Daily Archives: April 1, 2018

Son of Toilet Gator – The Ballad of Dirk Smegma

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The Ballad of Dirk Smegma
Smegma! Dirk Smegma is his name!
Smegma! Crushing pussy is his game!
Of course, he does so in a consensual way!
For this dude is so handsome he can barely keep the ladies at bay!
Hey! Dirk Smegma! All the men want to be you.
Dirk Smegma! All the women want you too.
Isn’t it sad, you’re a CIA agent and thus a loner?
You can never get too close to the ladies who get your boner!
Oh! Dirk Smegma! The women you’ll seduce.
And in doing so, you’ll pull the world out of evil’s noose!
When the girlfriends of evil men succumb to your charms,
It’s game over for them, for you’ve put them into the path of harm.
Alarm! Dirk Smegma! Bad men you will erode.
You’ll get the girl and the nuclear launch codes.
That’s why so many average men want to be Dirk!
For in real life, most men are treated like jerks!
Smegma! How the babes you’ll wine and dine.
Get the crucial info and save the day before deadline.
Most men are henpecked, their lives wrecked,
Their wives will keep them in check!
But Smegma oh, Smegma there’s no telling what dame you’ll get in your bed next!
Smegma! This ballad is almost done.
And now, before the war is won.
It’s time, for silhouettes of hot naked women to swim across the screen!
While average men at home cry into their ice cream!

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Son of Toilet Gator – Prologue

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The clientele of the Chicken and Titties Shack had been cleared out, save for the dancers, a secret service team, President Vinny Stugotz and Professor Elliot Lambert who, at present, was chowing down on a hot wing that a secret service agent had just shoved through the mouth slit in the bag that was covering the renowned toilet animal scientist’s head.

“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “Is this bag really necessary? You’ve already bought my loyalty.”

“Of course it’s necessary,” the President said. “The CIA doesn’t want you having any idea what part of the country their top secret underground lab is in and if there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s being low key. I’ve posted about my ability to keep a secret at least a thousand times on Lifebox.”

The house DJ spoke over some funky club music. “Alright, alright, alright, Mister President we’re so honored to have you and your friend with the bag on his head here at the Chicken and Titties Shack.  Our motto?  If you got the cash, then we got the best chicken and titties.”

“Fine,” Professor Lambert said. “It’s just that it’s kind of lame to be in a titty bar without the ability to look at all the titties.”

“Yeah,” the President said as he pointed to a busty blonde as she gyrated on stage. “Not gonna lie. You’re missing some massive cans. Believe me. Nobody is a better judge of the female form than yours truly.”

“Wing me, please,” Professor Lambert said.

The secret service agent assigned to feed the professor sighed as he shoved another wing into Lambert’s mouth.

“So when am I going to get my toilet gator?” the President asked.

“Soon, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “I’m working on the genetics aspect of this project with great interest, making sure that this specimen will retain the mighty strength and power of his father while still being controllable. Plus, I’ll need to find a suitable female alligator egg and…”

“Jesus Christ, Egghead McGee,” President Stugotz said as he sipped a beer. “Just fill up a turkey baster with Skippy the Toilet Gator’s joy juice, use it to knock up a fine ass lady gator and bada boom, bada bing, we’re done. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road!”

“It will be done within a year, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “That, I assure you. Can I get a drink, please?”

The same secret service agent who had been feeding Lambert scoffed as he picked up a beer, shoved a straw into it, and held it up to Lambert’s mouth as he sucked on the straw like a baby.

“Thank you,” Professor Lambert said.

“What a psycho that Buford Dufresne was,” President Stugotz said. “Keeping a fridge full of his pet alligator’s baby batter. I mean, I keep a hefty supply of my own man goo on standby, but that’s only because it would be a damn shame if there were ever to be a world without a Stugotz in it.”

“Hey alright,” came the DJ’s voice. “That was Chastity on the main stage. She’s available now for lap dances and the champagne room.”

A beautiful redhead wearing a cowboy hat and nothing else strutted onto the stage.

“Coming up next,” the DJ said. “It’s everybody’s favorite cowgirl, Lorelai. Everybody give a warm Texas welcome to Lorelai.”

President Stugotz looked to one of the secret service agents. “Plug his ears.”

“What?” Professor Lambert asked. “I can’t listen either? Come on.”

The secret service agent assigned to Lambert licked his pointer fingers, then stuck them deep into the scholar’s ear canals.

“You’ve lost your hearing privileges, Lambert,” President Stugotz said as he chomped on a chicken wing. “Mmm.  This is a fantastic chicken wing. Best chicken wing I’ve ever had and I know chicken wings. Nobody’s a better judge of chicken quality than I am.  Believe me.”

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Son of Toilet Gator – From the Desk of Bookshelf Q. Battler

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Good day to you, noble reader.

You came back for more?  Jumpin’ Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, seek psychiatric counseling, will you?

