Monthly Archives: September 2018

Top Ten Reasons Why Your Butt Hurts

Hey 3.5 readers.

Does your butt hurt? Fear not. Here’s a list of reasons why flames may or may not be shooting out of your butt.

Bookshelf Battle


Hello 3.5 readers.

Many of you may be unaware of this, but in my spare time, I dabble in the fine arts of proctology and have even been named an Amateur Proctologist by a noted correspondence school.

Does your butt hurt?  If it does, you’ve got to get on that.  A hurt butt left to chance is a disaster, not only for you but for anyone unlucky enough to be standing within your blast radius when it goes off.

Note that I’m talking about “hurt butts” and not “butt hurt.”  Butt hurt is when you experience emotional pain so deep that you end up feeling it in your butt.

I’m talking about actual hurting butts.  From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the top ten reasons why your butt might be hurting:

#10 – Alien Probes

Alien Jones informs me that this experimental method of human butt research…

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Top Ten Warning Signs Your Butt Might Have Been Probed By Aliens

Hey 3.5 readers. Has your butt been probed by aliens? Probably, but check this top ten list to be sure.

Bookshelf Battle


Someone’s going to be walking funny tomorrow.

Ahh, aliens.  Those intergalactic science perverts really do a number on the human heiney don’t they?

What exactly are little green men hoping to discover by shoving their high tech, state of the art devices up human butts?  Your guess is as good as mine.  At any rate, it’s not like these space weirdoes will leave you a calling card, so if you want to know whether or not your cheeks have been parted in the name of space science, you better consult this fine list.

From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Warning Signs You Might Have Been Probed By Aliens

#10 – Your Butt Hurts

In theory, this could be due to a number of reasons, including by not limited to:

  • You’re wiping too hard and giving yourself hemorrhoids.
  • You ate an extra large batch of nacho chili…

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The Salem Witch Trials – 2018 Reboot


Salem, MA – 1692

Prudence Goodhope sighed and lamented her fate as she struggled against the ropes that held her tight against a wooden pole buried in the earth.  Villagers came and went, dropping off handfuls of twigs and kindling at her feet.  With each drop, the pile grew larger and larger until it reached her waist.

The stern looking Reverend Cotton Snerdway approached with a lit torch in hand.  “Right then, time to send you to hell witch.  Have you got any last words before I set you ablaze for the committing the crime of witchcraft?”

“Yes!” Prudence shouted.  “I’m not a witch! Please believe me!  I swear I’m not a witch at all!”

A hushed gasp overtook the crowd of villagers.

“She just accused her accusers of lying!” a random farmer cried.

A random old woman swooned and was about to fall when her fellow villagers caught her.  “Fi on thee, witch!  Your words cut my ears like knives! How dare thee mistreat thine accusers so!”

The reverend held up his torch.  “Now, see here, you dirty witch.  If your accusers say you’re a witch, then you’re a witch and that’s all there is to it.  So shut your gob and enjoy your burning.”

“Please!”  Prudence said.  “Good reverend, allow me to plead my case.”

“Sorry,” Reverend Snerdway said.  “Once you’ve been accused, that’s all there is.  If we let people start denying accusations then people who make accusations will get their feelings hurt and then the next time someone sees a witch they’ll just shut their traps and not tell anyone because they won’t want to feel as bad as your accusers will when you start runnin’ your dirty witch face about your so-called innocence of witchcraft and then before you know it, the whole bloody colony will be overrun with witches, flying around on their broomsticks, turning children into newts, cackling at all hours of the night.  We can’t have that.  Not on my watch.  Come on, now.  It will just hurt for a minute.”

“But I can prove I am not a witch!” Prudence said.  “I have, at all times, been in the company of my family and if they had seen me dabble in witchery, then surely they would have said something.”

“They’re probably all witches too,” the reverend said.  “Fear not.  We’ll burn them next.”

“Wait!” Prudence said.

“What now?” Reverend Snerdway asked.

“I’ve never flown on a broomstick,” Prudence said.  “I’ve never turned a child into a newt.  I’m not green.  I don’t know any spells.  You can search my home top to bottom and you’ll find nary a wand or a book of incantations, not even a single potion…”

“My hands are tied,” Reverend Snerdway said.  “If your accusers say you’re a witch, then you’re a witch.  But rest assured that your imminent burning is most assuredly deserved because if you hadn’t been a witch, then surely, your accusers would not have accused you of being a witch.”

