Monthly Archives: May 2017

May 05 2017
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top ten lists

Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be an Axe Murderer

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Ahh, the axe.  That most important wood chopping tool.  Good for cutting trees down to size.

Oh those pesky trees.  They think they’re so smart.

Alas, every tool with a good use can be misused.  People use forks to eat spaghetti…but they also use them to eat tuna noodle casserole.  Bleh.

People use their remote controls to tune in to Game of Thrones...but in the earlier part of this decade, they also used them to tune in to Whitney.  Double bleh.

The axe!  Yes, when it comes to providing us with wood, it’s second only to Blake Lively in the buff.  Punny!

But axes can also be abused.  Why, for all we know, your girlfriend might be using to chop up people into itsy, bitsy, teeny, tiny pieces right now!

(NOTE:  My lawyer advises me that statically speaking, it’s highly unlikely that she is.  However, if you think she is, you shouldn’t confront her directly but rather, should take your concerns to the police.)

Yikes.  Gotta cover your butt in this ridiculously litigious society.

Anyway, from BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be an Axe Murderer:

#10 – She Owns an Axe

That’s pretty suspicious.  Unless she lives in Canada, where the trees grow tall and thick and people have to chop down twenty trees every day just to get to work, there’s really no reason for her to own one.

Is she a wood chopping enthusiast?  Does she make a lot of fires in the fireplace?  No?  Hmm…not entirely conclusive but still, very curious.

#9 – You Wake Up Every Night to the Sound of Blood Curdling Screams Coming From Your Basement

Sure, those could be the last desperate cries for help from your axe murdering girlfriend’s many, many victims.  However, it’s probably just her crying about what a terrible boyfriend you are.  I mean, I don’t want to tell tales out of school, but I’ve heard that you really suck at boyfriendery.  You should work on that.

#8 – There’s Blood on the Axe

Depends.  Do you live on a farm?  Maybe she just lopped off a chicken’s head so she can make you a delicious dinner.  Oh, stop being so dramatic!  Where do you think chicken nuggets come from?  Do you think that Ronald McDonald magically pops those things into a cardboard box with some tasty dipping sauces with his magic clown wand?

No.  We’re talking mass chicken murder here.  Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders are like the Hitler and Stalin of chicken-dom.

But I can’t complain.  They make tasty bird meat.  Actually, KFC does.  McDonalds, I’ll just eat those nuggets because they’re there and then I’ll wonder why I hate my body so much to do such a terrible thing to it.

At any rate, I wouldn’t just automatically assume that the blood on the axe is a human or has some kind of sinister origin.  When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me, but mostly you, because I’m not the one dating an axe murderer, chief.

Moving on…

#7 – Screams, “I’m Going to Kill You!” On a Regular Basis 

Maybe she means that she’s literally going to kill you with an axe but then again, what woman has never screamed this sentence at her man before?  Let she who has not threatened murder of her significant other in jest cast the first stone.

#6 – She Named the Axe

Did she give the axe a name?  Mr. Choppy, perhaps?  Hmm…a sentimental attachment to a possible murder weapon.  Suspicious…though inconclusive.  Maybe she’s just weird.

#5 – Takes Selfies with the Axe

This could be a problem though axe or not, if she makes that stupid duck bill smoochie face in said selfies, I’d dump her anyway just on principle.

#4 – Sleeps with the Axe

Maybe she does this because she’s planning on axing you while you sleep.  I recommend the following line of questioning:

YOU:  Honey, you wouldn’t happen to be planning on chopping me to pieces in a gruesome manner with that axe, would you?

GIRLFRIEND:  No, silly!  Tee hee!

Although, do keep in mind, people who are able to chop up other people with axes are usually not above lying.

Tread lightly, as maybe there is a legitimate reason why she sleeps with an axe.  Maybe when she was young, an axe murderer tried to axe her and now she sleeps with an axe in case she has to spring to her feet in the middle of the night and take on an axe murderer in a furious round of axe on axe combat.  Bet you never thought of that, did you, you paranoid, insensitive prick?

