O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider web;
Her collars, of the moonshine’s wat’ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail
Tickling a parson’s nose as ‘a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she!
You’ll get those witches, my pretty, and then you can tell all your dawgs too!
For some reason, my post about witch pick up lines is popular. Apparently, there are lots of dudes out there trying to find a witch. So ladies, if you dabble in the occult, know that there are eligible bachelors out there looking for you to cast a spell on them.
Happy Valentine’s Day 3.5 readers. Here’s a blast from the past from Uncle Hardass, who opines that if you’re a lonely CHUD this Valentine’s Day, you should give up and settle.
Renowned Romance Expert Hardassimo J. Scrambler, BQB’s Grumpy Uncle
Hello degenerate 3.5 readers. Still wasting your time trying to become writers I see. Despite your old Uncle Hardass’ repeated efforts to put you on the straight and narrow path, you’re all still convinced that you’re going to be the next Hugh Howey.
And you know what? Maybe you all ought to shut yourselves up in a big grain silo for a decade or two just to get some inspiration for your next writing project. God knows the world would be a better place without all you damn hippies in it.
The salt mines are still hiring, by the way. GET A JOB!
Anyway, it’s Valentine’s Day. The day of love. Amor, mon cheri. I know this comes as no surprise, but back in my day, I was quite the ladies’ man.
Ahh, Valentine’s Day. That day that you don’t want to screw up, for if you do, your source of vagina, er I mean your beloved lifelong best friend and companion, will go on lockdown.
Have you been too busy reading this fine blog to buy a gift? From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are my top ten last minute ideas:
#10 – Household Appliances – If 1950s advertising has taught me anything, it’s that you’ll be a hero in your household for getting your wife a dish washer, clothes washing machine, basically anything that will make less work for her around the house and frankly, you’re a good man for not being a stickler and making that lazy bitch clean clothes and dishes the better, old way of demanding that she put all that dirty shit in a sack and drag into down to the river and then spend three days washing it all in the river water and drying it all on a rock.
Make sure you let her know that you’re being a good guy by helping her out here. “You know, honey, Mr. Tiddlybonker across the street makes his wife carry all the dirty clothes to the river…”
#9 – Money – Chicks dig money. Oh, and if you don’t have a wife or girlfriend, I’ve heard that money can buy you a prostitute…so, rent a valentine! (Don’t do it you’ll go to jail and be a bad man’s valentine).
#7 – Penis. Consensual penis only. Seek written, notarized, witnessed and videotaped consent. Just to be sure, make her take a lie detector test while she’s consenting.
#6 – Karate lessons. Once she’s a blackbelt, she can karate chop all of the unwanted, non-consensual penis.
#5 – A lifelike dummy replica – She can put this out and it will take all of the unwanted, unsolicited, non-consensual penis attacks while she goes about her daily business.
#4 – A song. Write her a song. Sing it. If all else fails, sing your words over a Boyz II Men track.
#3 – Cake. Women love cake.
#2 – Russel Stover heart shaped chocolate boxes. Only squeeze 70 percent as you look for the one you want.
#1 – A poem. Her eyes are like the ocean, her smile is like the sun…chicks love that shit.
“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
BQB here with a review of “Darkest Hour.”
You know 3.5 readers, modern politics suck. They’re messy and brutish, a blood sport on all sides. Amidst all this kerfluffle, where is the man who is willing to stand up, not for what is popular, but for what is right? Where is the man who is willing to slap his balls down on the table and be prepared to lose them to the naysayers if they’re proven right?
Sigh. That man (or woman) is working the drive-thru at Arby’s or some such bullshit, because let’s face it, people without polish and pizzazz (or money) can’t get a foot through the political door these days.
Luckily, such wasn’t the case for Sir Winston Churchill. An old mumbler who looked like a bald bull dog, he drank to excess, took most meetings in his bathrobe, and chain smoked cigars and drank bottles upon bottles of booze all day long. Moody, unpolished, rude, but he had balls. Oh, how he had balls.
Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain (Ronald Pickup) sought peace with Hitler. The result? At the start of the film, Hitler’s armies stand ready to overrun Belgium and take over France, where, without intervention, they’ll push British forces into the sea at Dunkirk, effectively ending the UK’s ability to defend itself.
It’s a hopeless situation and the political types in parliament are more interested in saving their careers than the nation. No one even wants the position of Prime Minister now, as defeat seems imminent and no one wants to go down as the leader who handed England over to Germany.
Thus, Churchill, who had long been the lonely canary in the coal mine, warning England and the rest of the Europe that Hitler was up to some serious shit and he should met not with appeasement but early attacks before he gets too far, is placed in charge.
Chamberlain and Viscount Halifax (Stephen Dillane or Roose Bolton to “Game of Thrones” fans) want to double down on a new attempt to appease Hitler, oblivious to the fact that earlier attempts to satiate the Nazis just made them that much stronger.
Together, they make moves to force Churchill into peace talks, putting the bulldog into a grave position. The 25,000 lives he lost under his military command years earlier weigh heavily on him, and the prospects of victory against a war machine that has conquered the rest of the continent seem grim.
Ultimately, it’s up to Churchill to make some tough choices and outfox the foxes in his hen house at their own game.
