties” as her viewers had come to know her, was standing inside the Sitwell Mall next to Mayor Dufresne. They both stood in front of the Mayor’s red sports car.

“Kurt,” Natalie said. “I’m here at a run down, suburban mall in Sitwell, Florida, the town where the Toilet Killer’s third victim, Chad Becker, met with a gruesome end while he was emptying out his end. Here with me as Mayor Beaumont Dufresne, who informs me that he is very concerned about the course of the investigation.”

The Mayor grinned like a hyena as he spoke into the microphone. “Yes indeed, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Why, I’m here on the set of my latest commercial, one in which I’m about to notify the good people of Sitwell that if they stop on by Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, conveniently located off of Exit 33 off of Route 199, they can enter a drawing for a chance to win this fantastic Yarakazi Diablo, the finest product to ever come out of Japan outside the spicy tuna roll.”

“Yes,” Natalie said. “But Mayor, if we could turn our attention to the recent spate of murders…”

The Mayor phoned in his sad face. “Oh yes, Ma’am. Terrible business, that. If there’s one thing that my administration has stood for, it’s the God given right to take a shit without being murdered. I mean, what kind of animal murders someone on the toilet? Lord knows I don’t sanction murder in any way, shape or form but if you gotta kill someone, at least take a minute to allow the victim to wipe and pull up his drawers before you do the dirty deed. That’s just basic kindness.”

“Mayor,” Natalie said. “Do you think the people of Sitwell should be concerned?”

“Is that some kind of trick question, girly?” the Mayor asked. “Of course they should be concerned. I mean, Holy Burnt Cheese Biscuits, a Goddamn maniac is running around hacking people into pieces while they’re shitting. However, my wonderful, God fearing constituents should rest assured knowing that Mayor Dufresne is working hard on their behalf, doing everything he can and working his fingers to the bone, making sure that Sitwell gets back on track to being a place where it is safe to take a shit again.”

“Do you think the investigation is going well?” Natalie asked.

“Oh Missy,” the Mayor said. “I’m not sure that’s a question in my wheelhouse. As Mayor, all I can do is make sure the various law enforcement officers involved are getting what they need to see that this madman is brought to justice.”

“So you have the utmost confidence in Agent Sharon Walker?” Natalie asked.
“Miss Walker was one of my constituents here in town quite a spell ago,” the Mayor said. “But to be honest, I don’t know her that well, darlin.’ I suppose she’ll do just fine.”

“What about Police Chief Cole Walker?” Natalie asked.

Back at the gun range, Cole watched the Mayor grin like the proverbial cat that had just caught the canary. “My dear, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Do you think Chief Walker is up for the challenge?” Natalie asked.

“Dear,” the Mayor said. “How many folks you reckon are watching this program?”

“Millions,” Natalie said. “All over the world.”

“That’s what I figured.” The Mayor looked directly into the camera. “I hate to say this, I truly do because you know, I’m nothing if not a good Christian and my Momma always told me that if I can’t say something nice about someone then I shouldn’t say anything at all. However, with the public safety at stake, I’m gonna have to disappoint my Momma. Cole Walker is by far one of the dumbest, most ignorant, most incompetent police officers I have ever laid eyes upon.”

“Really?” Natalie asked.

“Indeed,” the Mayor said. “In fact, I recently began looking into the possibility of allowing the Grover County Sheriff’s Office to absorb all of Sitwell Police Department’s law enforcement functions, simply to rid the town of Chief Walker’s bumbling idiocy once and for all.”

“Interesting,” Natalie said. “What do you think about the fact that Agent Walker is Chief Walker’s ex-wife? Will their relationship have any bearing on the outcome of the case?”

“Well, I don’t suppose it’s any good for a couple of exes to work together in any capacity,” the Mayor said. “Again, as you know, I’m a Christian so I hate to speak ill of others, but I can’t imagine Chief Walker feels very good about himself at the moment while his fancy Federal agent ex-wife has clipped off his balls and shoved him in a mason jar and is now turning Cole into her personal step and fetch bitch.”

Without thinking about it, Cole aimed his Angry Barracuda at Moses’ flat screen.

“Mr. Mayor,” Natalie said. “Why did Agent and Chief Walker break up? I’ve asked around town and have yet to get a straight answer out of anyone.”

“And I’m afraid you won’t get one out of me either, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” the Mayor said. “For as you know…”

“You’re a good Christian,” Natalie said.

“Indeed,” the Mayor said. “But between you, me, and your millions of worldwide viewers, I am almost certain the Walkers went their separate ways due to the size, or lack thereof, of Cole’s penis.”

“Pardon?” Natalie asked.

“Police Chief Walker has a minuscule, micro-donger, young lady,” the Mayor said. “I can only imagine the gut wrenching sadness when Miss Walker saw that scrawny little thimble on her wedding night. Probably looked like a sad half-stack of pennies between two of them tiny little meatballs, you know, the one you get at that Scandinavian furniture store?”

“And you have confirmation of this?” Natalie asked.

“I’m not about to give away my sources,” the Mayor said.

“But who told you this?” Natalie asked.

“People,” the Mayor said.

“People?” Natalie asked.

“What, am I on trial here, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?” the Mayor asked. “Yes, people! I can’t remember their names right now but many, many people have told me, Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, that Police Chief Cole Walker has such a tiny pecker that it caused his wife to run as far and as fast as her feet would carry, most likely right into the arms of a man with a great, big…”

BOOM! Cole fired the hand cannon, putting a bullet right through the televised Mayor’s head. This caused Moses’ flat screen to explode into hundreds of tiny little pieces, all of which rained down over the interior of the gun range building.

“Holy shit!” Moses said.

“Sorry,” Cole said. “It’s just…you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to shoot that asshole.”

“Understood,” Moses said.

“Send me a bill for a new TV,” Cole said.

Cole and Moses stepped forward to inspect a giant hole in the wall where the TV had once been mounted.

“Bill me for that too,” Cole said.

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