Still…either way, might be best for you to sleep somewhere else.  One wrong move in a bed with an axe in it and you could end up singing soprano.  Mi mi mi mi mi!!!

#3 – She Has Told You That She is An Axe Murderer

Hmm, a rare axe murderer who has decided to be honest with you and invite you into her world of axe murdery.  Or, maybe she told you in a moment of weakness and later she will realize that she must axe you in order to cover her axe tracks.

Ultimately, every person has their moral failings and it will be up to you to decide whether or not you can handle all of the horrendous moral implications of dating an axe murderer.

I mean, think about all of the ethical dilemmas you will face.  Should you turn her in?  If you don’t, you’re as guilty as she is because you could have stopped her victims from being axed by calling the cops yet you did nothing.  Could you really be with someone so evil?  How could you ever sleep knowing she might axe you?

On the flip side…does she have big boobs?

No!  No!  Stop it!  You CANNOT stay with a lady axe murderer for any reason and not even if she has gigantic sweater cannons.

But seriously, motor boat those puppies on the way out the door, then go tell the cops.

#2 – There’s a Head in the Freezer

What kind of bullshit is this?  Why would you stay with a woman that would put an axe chopped human head in a perfectly good freezer, right on top of all your frozen deep dish pizzas and Lean Cuisines?

You should leave her for getting blood all over your popsicles…oh and also, because she chopped off a dude’s head and stuck in the freezer.  That goes without saying.

#1 – She’s Standing Over You Right Now…As You Are Reading this Fine Blog!

Argh!  OMG!

Whatever you do, DO NOT PANIC.  Stay right there.  Be cool.  Don’t make any sudden moves.

Just listen carefully and I’ll tell you what you need to do.  Very slowly, very carefully….reach for your computer…and then click on my website a hundred times because I could really use more hits on this excellent blog.  My genius is going unrecognized, here.

Oh, and then run or something.  I don’t know.  What do I look like?  An anti-axe murderer combat expert?

DISCLAIMER:  Sure, this post was meant as a joke but axe murderer is no laughing matter, people.  According to the Fake Institute for Bogus Statistics, 11,000 people are gruesomely axe murdered every three seconds.

Don’t go around being some wacko vigilante, accusing your girlfriend of being an axe murderer.  But, if you think your girlfriend might be an axe murderer, then contact the nearest anti-axe murderer law enforcement agency.  Ask them to send their best axe murderer catchers right away.

 

 

 

 

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May 04 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator is So Much Fun

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I’m having a good time writing Toilet Gator.  For a couple reasons:

  1.  It’s basically me telling stupid jokes – jokes set around the structure of an investigation into a series of toilet murders.  Toilet Gator murders, that is.
  2. All rational thought and logic goes out the window.  No need to think, “Is someone able to do that?”  No.  It’s a zany comedy.  Sure, a toilet gator can get up through a toilet.  No need to worry about how that would be impossible.  Sure, news broadcasters can say “titties” on air a bunch of times.  No rules, for humor rules the day, and if it is funny, then it goes in.

In conclusion, check out this commercial I made through Fiverr for this illustrious project.  Be sure to watch till the end.

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May 04 2017
6 Comments
Movies

May the Fourth Be With You, 3.5 Readers

May the Fourth be with you, indeed.

I need to make this post longer.  What is your favorite Star Wars film?

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May 04 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 35

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Sitwell, Florida

May, 2007 – 1:00 p.m.

Cole was thirty. A younger man and as Rusty would later note in a phone message ten years later, a much happier man. There was no gray in his hair and plenty of pep in his step.

He wasn’t the chief at the time. That job went to the surly, walrus-mustached Jerome Haskell. Chief Haskell was a dour man with a perpetually sour expression on his face, but on the particular afternoon, he’d missed lunch, which made him exceptionally cranky.

