Daily Archives: June 11, 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 97

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The sky was gray and overcast as winds whipped the palm trees outside the mall to and fro. Sharon banged a right out of the parking lot, floored it down the mall access road and merged onto Route 199. Cole rocked back and forth in the trunk, sending Angry Barracuda blasts Skippy’s way whenever he found a brief moment of steadiness.

Rusty, on the other hand, pumped bullets at the gator without aiming. The monster was a big enough target that the redhead figured they would land somewhere on that big scaly frame yet they continued to just bounce off.

The NN1 news van pulled up on Sharon’s right. Natalie was behind the wheel, as it was Walter’s turn to shine. The cameraman slid open the side door and with one hand firmly grasping a handle attached to the can’s interior, he leaned out and pointed a camera at the chase.

“Hold it steady!” Walter shouted.

“Me?” Natalie asked as she swerved all over the run. She’d never had a reason to drive that fast before. “You hold it steady!”

“I am!” Walter cried.

Natalie juggled between the wheel in her left hand and her cell phone in her right. She held the mobile device up to her ear and argued with Kurt Manley’s producer. “Do I sound like a give a shit if Kurt’s interviewing Stank Daddy, Dan? Either you patch our feed through now or you get your resume ready because you’ll be the guy that didn’t cut to a high speed chase involving a Goddamn toilet gator!”

“Get off the phone and grab the wheel!” Walter shouted.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job!” Natalie yelled.

Sharon darted through traffic, passing cars left and right. “Passing” wasn’t an idea that Skippy was remotely interested in. He chomped and rammed his way through cars, buses, and trucks, turning them into mere hunks of twisted metal in his wake.

Natalie fell behind but in time, she sped up and kept pace with Sharon.

Cole reached into a duffel bag inside the trunk and pulled out the six-pack. He aimed it at Skippy’s head and pulled the trigger. “Fire in the hole!”

Kaboom! The alligator was briefly set ablaze. He slowed down, shook it off, and soon, was galloping full speed.

“Holy shit,” Cole said. “He’s like a big green tank.”

“Just like the first Mrs. Walker,” Rusty said.

“Rusty,” Sharon shouted. “I swear to God I will throw you out of this car!”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 96

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“Felix!” Cole shouted as he pressed the red button over and over. “Why isn’t this thing working?!”

“Errm.”

“Do you know?!”

“Errm, errm.”

“Damn it!”

Cole raised his Angry Barracuda, drew a bead right between the alligator’s eyes and fired. Blam! Nothing. Two more shots. Blam, blam! Nothing.

“I could use some backup!” Cole shouted.

“You got it, buddy,” Rusty said.

The Diablo zigged and zagged around gaggles of people, occasionally taking out a mall kiosk here and there. Sharon zoomed right through a pretzel cart, sending salty treats and hot mustard everywhere.

The sunroof of the sports car opened up and Rusty popped out with SAW in hand. He aimed the machine gun at the gator and spit hellfire at the beast. Every ounce of hot lead simply bounced off of the alligator’s tough skin.

Cole put both hands on the rope and attempted to pull himself in. This was no easy feet, as the car was moving like lightning and swerving about in an erratic manner. Plus, Rusty’s shell casings were popping out into the air and many of them were peppering Cole right in the face.

Skippy plowed through the shopping cart that had been previously pushed by the old lady who was very concerned about…

“My bread and milk!”

The old woman through her purse at Skippy’s head. Enraged, the big green monster turned and gobbled up the old gal in one bite, then charged at various other passersby. Several soldiers spotted the beast and opened fire on it.

“Stop the car!” Cole shouted.

Sharon jammed on the brakes, causing Cole to sail right into the bumper, back first. “Oww.”

“You OK?” Sharon asked.
“No,” Cole said. “Pop the trunk.”

Sharon pressed a button and the trunk flew up. Cole crawled inside. “I’ve got road rash on my balls something fierce.”