Prudence’s eyes grew wide with shock.  “Wait?  Reverend, you mean to say that accusers never get their accusations wrong?”

“Not at all,” the reverend said.  “Since the dawn of time, not one single accuser has ever made a false accusation, either on purpose or accidentally due to a misunderstanding of the pertinent facts relative to the issue at hand.  You were called a witch and ergo, you are a witch.  If you weren’t a witch, then you would have never been called a witch, so which witch is a witch?  That’d be you, witch.”

Prudence sighed.  “I can’t argue with that impeccable logic.  You have convinced me, sir.  I must be a witch.”

“Finally,” the reverend said as he leaned down.  He was about to set the kindling ablaze when Prudence called out.  “Wait!”

“Blast!” Reverend Snerdway said.  “What now, witch?”

“What if there’s a tiny, absurdly small chance my accusers are wrong?” Prudence asked.

The reverend shrugged his shoulders.  “Unlikely, but no matter.  Most assuredly, you are a witch, and so when I set you on fire, you will die a painful death, shrieking in agony and being justly punished as the witch that you are.  But, in the unlikely event that you are not a witch, you’ll still die and just get to Heaven that much sooner, enjoying all the rights and privileges thereto that a good Christian death can offer and I’m sure our Lord will be there to offer his condolences for the mix-up.”

“Hmm,” Prudence said.  “Well, I should very much like to meet the Lord.”

“And meet him you shall,” the reverend said.  “Unless you’re a witch, and then you’ll go straight to hell.”

“Now I’m very uncertain of this whole ordeal,” Prudence said.

“Woman,” the reverend said.  “Please stop questioning this for in the end, the important thing is that your accusers not be offended.  If I don’t set you on fire and allow hot flames to lick the very skin off of your bones, then they will think I do not take their accusations seriously.  If I ask them simple questions like, ‘Say, accusers, why do you think Prudence is a witch?’ or ‘Did you even see Prudence ride around in the night sky on a broom?’ then your accusers will be cross and their feelings will be hurt and do you have any idea how inconvenient it is to make an accusation?”

“OK,” Prudence said.  “You make a fine point, reverend.  It would be easier to just burn me than offend an accuser with basic lines of inquiry.  Have at it then.  Lord, here I come!”

And so, Reverend Snerdway burned over 100 accused witches without even bothering to find out if they had ever even owned a broomstick because, holy shit, you can’t ask an accuser a question, you un-woke sack of crap.

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The Shawshank Redemption – 2018 Reboot

Imagine this in Morgan Freeman’s voice.

My friend, Andy Dufresne.  He was a kind and gentle man.  I’ll never forget when he walked into the doors of Shawshank all those years ago.  He told me he was innocent of the accusations that had landed him in the hoosegow.  You see, his wife was cheating on him with another fella when a random hoodlum broke in, shot the two dead and robbed them.  Poor Andy ended up being the patsy.  The fall guy.  The cops didn’t know who to pin the case on so they figured as a jilted husband, Andy had motive and that’s all they needed to make an accusation.

And so, the years passed us by.  After a couple of decades, Andy got it into his head that he was going to make an elaborate break for it.

I managed to procure a tiny rock hammer for Andy.  He was allowed to keep it on the idea that he was using it to carve chess pieces but in secret, why, old Andy would stay up all night, removing an inch of wall here and there and then sneaking the chiseled off cement out into the yard in his shoes.

After ten years of doing this, Andy had finally created a tunnel, which he had hidden behind a poster of Rita Hayworth.  When the tunnel to freedom was finally dug, Andy stopped and appeared to be lost, deep in thought.

“Well,” I said.  “Aren’t you going to make a break for it?”

“Nah,” Andy said.

“What?” I asked.  “Why not?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, Red,” Andy said.  “And, well, even though I did not shoot my wife, someone went to all the trouble of accusing me of shooting my wife and well, shucks, golly, it sure would be rude of me to offend someone who took the time out of their busy schedule to accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

“But Andy,” Red said.  “Your life has been ruined.  You didn’t do anything to deserve being sent to this Godforsaken place and look what has happened to you.  You were butt raped daily by psychos.  You became the warden’s bitch.  And a fellow inmate was even willing to testify to the fact that he once overheard his bunkmate admit to doing the crime you were falsely accused of.”

