Author Archives: bookshelfbattle

Apr 26 2017
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Literary Poop With Professor Nannerpants

Literary Poop with Professor Nannerpants – Analysis Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Professor Horatio J. Nannerpants, Professional Simian Literary Professor/Semi-Professional Poop Flinger

Oh, 3.5 readers!  Get thee to Europe to see the glory of what once was.  The statues, the brilliant architecture and of course, the fine cuisine.  It’s all so lovely that it almost breaks my heart when I lose control and throw my poop all over it.

Yes, in this land rife with history, there are all sorts of lessons to be learned about history and culture, stories of monarchs who have come and gone.  And you’ll even find such tales written into various antiquities the world over, even in, say, Egypt.

Have you set a goal for yourself, 3.5 students?  Is it a big project?  Perhaps it’s causing you a great deal of anxiety.  In times such as these, I highly recommend flinging your poop against the wall.  I know it calms me right down, though I presume it creates all sorts of untoward feelings inside the poor individual who must clean up the poop.

Oh well.  That’s not my problem, for I am much, much too important to clean up poop.

Not only is life short and full of poop, but eventually, everything you do or say or even accomplish will, as a basic matter of fact, turn into poop.  Such is the point of Ozymandias, the old poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

“I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Pardon my French, 3.5 students, but that Percy Bysshe Shelley was one morose motherfucker.  To paraphrase the immortal Ben Affleck’s line delivered in that most seminal work, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, it’s as if someone shit in Percy’s breakfast cereal.

But the man has a point.  The poet speaks of Ozymandias, better known as Ramses II, the mightiest of all Egyptian pharaohs.

Ozymandias believed in himself so righteously that he had himself preserved in a giant statue.  The engraving boasts of Ozymandias’ power and warns other mighty kings to “look upon” his works “and despair.”

Despair about what?  All the broken statue pieces and shit littering the dessert sands?

What is Percy getting at?  The fragile nature of life.  Maybe one day you’ll accomplish as much as a great Egyptian pharaoh, but sooner or later, the poop will hit the fan.  You’ll kick the bucket and all the material possessions you acquired will end up broken and rotting underneath the sand, or dirt, depending on where your shit is doing its rotting.

Now, don’t get Percy wrong.  I don’t think he’s coming right out and saying, “Give the eff up.  Smoke a bone and stop trying because we’re all screwed anyway.”

I mean, it’s still pretty awesome that Ozymandias managed to do so many great things that he was eventually preserved in the form of a giant ass statue.  Sure, you can mock him, but it’s not like you ever did anything that led to your immortalization in a statue.

The lesson?  Do try, for there may be awesome rewards.  However, if you fail, don’t beat yourself up too badly about it.  After all, this is all turning to poop sooner or later.

Is there something you’re trying to achieve, 3.5 students?  Do you worry that one day it will all turn to poop?  Fling your poopy thoughts in the comments.

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Apr 25 2017
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Tomfoolery

BQB’s Confessions

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They say that confessions are good for the soul.  If that’s true, then I might as well get some things off my chest.

This could get embarrassing.  Good thing this website only has 3.5 readers

Confession #1 – Overeating

I eat too much.  There, I said it.

Everyone’s addicted to something.  Some people have drugs.  Some people have sex.  Some people have alcohol.  Some people have sex while they’re taking drugs and drinking alcohol.

Me?  I’m chasing that pizza dragon.  Sometimes on my way home from a hard day’s work at Beige Corp, I’ll stop off at East Randomtown House of Pizza and pick up an extra large pie with extra cheese, extra pepperoni, extra bacon, and extra pizza.  Yup.  That’s when they put another pizza on top of your pizza.

Then I go home, strip down to my underpants, and from there it becomes like a scene from a bad drug movie.  Like you know when there’s a character on drugs and they do a close up of the spoon as the heroin is melted over a fire and then loaded up into a needle and so on?

(Don’t do that shit, by the way kids.  I’m serious.)

Anyway, that’s me, but with pizza.  In my mind, I can actually here that eerie 1960s drug ballad “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane.

It’s almost like I’m trapped in a scene in an addiction movie.  Just imagine me in my underpants, covered with pizza sauce, sticking another piece down my cake hole while I know I shouldn’t.