“TMI,” Rusty said. “TMI.”

Sharon hit the gas. Skippy, upon hearing the revving engine, continued his pursuit.

Cole pulled some spare rounds out of his shirt pocket and reloaded the Angry Barracuda. He and Rusty bombarded Skippy with a storm of bullets.

“Guys,” Sharon said as the Diablo quickly approached the big glass doors of the mall front entrance. “Hold on.”

“What?” Cole asked.

Rusty took his finger off the trigger and turned around. The mall entrance was coming fast and he pulled himself down into the car just in time to avoid losing his head.

Skippy didn’t show the slightest bit of exhaustion as he pursued the Diablo into the mall parking lot.

“Maude,” Cole said. “It’s time for Plan B.”

“Plan B, on the move, Chief,” Maude said. “10-4.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 95

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Ten minutes passed without a single sign of trouble.

“Come on,” Cole said. “I haven’t got all day, gator.”

“Maybe he found Jesus,” Rusty said.

“What?” Cole asked.

“I don’t know,” Rusty said. “Maybe he had a change of heart and doesn’t want to eat people anymore.”

“I doubt it,” Cole said. “I think he’s just wussing out.”

As soon as Cole said that, the ground shook.

“Umm,” Cole said. “And I still think my human penis is way bigger than his alligator penis.”

“That’s disgusting,” Rusty said. “What does an alligator penis even look like?”

The ground shook again.

“Yup,” Cole said. “That gator won’t dare show his stupid, fat, ugly face around here because he doesn’t have the guts to stand up to a real man.”

The line connecting to the toilet rumbled.

“You know what?” Cole said. “That alligator is just one great…big…giant…green pussy with teeth.”

“Sounds like the first Mrs. Walker,” Rusty said.

“Shut up, Rusty,” Sharon said.

The ground underneath Cole shook uncontrollably now. “Guys, get ready.”

“RAARGA!” Skippy burst through the floor, smashed the toilet to smithereens and clomped his jaws down on the leg that Cole had previously inserted into the toilet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Cole shouted.

“Now?!” Sharon asked.

“Not yet!” Cole cried as the vicious alligator broke through the stall walls and into the bathroom.

“Now?!” Sharon repeated.

With Cole’s leg gripped firmly between his sharp teeth, the alligator whipped Cole through the air like a rag doll. “Not yet!” Cole repeated.

Skippy dug his teeth into the leg, snarling and growling while Cole showed no signs of physical pain. He yanked off the breakaway pants to reveal that the toilet gator had chomped down on his prosthetic leg…which was encased in a healthy coating of C4.

As Cole was swung around, he pulled a small, black detonator stick and hovered his thumb over the red button on top. “NOW!”

Outside on the mall concourse, Sharon stepped on the Diablo’s gas pedal, bringing it down to the floor. She honked the horn furiously as looters and rabble rousers jumped out of the way just in time to avoid becoming road pizza.

Earlier, Rusty had secured his end of the rope to the car’s bumper. This lead to Cole being yanked by his belt out of the bathroom and into the mall itself, dragged roughly twenty feet behind the diablo in nothing but a black shirt and his tighty whitey underpants.

The alligator was in hot pursuit.

Cole locked eyes with the beast that was snapping its jaws at his heels. “See you in hell, toilet gator!”

He pressed the button. Nothing happened.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 94

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With the rope still firmly secured around his waist, Cole walked through the bathroom, checking under all the stalls to make sure no one was around. Seeing no one, he entered the spacious handicapped stall and popped a bluetooth headset into his ear. He pressed a button and waited a few seconds.

“Can everybody here me?” Cole asked.

“Yup,” Sharon said. “Setting up the conference call now and…it’s on.”

“Mister Walker?” Professor Lambert asked.

“Hell, Professor, just call me Cole.”