“Wade Randolph!” Chief Haskell bellowed into a bullhorn pointed at a rundown shack on the outskirts of town. “There’s no use fighting this! We’ve got you surrounded!”

A faint voice emanated out of a broken window in the house. “Suck my balls!”

Chief Haskell looked to his back-up officers, young Cole and young Rusty. “Did he just tell me to suck his balls?”

“He did, Chief,” Cole said.

“The nerve of some people,” Rusty said. “If you ask me, it’s all these filthy DVD movies people are renting nowadays. They ought to just close down Blockbuster but hell, that place will probably be around until the end of time.”

“True,” Cole said. “People do like a good movie.”

Chief Haskell got on the bullhorn again. “Wade, you sack of refried donkey shit! Don’t you tell me to suck your balls! I got a warrant for your arrest and it’s gonna be served one way or the other, even if my boys and I have to come on in there and drag your scrawny, dope-dealing ass out ourselves.”

Wade broke onto into song. “Suck my balls, oh suck my balls! Suck, suck, suck suck, oh suck on my balls!”

“God damn it,” Chief Haskell said.

The Chief leaned up against his police cruiser.

“You ok, boss?” Cole asked. “You look a little wobbly.”

“Yeah,” Chief Haskell said. “My blood sugar’s just a little low. I was about to bite into a ham sandwich when this bullshit started.”

“Your Missus still pack your lunches, Chief?” Rusty asked.

“She sure does,” Chief Haskell replied. “Woman’s a saint. Handles all the household chores, does all the laundry, shopping, cooking, cleaning. Takes care of everything so I can just focus on my job. Hell, she even handles all the bills and finances. She’s a real smart cookie.”

“That’s awesome, Chief,” Rusty said. “I hope I find a woman like Mrs. Haskell one day.”

“I bet you will, Rusty,” Chief Haskell said as he slapped the redhead on the back. “There are plenty of women out there who want nothing more than to take care of a husband and tend to all his needs.”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “But I’m just going to take my time. I figure there’s no need to rush. Women will still want to take care of their men in ten years.”

“Oh, no doubt there,” Chief Haskell said. “Just get yourself a smart one, like my Hazel. You know, the other day, she was saying something that made a lot of sense. Something about investing a bunch of money in Apple Computer stock.”

“Apple computers?” Rusty said.

“Yeah,” Chief Haskell said. “Something about a new fangled phone they made. Lets you look at the Internet anywhere.”

“No one could possibly make an invention like that work, Boss,” Rusty said. “Put the Internet in a phone? That’d be like harnessing a hurricane into a bottle. I mean, I’d be all over that shit if they could do it, but it’s impossible.”

“What do you think, Cole?” the Chief asked.

“I dunno, boss,” Cole said. “Beats me as to why anyone needs to be on the Internet while they’re out and about.”

“Hazel said something about social media,” the Chief said. “Whatever the hell that is.”

Cole smiled. “That’s that stupid ass thing the kids do where they post a picture of what they had for lunch…then they write about what they had for lunch, then all their friends write about what they had for lunch. It’s dumb.”

“That actually sounds like it’d be a lot of fun,” Cole said. “But as fads go, it’ll be a flash in the pan with no real long lasting potential. Plus, if Apple is ever able to put the Internet into a damn phone, then that must mean they got some kind of crazy magic scientists working there. I’ll eat my hat if they do it.”

Chief Haskell nodded. “You guys are right. I’ll just tell her to put it all in Borders.”

“Can’t go wrong there, Chief,” Rusty said. “People will always love the feel of a printed book in their hands.”

The Chief looked at his watch, then barked into the bullhorn. “Wade! You pulling your pud in there or what? Let’s go!”

“Chief!” Wade shouted. “I’ll have you know it’s illegal for you all to be here on my property!”

“It’s not illegal for us to be here, dipshit!” the Chief shouted into the bullhorn. “It’s illegal for you to cook up crystal meth and sell it to high school kids. How’d you think you were gonna get away with that one?”