“Yeah,” Andy said.  “And I’m glad the warden shot that inmate to keep him from providing the testimony that would have secured my freedom because, hey, my life isn’t that important.  What’s really important is that all accusers, whether they are making true or false accusations, should be able to make them and why, if you defend yourself against the accusations, then that means you are a piece of shit who literally hates everyone who has ever been a victim of anything.”

“Holy shit,” Red said.  “The art of nuanced debate is dead.”

“Huh?” Andy asked.

“Nuanced debate,” Red said.  “When you say something like, ‘I agree accusers should be treated with respect, not dumped on, given their chance to make their claims and not received repercussions for doing so but that also people who are accused must be given a chance to defend themselves lest innocent men be put behind bars for crimes they did not do.”

“Right,” Andy said.  “People are too dumb to wade into all that, Red.  All I know is if I escape through this tunnel, I’ll be hurting the feelings of the people who accused me and albeit a false accusation, that still took a lot of guts to falsely accuse me, so I respect that.  I don’t want them to feel bad and I don’t want people making true accusations to feel bad and so, even though in this particular case, I didn’t do it, I’d be a piece of shit for standing up for myself.”

And so, Andy put the poster back up the wall and went back to bed.  Over the next ten years, he snuck the cement pieces he’d snuck out back into his cell, again in his shoes and patched up the wall like nothing had ever happened.

Nope.  Andy never achieved his dream of moving to Mexico and buying a boat.  Instead, he rotted away in that cell until he was 101 years old.  I should know because I lasted until 120.

Andy’s last dying words? “I sure am glad I stayed here and wasted the one and only life God will ever give me.  Escaping and offending my accuser would have been a total dick move.”

To Kill A Mockingbird – 2018 Reboot

EDITORIAL NOTE: I’ll just leave this here, for no particular reason.


And so, gentlemanly country lawyer Atticus Finch did call his client, Tom Robinson, into his law office.  Tom Robinson, a black man, had been falsely accused of rape and since it was the Jim Crow south, no lawyer other than Atticus was willing to help the poor man.

“I swear I didn’t rape that woman, Atticus,” Tom said. “I swear, I didn’t.  Do you think you’ll be able to save me at trial?”

“Well,” Atticus said as he sipped a mint julep. “I’m just a simple country lawyer who likes to sit on his rocking chair and enjoy a nice cool breeze on a summer’s evening, but I say, I do declare that whether we should save you is not the proper consideration but rather, the appropriate issue is should we save you?”

“Should we save me?” Tom asked.  “But sir, I have been falsely accused!”

“Sir!”  Atticus said.  “Lower your voice!  I shall not have such triggering hate speech in my office.”

“What?” Tom asked.

“You see, Tom,” Atticus said.  “It doesn’t matter if you were falsely accused or not because all accusers have the right to be instantly and automatically believed.  Why, if you don’t believe an accusation without further question or inquiry, then you are not just insulting the individual accuser in this case but anyone and everyone who has ever dared to stand up and accuse someone of anything.

“But Mr. Finch,” Tom said.  “I’m not trying to tarnish the reputation of anyone who has ever made an accusation.  I realize that for the world to keep turning that people need to be able to stand up and say when something bad happened.  I’m just saying that in this case, when my accuser makes a false accusation, I need you to present my case and prove the truth.  I didn’t do it, sir.  I’m innocent and that fact must be presented to the jury.”

Atticus brushed a piece of lint off his clean, white suit.  “Sir, I say, I do declare I’m sorry but I just can’t go on with this hateful discussion.  All accusers are to be believed, sir and frankly, whether or not you are guilty or innocent is immaterial.  If you do not skip this trial and skip straight to hanging yourself then your accuser’s feelings, as well as the feelings as anyone who has ever made an accusation against anyone since the beginning of all time will be hurt and we can’t have that, so please, go hang yourself now.”

Tom stood up.  “Sir, if I may be so bold, if you’re not going to defend me against an accusation then why are you here?”

“Why, I do declare I’m just here to sip mint juleps and look good in this white suit,” Atticus said.  “Good day, sir.  Please go see the proprietor of our local mercantile and acquire a length of rope.  I’ll see to it that your estate will handle the bill just as soon as you hang yourself promptly.”

Tom shook Atticus’ hand.  “Very well, sir.  You make a fine point.  I don’t want accusers to feel bad and even if the accusation against me is false, my life must be over now because if it isn’t then people with true accusations will feel bad and true accusers just won’t be intelligent enough to be able to figure out that in this particular case, the accusation was false.  I will go hang myself posthaste.”