“Very well,” the Professor said. “Cole, I just want to thank you for what you are about to do. I have studied toilet gators my entire life but never had the courage to confront one and alas, I would not be much help to you on the ground. I will, however, be monitoring Miss Brock’s coverage from my office and will be available for any advice you may need.”

“Roger that,” Cole said.

Natalie Brock came on the line. “Thank you for this exclusive, Cole. Walter and I will do our best to stay out of your way.”

“Appreciated,” Cole said. “Maude, you and Burt there?”

“Hoowee!” Maude said. “We got a great big convoy!”

“Sounds like you’re having too much fun, Maude,” Cole said. “Stay sharp, OK?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, sweet britches,” Maude replied.

“Moses?” Cole asked.

Dead silence.

“Moses, you there?” Cole asked.

More silence.

“Shit,” Cole said. “Anyone have eyes on Moses?”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning,” Rusty said.

“Felix?” Cole asked.

Silence.

“Damn it, Felix, can you make a sound or something?”

“Errm,” Felix said.

“Is Moses with you?” Cole asked.

“Errm?” Felix said in a quizzical manner.

“Oh for the love of,” Cole said. “Felix, have you got the Javelin?”

“Errm,” Felix said.

“Is that, ‘Errm yes’ or ‘Errm no’?” Cole asked.

“Errm,” Felix said.

Cole slapped his head. “OK, Felix, one errm for yes, two errms for no, got it?”

“Errm,” Felix said.

“Is Moses with you?” Cole asked.

There was a brief delay before Felix finally answered, “Errm, errm.”

“Do you know where he want?” Cole asked.

“Errm, errm,” Felix replied.

“Do you have the Javelin?” Cole asked.

“Errm,” Felix said.

Sharon intervened. “I don’t like the sound of this. Maybe we should abort.”

“No,” Cole said. “Felix, do you know how to use that thing?”

“Errm,” Felix said.

“Screw it then,” Cole said.

“But Moses,” Sharon said. “He should be…”

“I have no idea,” Cole said. “Maybe he went and got a beer or found another man to hug or something.”

“Not funny,” Rusty said.

“The mission proceeds as planned, people,” Cole said. “Everyone to their positions.”

Cole lifted his left leg up, then plunged it deep into the wet toilet bowl. He winced as he felt the cold water seep into his sock.

“Damn it,” Cole said.

“Everything ok?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Just, these are my best shoes.”

“We’ll get you another pair, baby,” Sharon said.

“I know,” Cole said.

“We’ll do a lot of things when this is over,” Sharon said.

“I know,” Cole said.

Rusty made a series of gagging sounds.

“Shut up, Rusty,” Cole said.

Cole pulled the Angry Barracuda out of a holster that had been attached to his belt, then closed his eyes and took a deep breathe. “Here, gator, gator, gator…”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 94

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It was sheer chaos at the Sitwell Park Mall. Soldiers scrambled to secure the area as looters ran out of stores carrying boxes, gadgets, gizmos, merchandise and food in their arms.

“You’d think people would just stay home at a time like this,” Sharon said.

“Oh,” Cole said. “You know how it is. Every time there’s a hurricane, a bunch of assholes run around screaming…”

“…I need my bread and milk!” an old lady hollered as she pushed a cart full of food out of the mall’s Price Town store. “I’ll die without my bread and milk!”

“Everyone always thinks they’re going to die in a storm if they aren’t stocked up on bread and milk,” Cole explained.

A random soldier barked orders into a megaphone. “People, please disperse! Vacate the mall immediately!”

“Cole,” Rusty said. “Look at this place. It’s a powder keg ready to go off.”

A homeless man ran out of an electronics store with a flat screen TV. “The end times are upon us! If the hurricane doesn’t get us, the toilet gator will! Repent, sinners! Repent!”

“Hate to say it but Rusty’s right,” Sharon said. “Is now really the best time to go to war with a half-ton eating machine?”