SPOILER ALERT – because, I mean, it’s history, so you should know already, but Churchill chooses to fight Hitler rather than make a peace. He’s certain it would be a lame ass peace, one that would leave the swastika flying over Buckingham Palace and a Nazi controlled puppet government running the show.
But it was definitely an unsavory roll of the dice. Had Germany prevailed, the puppet government would have looked better than a defeated, decimated Britain…and thus Gary Oldman as Churchill gives us a front row seat to how the proverbial sausage is made, how leadership requires the bold to make a tough decision and to stay the course, no matter how far away the light at the end of the tunnel may seem.
Will there be more Churchills in the future? Honestly, I feel television really screwed our collective political pooch. As long as elections are decided based on who has the most polish and pizzazz, perfect looks and fabulous hair, the ornery old bald foul mouthed drunk who’s willing to put his balls on the line and to tell the enemy to eat a dick doesn’t stand a chance at election.
Hell, even Churchill didn’t. Once his big balls one the war, his reward was to be thrown out of office. But, he was able to walk away knowing he and his balls had stood up for what was right.
Worthy of Oscars all around but will probably lose to the movie about the fish fucker.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. Rent it today. Props to the women behind the man, i.e. his wife Clemmie (Kristin Scott Thomas) who reigned him in and got him to focus on shit. Meanwhile, scenes with his personal secretary, Elizabeth Layton (Lilly James) who has to undergo the stress of taking Churchill’s cigar smoke cough laden, booze fueled, mumbling rants and putting them into actual words to be typed and dispatched are particularly touching.
One Sweet Day, I’ll need you to Hit Me Baby One More Time. I’m Too Sexy, I Swear, and I’m not a Loser. Is this the End of the Road? No, and No Scrubs could ever be Killing You Softly with His Song. Will we be Livin’ La Vida Loca? You Can’t Touch This? That’s cold as Ice, Ice, Baby.
Christian Bale…so moody…basically playing himself.
BQB here with a review of “Hostiles.”
I love a good Western. The general movie going public doesn’t, but I appreciate it whenever Hollywood gives me one just the same.
In 1892, Captain Joseph Blocker (Bale) is nearing retirement as one of the U.S. Army’s most notorious Native American killers. He is firm in his belief that his actions were justified, and can recite countless tales of horror perpetrated against settlers.
Meanwhile, Chief Yellow Hawk (Wes Studi) is a prisoner at the Army fort in New Mexico, where Blocker is stationed. He’s one of the West’s most notorious killers of settlers and he can recite countless tales of horror perpetrated against his people.
In short, both men feel they were justified and yet, you guessed it…road trip! (Horse trip?) The Chief, due to his old age, is granted a pardon and Blocker is ordered to escort his longtime enemy to his ancestral homeland in Montana.
The setup seems intriguing enough. Blocker and Yellow Hawk are not friends, yet they’ll need to come to an understanding because the Comanche are nearby and as Yellow Hawk warns, they don’t discriminate and will kill natives and settlers alike.
But alas, from there, the story wanders. Rosamund Pike enters the picture as a widow who lost her family to a Comanche attack. Various subplots ensue – a sergeant who has lost his faith, an African American corporal who is grateful that Blocker treats him as an equal, a prisoner who argues that Blocker is just as guilty as he is, and so on.
“Pick a plot already!” That’s what I found myself saying half-way through the film. While there is sporadic, gruesome action, there are long periods of hum drum, drawn out talking.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy, but I’d say wait to rent it. It runs at least a half-hour too long. There were various parts where I was like, “Oh here’s a good part where it could end and…oh, no…it’s still going.” No one needs to sit in a stiff movie theater seat for that.
It’s not easy to take a popular book series and bring it to life on the big screen. While Tom Cruise’s efforts to breathe cinematic life into Lee Child’s “Jack Reacher” have fizzled (watch one and it feels like an extended episode of “Law and Order”) there appears to be hope for the late Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp character. Flynn left the world much too young, but Mitch lives on.
In this film, Dylan O’Brien stars as Rapp, a happy go lucky graduate student whose life is changed for the worst when his girlfriend is shot during a terrorist attack on a beach resort. Trading in text books for knives and martial arts training, Mitch sets out to take on terrorists all by himself only to be recruited by the CIA and given formal training by the gruffy and surly Stan Hurley (Michael Keaton, back as part of the Keaton-aissance.)
Rapp is a walking contradiction and difficult to control. He’s got a personal grudge, a fact that the CIA believes it can exploit in the form of an agent who can be pushed to the brink. On the other hand, the personal grudge means he doesn’t take orders and is willing to put the mission at risk, which causes Mitch and Hurley to lock horns often.
Ultimately, Mitch will be forced to face Ghost, a former trainee of Stan’s who went rogue. If you’re a nerd, you might see the Stan as Obi Wan, Ghost as Darth Vader and Mitch as Luke Skywalker parallel.
Many thrillers are satisfying on the page only to come out as blah on screen, but I think Hollywood has something here in the form of a young, angry American anti-James Bond character.
Let me put it this way. I’ll probably watch “American Assassin 2” before “Jack Reacher 3.”
Renowned Romance Expert Hardassimo J. Scrambler, BQB’s Grumpy Uncle 
Bookshelf Battle 