Then that song plays.  “One piece of pill makes you stronger and one pill makes you small and the ones that Mother gives you, don’t’ do anything at all…Go ask Alice…when she’s ten feet tall.”

I could rewrite the song but it would be something like, “One piece of pizza makes you larger….”

I Can’t Guarantee My Gym Farts Were Not Loud

I used to work out more.  I’d put in my earbuds, get a good song on, and then just do the elliptical.

When you’re in the zone, and your body is all loose and limber, well, hell, there was gas and it needed to get it out…so out it got.

I assumed they were silent.  I could feel the toots coming out of my pooter but I didn’t hear anything so I figured it was fine.  Smell?  Yeah, but it’s a gym.  The whole place smelled like Red Bull and old man balls.

It was only until years later that I realized the music in my ears may have prevented me from hearing the possible noise in my farts.

I want to be clear.  I don’t know for sure that I openly made noisy farts.  I just can’t tell you I didn’t with a reasonable degree of certainty due to the loud music in my head phones.

I Don’t Donate that Dollar

You ever go to a store and the cashier asks you if you’d like to donate a dollar to whatever organization that they are collecting for?  I never do.  I figure all those dollars add up and then what the hell?

I used to say yes because I felt bad.  Then I said no but I felt bad.  Now I say now and I don’t feel bad.

I am a monster.

Your Confessions

Do you have any funny confessions, 3.5 readers?  Share ’em in the comments and BQB will absolve you of your sins.

NOTE: My lawyer says don’t confess to like, an actual crime.  Just confess to funny, embarrassing yet legal things.  It is legal to eat too much, fart in public, and not donate a dollar, for example.

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Apr 25 2017
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Tomfoolery

For Those Just Tuning In…

In case you’re not up to speed on your Bookshelf Battle history, this blog is the best blog ever created about a magic bookshelf caretaker who spends his days toiling away at Beige Corporation, the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories, and his nights at BQB HQ, fighting the forces of evil and writing books to appease the maniacal alien overlord known as the Mighty Potentate.

:::deep breath:::

If you can find a better blog about a magic bookshelf caretaker who spends his days toiling away at Beige Corporation, the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories, and his nights at BQB HQ, fighting the forces of evil and writing books to appease the maniacal alien overlord known as the Mighty Potentate…then you’re welcome to check it out.

Or better yet, allow my spokeswoman to explain what this fine blog is all about:

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Apr 25 2017
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Stop Sucking With Vinny Baggadouchio

Stop Sucking with Vinny Baggadouchio – My Money Problems Suck

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World Renowned Motivational Speaker/Anti-Suck Expert Vinny Baggadouchio

I’m Vinny Baggadouchio and I think it totally sucks when people suck.

Perhaps you’ve read one of my many fine anti-suck books:

There’s Got to Be a Suck-less Morning After

Once Around the Riverbend of Non-Suckdom

Sucks to Be You, But It Doesn’t Have To

Helpful Hints for Suckers

Un-Suck Your Life in One Year or Less

Step Up and Stop Sucking

Does It Suck in Here or Is It Just You?

Glad you 3.5 suckers are back, still joining me in this long, arduous journey to a suck-free lifestyle.  You know, they say that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither will your suck-free life.  So if it feels like your suck-free life is taking too long, then just pretend you’re a Roman…but not just any Roman – a sucky Roman.

Today’s suck related question comes from a big old sucker with sucky money problems:

Dear Vinny B,

I sure do suck with money!  Every penny I earn is already spent before I make it.  I can’t help it.  I have all sorts of money sucking addictions.  Gambling.  Shopping.  Oh, and I have three ex-wives who suck any leftover money I have right out of my wallet.

The bank’s about to foreclose on my house.  My car’s been repossessed.  I don’t think I’ll ever retire.

Is there anyway for me to climb down this mountain of suck?

– A Guy Who Sucks at Money from Brooklyn

Wow, Brooklyn Sucker.  Your life sounds like it sucks the big one for sure.  And you’re right.  You’ve climbed up a big mountain of suck.  It’s so big you might as well call it Mount Suckeverest.

But I’m pleased to say that with most sucky problems in life, there is a suck-less solution to a big time sucky problem.

To put it bluntly – stop sucking at money!  (FYI you can buy my new thirty part book series, “Stop Sucking at Money” for just seven hundred dollars each.  A real bargain if you ask me.  Check your local non-sucking book store for more info).