Cole turned his baseball cap around backwards. “It’s now or never baby.”

Rusty shook his head.

“What?” Cole asked.

“Even I know better than to wear a backwards hat after forty,” Rusty said.

Cole had borrowed Rusty’s breakaway pants, and the weather proof fabric made a “swish, swish” sound as Cole walked.

“I can’t believe you used to wear this,” Cole said. “Did it ever get you any action?”

“You’d be surprised,” Rusty said.

The trio stopped right in front of the cherry red Yarikazi Diablo, the one still on display courtesy of the late Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium. V8 engine, maximum horsepower, capable of accelerating from zero to sixty in ten seconds, anti-lock breaks, automatic transmission…it was fully loaded, not to mention, incredibly shiny.

“It’s a damn shame what’s about to happen to this car,” Rusty said.

“I’ll try to get it back in one piece,” Sharon said.

“Women drivers, no survivors,” Rusty said.

“Bite me,” Sharon replied.

Cole opened up a duffel bag and pulled out a long metal slim jim. He passed it to his ex-wife, then pulled out a rope and clipped one end to his belt. Oddly, the belt was secured around his naked waist, since the breakaway pants didn’t have any loops.

The soldier spotted the trio from across the mall and shouted into his megaphone. “You three! Whatever you’re doing, stop it immediately and leave! That’s an order!”

Cole didn’t have a megaphone, so he shouted as loudly as possible. “It’s ok! We’re cops, here to kill the toilet gator!”

Unfortunately, Cole’s voice barely traveled to the solider’s ear, what with all the commotion going on. “What?!”

Cole held his hands up to the sides of his mouth, forming a cone shape to yell into. “I said, ‘We’re cops, here to kill the toilet gator!’”

The soldier was about to approach when he spotted two women fighting over a pair of high heels.

“They’re mine, bitch!” the first woman cried.

“They’re too small for your fat feet, ho-bag!” the second woman shouted. “They’re mine!”

The soldier ran over to break up the fight, giving the trio the time they needed to complete their car heist. The doors unlocked and Sharon pulled the jimmy stick out from the thin slot between the window and the door.

“Since when do you know how to do that?” Cole asked as he handed the other end of the rope to Rusty.

Sharon poked her hand underneath the steering wheel and pulled out a series of wires, all in an effort to hot wire the car. She used a small blade to splice a few wires together and within seconds the Diablo’s engine began to hum.

“Whoa nelly,” Rusty said. “Listen to that tiger growl.”

Sharon sat up in the driver’s seat and looked up at Cole. “You learn a few things in the FBI.”

“Apparently,” Cole said.

Cole leaned down and shared a kiss with his love. Rusty gagged. “Cough, cough, pussy! Cough, Cough.”

“Whatever,” Cole said. He rested his hands on Rusty’s shoulders and looked the redhead in the eyes. “You’re my best friend, Rusty. I mean that.”

Rusty held back the tears. “Cole, if I could, I’d really like to snuggle you for a moment.”

Cole backed away. “Not on your life.”

The former police chief picked up his end of the room and walked towards the men’s restroom. He turned one last time to catch a glimpse of Sharon, then looked at Rusty. “Keep her safe.”

Although Rusty wasn’t in the military, a powerful feeling of emotion came over him, causing him to salute Cole. “Will do, boss. Will do.”

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Seventeen Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Can you believe I’ve been working on Toilet Gator for so long?

It’s actually winding down.  We’re approaching the climactic final chapters where Cole finally fights the toilet gator.

I can’t wait, can you?

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 93

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At the Swankforth Hotel in downtown Miami, professional spammer Ernie Beck was enjoying a tasty three cheese omelette as he listened to a speaker at the International Society of Junk E-Mail Senders.

Jason Newcomb, the President of the ISJES stood at a podium, lecturing the attendees on tried and true spamming techniques.