Wade went silent. A few minutes passed.

“Hey Boss,” Cole said. “You know, Sharon just graduated from law school…”

“Oh sure,” Chief Haskell said. “Rub it in all our faces, why don’t you, Cole? All that big time fancy lawyer money your wife is going to be making?”

“Sharon will probably rake in so much dough that Cole will be able to quit the force and become her stay at home gigolo,” Rusty said.

The Chief laughed. “Sounds like the good life to me!”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Anyway, we’re having a little party for her this weekend. We’d love to have you and Hazel over. You too, Rusty.”

“Count us in,” Chief Haskell said.

“What about you, Rusty?” Cole asked.

“Can I wear my Ed Hardy shirt?” Rusty asked.

“If you have to,” Cole replied.

“Then I’m in,” Rusty said.

Chief Haskell held up his bullhorn. “Peckerwood! You got until the count of three! Three…two…”

The front door of the shack swung open. “I’m coming out!”

“You got a gun on you?” Chief Haskell asked.

“Hell no,” Wade answered. “You think I’m some kinda idiot?”

Chief Haskell sighed. “You don’t want me to answer that. Just know you come out armed, we’ll put you down!”

An angry growl filled the air. The Chief squinted at the sight that was unfolding before his eyes, just to make sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. “What in the…”
Wade had walked out the door while holding the leash of one very large, very angry pit bull. It had giant, pointy teeth and big gobs of white foam plopped out of its mouth. It stared at the officers with a hungry look in his eyes.

“What the hell are you trying to pull, Wade?” Chief Haskell asked.

Wade was skinny to the point of emaciation. His body was like a tall skeleton with skin hanging off of it, with a pair of sunken eyes. He wore a pair of dirty jeans and a wife-beater style T-shirt.

“You piggies scoot, now!” Wade shouted. “Go on back to the bacon factory before I sic Ole Mongo on you!”

All three officers pulled their sidearms and aimed at the dog. Old Mongo was one rough looking pooch. He only had one eye. There were burn marks, scratches, and scars all over his body. One could only assume that he’d suffered a great deal of abuse at the hands of his owner over the years, the kind of abuse that can turn an animal from a friendly pet to an insane killing machine.

“I will shoot you and your ugly dog, Wade!” the Chief shouted. “Chain that mutt up and lie down on the ground!”

Old Mongo barked and growled some more. Then he started pulling on the leash, harder and harder. Wade struggled to hold on. It was obvious that the dog was much stronger than his owner.

“I can’t hold on forever!” Wade said. “You piggies better run!”

A little girl’s voice broke the tension. There, standing in the doorway, was Wade’s eight-year old daughter. “Daddy, what’s going on?”

The beast dog spotted the girl and growled.

“Why’s Mongo so mad?” the girl asked.

“Go back inside, Molly,” Wade said. “Daddy’s just having a little chat with these officers about a dumb old mistake they made.”

The Chief noticed how intently Old Mongo was staring at Molly. “Wade,” the Chief said. “Look, you better…”

And the dog was off. Old Mongo charged for the girl, yanking the leash right out of Wade’s hands. Molly screeched as she ran into the house with the pit bull in hot pursuit.

“Molly!” Wade shouted.

The drug pusher ran over to the officers. “Chief! You gotta save my little girl.”

The Chief’s face turned red with rage. He took off his hat and beat Wade over the head with it repeatedly. “Idiot!”

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May 03 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 34

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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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May 03 2017
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Movies

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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May 03 2017
6 Comments
Writing Prompts

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.

bookshelf-q-battlers-for-amazon

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May 03 2017
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Tomfoolery

The Art of the Rick Roll

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

rick-astley-president-he-will-never-vgive-you-up-make-2576456

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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May 03 2017
5 Comments
Tomfoolery

Are You a Nerd?

Then you should become one of my 3.5 readers…

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May 03 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 33

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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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