“Glad to hear it,” Atticus said.  “Enjoy your hanging, Tom.”

Tom left the room.  Atticus’ young daughter, Scout, had been playing with a doll in a corner of the room the entire time.

“Daddy?” Scout said.

“Yes, dear?” Atticus replied.

“The world sure has gotten fucked up, ain’t it, Daddy?” Scout asked.

“It sure has, Scout,” Atticus said.  “It sure has.”

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Philosophers on Farting

I can’t believe all these philosophers stopped by my fine blog to share their thoughts on farts. Enjoy the words of these noble fart-losophers.

Bookshelf Battle


Think before you stink.

Hey 3.5 readers.

I surveyed the following philosophers on the topic of farting.  Here is what they said:

Socrates – If you want to know whether or not you should fart, ask yourself if you should or should not fart.  The answer to this fart question dwells within you and by asking yourself about farts, you will draw out the answer about farts.

Plato – Before you are born, you get to chill out in Heaven, where there is a mold of everything in the world, including farts.  You forget about that mold after you are born, but the knowledge of that fart mold is still in you deep somewhere, so think real hard, and you will come up with the answer about farts.

Aristotle – The answer to a fart question isn’t with you but it does lie within the world somewhere.  Study farts and…

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Just Checking In

I hope all 3.5 of you fine readers are doing well.  I seem to be transitioning into more book writing than blog writing so we will see how that goes.

TV Review – Kidding (2018)

Do you ever think the people you cheer you up on TV might be the saddest of all?

BQB here with a review of “Kidding.”

I’m not sure what to make of this show.  It seems like I should be laughing but instead, I feel like crying.  I’m an adult, so I rarely, if ever, cry, but you know what I mean.

Jim Carrey returns to TV in this series about an icon of children’s television whose life has run off the rails.

To his fans, he’s Mr. Pickles, a Mr. Rogers-esque storyteller who lives in a world of make-believe, surrounded by puppet friends.  He’s a multi-millionaire dollar industry who has inspired books, toys, and merchandise and keeps PBS afloat.

Outside of TV, he’s Jeff Piccirillo and here’s the rub of the show.  His family thinks he should be a normal guy who sins and swears in his personal life but Mr. Pickles isn’t an act.  Jeff is Mr. Pickles 24/7 and he displays the highest levels of courtesy and kindness to everyone, even his family who constantly dumps on him.

A year has passed since one of his two twin sons has died in a car accident.  His wife, Jill (Judy Greer) is so saddened by the loss that she can’t stomach Jeff’s nice guy persona anymore.  His surviving son, Will (Cole Allen) can’t take it either.

And thus, a great contrast is struck.  Millions of fans cheer for Mr. Pickles, sending constant thank you letters detailing how he has changed their lives for the better with his inspiring words of wisdom.

But the kindness that makes him universally loved by the world makes him despised at home.  When he tries to talk to Will about the grieving process, the boy calls his old man a pussy.  When he learns his wife is sleeping with another man, he, to her disappointment, doesn’t get mad but instead bakes her a pie and asks to discuss it in a polite, civilized manner.

Back at the studio, Mr. Pickles is a family business. His sister, Deirdre (Catherine Keener) is the show’s head puppeteer with problems of her own.  Her arc sort of mirrors Jeff’s.  While she doesn’t have that happy persona, she loves her job but isn’t happy with her home life.

Meanwhile, veteran dramatic actor Frank Langella steals the show as Jeff’s father, Sebastian.  “Seb” is cold, calculating, and cares only about the bottom line.

Jeff wants to test some limits on the show.  He wants to process his grief in the only way he knows how, by bringing his feelings onto the show.  He wants to do a show that teaches kids about how to deal with the death of a loved one, but Seb won’t agree, arguing that parents will just change the channel and Mr. Pickles’ bottom line will go bust.

When you watch the trailer, you might think that this show is just a parody of Mr. Rogers.  It is but then again, it isn’t.  Perhaps Mr. Rogers benefitted from the fact that he lived during a time when morals and values were upheld.  They weren’t followed by everyone but they weren’t openly mocked and scorned by public figures either.  People at least paid lip service to the idea of being a good doobie.

On the other hand, Mr. Pickles lives in a time when being kind is confused with weakness and being nice gets you called a pussy.