“I know folks,” Newcomb said. “It seems like a tired old cliche, but the Nigerian prince scam really works. You’d be surprised how many elderly white people are easily convinced that they are not only related to African royalty, but that turning over their bank account routing numbers to a total stranger in the hopes of procuring a hefty payout is a good idea.”

Justine Cosseau raised her hand.

“Yes,” Newcomb said. “Justine.”

“What about the boner pills scam?” Justine inquired. “I’ve found great success by convincing men that they can add ten inches or more to their length and that the ladies will love them.”

“It’s not bad,” Newcomb said. “But keep in mind you might actually have to mass produce some fake boner pills. That means outsourcing to a sweatshop full of third world child slaves who get whipped repeatedly while they manufacture sugar pills, put them into bottles and then ship them to men with inadequate boners. It’s a total hassle, whereas the Nigerian Prince scam requires very little overhead. All you need is a computer and the willingness to pretend that you are a representative of a Nigerian Prince who, for some inexplicable reason, is related to a plethora of doddering old American white ladies.”

Ernie put down his fork and chimed in. “People, am I crazy, or are we all forgetting about the old phish-a-roo? All you need to do is send someone a bogus e-mail designed to look like it’s from their bank. Write up a paragraph about how there was a security breach and the person needs to follow a link to put in their username and password and bam, you’ve got their dough.”

“My fellow spammers,” Newcomb said. “These are all wonderful spamming techniques and there’s a reason why they’ve been used for years – because they work. How you choose to fleece buffoons who don’t know the first thing about Internet safety is up to you as long as you’re doing it because, and let’s be honest here, if people are dumb enough to not protect their money, then they deserve to lose it and we deserve to take it.”

The ballroom erupted into a chorus of “Here, here!”

“Now,” Newcomb said. “Let’s break up into our brainstorming session groups and really focus on new ideas. I want to hear at least twenty new shakedown methods by noontime.”

The spammers milled about the room, discussing their preferred spamming methods, when suddenly, Beck’s stomach rumbled. There was something about his breakfast that wasn’t sitting well with him, so he made a beeline to the bathroom.

Beck walked into an empty stall, dropped his pants, and sat down on the toilet bowl. “Dang,” he said to himself. “With a hurricane coming and a toilet gator on the loose, I’m surprised they didn’t just cancel this thing.”

“We do not cancel,” came Newcomb’s voice from outside the stall. “We spammers are a proud lot. We may lie, cheat and steal but we never, ever, quit – hurricanes and toilet gators be damned.”

Newcomb entered the stall next to Beck.

“Breakfast got to you too?” Beck asked.

“Yeah,” Newcomb said. “I didn’t think my French toast tasted right.”

“Maybe the cook got cheated on boner pills,” Beck said.

“Justine and her stupid boner pills,” Newcomb said. “She’s such a one trick pony.”

Beck turned on his cell phone and began streaming NN1’s coverage of Hurricane Dakota Rothschild. A Hot Ass Blonde Chick was in downtown Miami holding onto a palm tree as an airborne car blew past her.

“Jason,” Beck said. “Maybe we really should postpone this thing.”

“Please,” Newcomb said. “You know the spammer’s code. Never give up. Never surrender. Always misspell all your spam e-mails so that the people who are defrauded by them end up looking that much dumber.”

“I guess,” Beck said. “But I just don’t want to be blown away by the wind or be eaten by a toilet gator. Is it even safe to be shitting right now?”

“Maybe not,” Newcomb said. “But I’m too proud to run around in one of those diapers.”

“Same here,” Beck said. “But I just…”

“ROAR!”

Skippy interrupted the conversation by bursting through the floor and crunching up the toilet with Beck still on it between his jaws. The walls and doors of every stall in the vicinity fell down, leaving Newcomb exposed and defenseless.

The alligator was feeling cocky and sure of himself, no longer concerned about hiding from humans. Convinced that he was invincible, he took his time as he crunched on what little remained of Beck.