Look, the first book was called “Toilet Gator” and it was about an alligator who ate people while they were sitting on the toilet.  I get it.  We can chalk your initial interest up to morbid curiosity.  Most people realize it’s wrong to gawk at an accident along the side of the road, but they can’t help it.  They spotted it, so now they feel an innate need to find out what happened, what it the carnage looks like, who lived, who died.

But it’s one thing to rubberneck at a car accident while you’re driving past it and a completely different thing to make a U-turn, head back the way you came, then turn around and come back again just so you can take a second look at the mayhem.  That’s sick, noble reader, and that is essentially what you are doing here.  Be ashamed.  Be very ashamed!

Will more people be eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet in this book?  Yes.  That’s a no brainer.  You know this.  If you read the first book, don’t pretend like you don’t know what lies in store for you.  People will sit down to poop and as they are doing so, they will become a massive lizard monster’s lunch.

Did I mention that I’ve upped the ante and now there is a shark who eats people while they are sitting on the toilet in this installment of the ongoing Toilet Gator series? Yes.  Sequels must always up the ante and this one is no different.  Now, if people aren’t being eaten by an alligator while they’re sitting on the toilet,  they’re being eaten by a shark while they’re sitting on the toilet.  Basically, if you are a character in this book and you feel the urge to drop a deuce, there’s a fifty percent chance you will be eaten by an alligator and a fifty percent chance you will be eaten by a shark.  Even the most carefree Vegas oddsmakers wouldn’t take a bet on the continued existence of a character in this novel who needs to pinch a brick.

Do you have any idea how precious life is?  The best thinkers, scientists, philosophers, theologians and others have tried their best to explain how tenuous our grasp on our own mortality is but suffice it to say, you’re born, you do some stuff and then before you know it, you’re dead.  Every single moment of your life is precious and you have now made the conscious decision to take your very limited time and use it to read not one but two novels involving people being devoured by an alligator while they are squeezing the cheese.  For shame, noble reader, for shame.

Oh, what?  You think I should feel worse for writing a book about people being eaten by an alligator (and/or a shark) while they are sitting on a toilet?  Why would I?  Someone has to warn the public at large about the dangers of being eaten by toilet animals while sitting on a toilet and that someone might as well be me.  Is it my fault that all of the high falutin’ book award people refuse to give an award to a book about people being eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet?  No, it is not.

In short, while it is a very worthwhile endeavor for me to write a novel about people being eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet, it is conversely, and some might say an ironically, useless waste of time for you to read a book about people getting eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet.  After all, at the end of this, I can at least say I wrote a novel (and stop there without any need for further description whilst promoting myself at the various super fancy writer parties I am still waiting for my invitations to), whereas all you can say is you read a novel…about an alligator…who eats people…while they are sitting…on the toilet.

Still not convinced I’m better for writing this dreck than you are for reading it, noble reader?  Consider this scenario:

SCENE: A FANCY WRITERS’ COCKTAIL PARTY

PARTY GOER: Hi, what have you two done recently?

ME: I wrote a novel and that’s all you need to know about that.

NOBLE READER:  I read a novel about people who are eaten alive by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet.

PARTY GOER:  Yikes, noble reader!  You sicken me so you must leave now!  BQB you can stay though and have sex with my wife if you want because you’re an awesome person who has written a novel.

And there you have it.  What’s that, noble reader?  You could just tell people that you “read a novel and it’s none of their damn business what the novel was about?”  True.  You got me there.  Plus, if you wanted to go the extra mile, you could say you read a novel about geopolitical intrigue and leave out the part about the epic battle for the fate of the free world between an American toilet gator and a Russian toilet shark.

Also, if you want to, you could just close this book and go expand your mind by reading a classic like “War and Peace” or “The Count of Monte Cristo.”  Both are very long masterworks of fiction that will enrich your lives, expand your minds, open your hearts and broaden your horizons.

However, neither book features a scene that involves a person being eaten by an alligator while they’re sitting on the toilet.  Ha!  You actually thought I was serious before when I told you that you needed psychological counseling for reading this book?  Well, I was…and you do.  But that’s OK.  Disturbed people need reading material too and I’m happy to provide it to you…and also to take your money.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…thank you for the money.  And now, without further ado, please enjoy this second book about people who are eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on a toilet.

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Son of Toilet Gator Sundays

Happy Easter, 3.5 readers!

I’ve decided that Toilet Gator Sundays (where I wrote a new excerpt of Toilet Gator every Sunday last year) worked so well, that I’m now going to give you, “Son of Toilet Gator Sundays.  Yes, now each week you will get a new chapter in the sequel, “Son of Toilet Gator.”

This will allow me to keep fresh but still devote most of my time to getting the draft of Toilet Gator itself together, which I truly hope will be published by the end of the year.

Let’s keep our fingers crossed.  Anyway, I’m not paying this lady to do a new video for “Son of Toilet Gator” though she’s excellent so seek her out on Fiverr if you need a lady in a doctor outfit to read your copy:

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