As a viewer, you end up wondering who is right.  Jeff processes his grief by being there for his family, even though they hate his guts.  He takes their abuse and comes back for more, being more concerned about his well-being than his dignity.  Most men insulted by their wives and kids too many times would just walk away but Jeff hangs in there.

Is Jill right for looking for solace in a new fling?  Is young Will right for smoking pot with a new group of dopey kids?  These bad behaviors are typical of people whose lives were destroyed and yet, these behaviors also get them nowhere.

Jeff is unusually, bizarrely kind and you begin to wonder if he is abnormal in his graciousness, or perhaps he’s the only sane one in a world full of cynical, miserable crazies.  Everyone is drinking and swearing and debasing themselves, descending into meaningless misery, despair and hedonism, lashing out at everyone.

Thus, maybe Jeff is the only one who is smart enough to walk a higher path.  He most likely is doing the right thing, though in his personal life, it gets him nowhere.

The crux of the show seems to be making us wait to see if Jeff will have a full on breakdown.  Will he grab his wife and give her a vigorous banging?  Will he tell his kid to shut the eff up and get off drugs?  Will he tell his father that on the show, it’s his way or the highway?

Or maybe he’ll flip out in some other unexpected way.  Will Mr. Pickles fly off the handle and do something awful that blows up the pickles world altogether?

If it’s a comedy, it’s a dark one.  You laugh at things you feel you shouldn’t and me, personally, I do root for Mr. Pickles.  There’s a part of me that wants to tell him to just start giving shit back to the people who are shitting on him but then there’s another part of me that thinks Jeff will score a victory by being nice to the bitter end.  His family will ultimately destroy him if he does, but at least he will have been right.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.


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Movie Review – The Predator (2018)

I can’t tell if I hated it or just found it mildly passable.  I didn’t love it, that’s for sure.  At any rate, I’ll be collecting my thoughts about this movie for a while but in the meantime, here’s my review of “The Predator.”

The original “Predator” with Arnold Schwarzenegger was sublime.  As action/horror movies go, perfection.  In 1987, Arnie had spent the past decade flattening baddies with his pinky finger, such that he needed a real challenge, and an intergalactic big game hunter who traveled to earth to hunt humans was it.

The sequel with Danny Glover was…OK.  It’s watchable.  It’s acceptable.

Other than that, there have been sequels that have been lame, forgettable and don’t even get me started on the Alien vs. Predator movies.

I wanted to hate this sequel a lot.  It’s lame.  It focuses more on humor and gives a lot of screen time to the humans and not so much to the Predator.  Sequels have never been able to capture the magic of the original (plus that film starred two future governors.)

I will give this sequel this:  since Predator 2, it’s the least shitty of a series of shitty sequels.  (To clarify, P2 is better than this.)

The humor is 1980s style camp that you don’t see much of anymore.  It made me nostalgic to watch, though at the same time, it’s not something I needed to see in a Predator movie either.

The plot is that a special ops sniper (Boyd Holbrook) happens upon a Predator landing, steals his equipment and his own government decides to throw him in prison to shut him up.

While being transported with a gaggle of other Army burn outs dubbed “the loonies,” he convinces them to break out to fight the Predator.  Loonies include Trevante Rhodes, Alfie Allen (Game of Thrones), Key of Key and Peele who mostly provides comic relief and to my surprise, ex-Punisher Thomas Jane.  Olivia Munn rounds out the cast as a sexy vet (the animal doctor kind) recruited to analyze a captive predator.

Sterling K. Brown stars as a government agent hunting the loonies and as a nice touch, Holbrook’s son has Aspberger’s syndrome which makes him bullied at school yet his “special” brain makes him the only one who can figure out how to use predator tech.

The movie is filled with plot holes, stupidity and it kinda makes you want to puke until people my age realize that many 1980s action flicks were like this but people took them seriously because they didn’t know better…so I suppose as an homage to the films that made Arnie a star, I can let the foolishness slide.

STATUS:  I think it is possible to make a sequel that isn’t stupid.  But I suppose they can do all the cash grabs they want without affecting Arnie’s original.  Not worth a movie ticket or a rental.  Feel free to stream it on cable.  It is very stupid and silly and only becomes redeemable when you realize it’s on purpose as a 1980s action flick parody…which would be fine except I think that under-utilizes the predator.

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How are you 3.5 readers?

Just checking in. Are there still 3.5 of you?