Meanwhile, Beck’s phone, now lying on the floor, continued to stream NN1’s news coverage. Kurt Manley kicked it to a replay of Cole’s challenge to the alligator from the night before.

“You wouldn’t last three seconds against me, but if you want to prove me wrong, meet me in the men’s restroom of the Sitwell Park Mall and we’ll finish this once and for all. Man vs. Alligator, mano a mano, human vs. reptile combat. Fail to show, and I will return to the airwaves to tell the world that you are little more than a giant green pussy with teeth.”

Hearing this sent Skippy into a rage. He roared wildly, then turned and leered at Newcomb, who trembled as he remained still on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, completely petrified.

“Nice alligator,” Newcomb said. “Good boy. You wouldn’t eat a professional e-mail spammer, would you?”

 

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RIP Glenne Headly (Or, Why You Should Pick Tess Trueheart over Breathless Mahoney)

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Hey 3.5 readers.

Again, I don’t really like to talk about celebrity deaths.  I try to keep it at a minimum, but this one got to me.

Glenne Headly passed away this week and if you don’t know who she is, that’s ok.  To be honest, I only vaguely knew her name.  She was one of those actresses who you saw her face in everything and recognized it right away, but she wasn’t out causing trouble in the tabloids and so on.  Alas, the press doesn’t give you extra points for good behavior.

For me, Glenne’s most memorable role was that of Tess Trueheart in 1990’s “Dick Tracy” opposite Warren Beatty.  Throughout the film, Dick faces a dilemma – will he choose the true blue, always loyal Tess or the super hot femme fatale Breathless Mahoney (Madonna)?

Breathless was, by far, the babe to end all babes, the woman who could make you look like a big shot if people saw her on your arm.  However, she was more likely to dump you for another guy or sell you out to Big Boy Caprice or one of his evil, scheming henchmen.

I don’t think I realized it at the time but looking back, that film was probably my first introduction to the concept that when it comes to love, people tend to be as loyal as their options.

Yes, we all want to be with the “ridiculously good looking person” (Zoolander reference) but stop and think about it.  Realize this is a person you have to spend the rest of your life with, or at the very least, will have to go through a lot of agony before they’re out of your life when things turn sour.

The Breathless Mahoneys of the world may be alluring but at the end of the day, it’s the Tess Truehearts that are going to be there for you when you need them.  Meanwhile, the Breathless Mahoneys will only be with you…for as long as they need you.

Forsake the Breathless Mahoneys, kids.  Pick the Tess Truehearts.

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RIP Adam West – 1960s Batman

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.  You know, after a while, I decided I wasn’t going to write about every celebrity’s death.  Unfortunately, they happen often, and talking about it just makes me sad.

But this is a nerd blog and Adam West is an icon to nerds everywhere.

When I was a kid, I loved Batman.  The Michael Keaton Batman movie came out in 1989 and I became obsessed with the idea that maybe a man could become a superhero without any superpowers but rather, just a lot of money and training.

The training would be easy to find, I thought, and what kid doesn’t automatically assume that he’s going to be a billionaire the second he becomes an adult?

Oh well.  My Batman plan didn’t pan out, although I did become the owner of a blog read by 3.5 readers, so I’d say I broke even.

After school, I would watch reruns of the old 1960s Batman TV show.  I’m not sure as a kid I got the humor.  The writing seemed hacky and even as a boy I remembered scratching my head and thinking, “Bat Shark Repellant?  Really?”

I also was incredibly confused as to why every episode ended on a cliffhanger where Batman and Robin would be put into some kind of intricate killing device set up by the evildoer, only to easily break free in the next episode.  One wonders why the villain just didn’t pull out a gun and blast the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder, but I suppose that would have been anti-climactic.

All I know is that even though you knew they were going to get free, that dramatic voice announcer asking “Will Batman escape this time?  Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel” always got me to tune in to the same Bat channel at the same bat time.

But I loved the show, the bright colors, how it looked like a comic book had been brought to life, complete with the “Biffs” and “Pows” flashing on screen during every Batman vs. henchmen scene.

It was only as an adult that I realized a) the writers were goofing on the comic book genre and b) it was the 1960s, a time when adults were expected to put away childish things and comic books were considered the ultimate in silly kid stuff.  Attempts to portray Batman as a serious crimefighter would have fallen flat.  Therefore, the only way Batman could have succeeded was as a wacky, campy show for kids.

Adam West played the role perfectly, being very serious as Bruce Wayne/Batman, saying ridiculous things in a completely deadpan style, as if you were the one who is an oddball for thinking it is weird that Batman keeps a hefty supply of Bat Shark Repellant on hand at all times.

In later years, Adam West found a resurgence as his fans got older themselves.  He was cartoon-ized as the Mayor of Quahog, Rhode Island on Family Guy, again called upon to say things that are hysterical in a voice that says, “I don’t think the Mayor realizes this is hysterical.”

One thing to keep in mind is that without the 1960s Batman show, all subsequent Batman films and possibly other comic book superhero films, TV shows may not have ever happened.  The Hollywood suits had to be shown that comic book fans would follow their favorite characters to TV and film, and West paved the way.

He will be missed.

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The Real McCoy – “Oh Look At Me, I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I Have a New Book”

By: Leo McCoy, the Man Who Once Delivered a Sandwich to James Van Der Beek

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Howdy do, 3.5 readers.  Howdy do indeed.

Boy oh boy, Bookshelf Q. Battler sure is insufferable lately, isn’t he?  He’s walking around East Randomtown with his chest all puffed out like he’s the cock of the walk, telling everyone he sees, “Hey, I just published a book on Amazon and you should go download it for free this weekend.”  I bet the guy will even turn that last quote into a hyperlink.  Dang, BQB, you’re such a predictable tool bag.

Sure, it’s a big milestone for our favorite nerd but holy crap nuggets, you know what else is a big achievement?  Delivering a sandwich to James Van Der Beek but did I go around telling everyone about it?

OK.  Yes I did.  I told like thousands of people and still do to this very day.  But I didn’t write a book about it.  I tried to, but all the publishers I sent a pitch letter to rejected me on account of the fact they didn’t think I’d be able to squeeze more than a chapter out about my chance encounter with JVDB.  (That’s what we Van Der Beek Tweakers call ourselves.)

Joke’s on the traditional publishing industry.  They didn’t think I’d be able to squeeze out more than a chapter?  Hell, I’ve squeezed out an entire lifetime’s worth of satisfaction and happiness out of that one meeting.  Double hell, a freight train could collide with my face tomorrow and I’d shout, “I regret nothing, for I met James Van Der Beek!”

Oh la dee da, all the East Randomtownsfolk are up BQB’s butt with a coconut, peddling a bunch of trash talk about how BQB is now officially the most famous man in East Randomtown because he put up a book on Amazon and gave away a few free copies, which, let’s be honest here, because there’s no doubt in my mind that all the free copies BQB has given away so far are being downloaded by his Aunt Gertie.

Tarnation, I wish I had my own Aunt Gertie.  Maybe then I’d have the self-confidence I need to start my own blog and get my own 3.5 readers.  Nah, that doesn’t mean I’m jealous of BQB.  What’s there to be jealous of?  BQB never met James Van Der Beek.

Wait, do you think BQB will get to meet James Van Der Beek now that he’s a big time fancy pants Amazon Kindle author?  Son of a monkey stink, I better up my game.

I know what I got to do now.  I have got to deliver a sandwich to that kid who played Pacey.  Anyone remember his name?  Aw hell, who could remember anything when you’re mind is clouded with images of JVDB’s flaxen hair and steamy come hither eyes?

Not that I’m gay or nothin.’

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