Let me go through the typical things that suckers do to suck up their finances:

Gambling

Gambling sucks.  Some people can go to a casino, have a drink, have a laugh, lose a little money on the slots and that’s it.  Others convince themselves that they’re just one lucky hand away from easy street and so they they throw their money away.  And then, just when they’re down to their last couple of bucks, they throw that away too.

This is a situation that sucks.  If you can’t control yourself in a casino, then please, make a pledge to never step inside one.

In fact, stay away from all forms of gambling.  Lucky scratchers.  Lottery tickets.  High stakes games of paper, rock scissors.  If it’s a game that involves betting, you need to stay out of it or else your life will always suck.

Shopping

Sure, we all need stuff.  And yes, occasionally it’s nice to even splurge a little.

But, if you are constantly buying junk you don’t need then you’re going to rack up some pretty high credit card bills.

Exercise some willpower.  New shoes?  Your old ones are just fine.  New underwear?  Underpants with holes in them never hurt anyone.  Easier access if you ask me.

New gadget or gizmo?  It’ll either break or be rendered obsolete by a newer version by the time you bring it home from the store.

Make a budget.  Stick to it.

Cut Up Your Credit Cards

Let’s face it.  Bankers suck.  However, one thing they don’t suck at is sucking up your money.  If you’re running up high credit card bills, then sit back and watch as your interest charges pile up.

Many suckers look at credit cards as free money.  That’s because these suckers suck when it comes to thinking about the future.

Don’t work for the bank.  Work for yourself.  If you can’t afford to buy it with cash, then you don’t need it.

Save

Brooklyn Sucker, it sounds like your finances really suck, so I doubt you’ll ever get out from under this suck cloud anytime soon.  But, once you do, make a vow to never suck up your money like this ever again.

Start not sucking at saving money.  Whether it’s a hundred, ten, or a single dollar, make a contribution to a high interest savings account every week.  Over time, it all adds up.  Hell, maybe after awhile, you might do some modest, reasonable investing by looking into some decent suck-free mutual funds.  Don’t get too crazy.  Sometimes suckers are known to get carried away and gamble with the stock market like they do at a casino.

The bottom line is that non-suckers make their money work for them.  Money begets money and more money begets a less sucky lifestyle.

Suck-Less Conclusion

The road ahead of you is long and full of suck, Brooklyn Sucker.  The sooner you buckle down and stop sucking, the sooner you’ll end up in the highly coveted Valley of Non-Suckitude.

By the way, you can get my new book, “The Valley of Non-Suckitude” at a book store near you that doesn’t suck, for the low, low price of $999.99.  It includes a book on beta max and a signed photo of yours truly.  I mean, you have sucky money problems, Brooklyn Sucker, so whenever you hear of a low, low, ridiculously low price on a book that will totally change your life, then you really should take advantage of it.

 

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Apr 24 2017
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Tomfoolery

Not All of My Posts Can Be Winners

I know, 3.5 readers.  You’ve grown used to finding gold on this amazing blog every day.

But I’m not a machine, you know.  Not all of my posts can be winners.

All I can think of to say today is to follow me on twitter – @bookshelfbattle

That’s it.  That’s all.  Go have a snow cone and do something productive.

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Apr 23 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 21

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Although Buford Dufresne was in his late twenties, his hair was still stuck in the early 1990s. No one had informed him that the mullet had gone out of style long ago and no one was about to do so no. When it came to his hair, it was all business in the front and a party in the back.

Even so, he managed to squeeze into the least stained white shirt, pants, and tie combo available and roll into the dealership, where he would hide in his office all day, ignoring any and all customers while he played video games.

And boy, did he have an impressive rig. Two massive monitors attached to a Nantuzasaki Game Tower, complete with a top of the line graphics card, dual core memory, solid state drive, and enough RAM to choke a horse. All of this processing power allowed him to run over pixelized prostitutes with the greatest of ease as he played the most violent video game ever, Car Thief Mayhem.

Knock knock. The Mayor’s fist pounded on the door. “Son?”

Buford sipped from a straw stuck inside a gallon sized cup of convenience store diet cola. He threw a few potato chips into his pie hole for good measure, then returned his eyes to the screen. He clicked a few buttons, causing his character to get out of a stolen car, bonk the prostitute over the head with a lead pipe, then steal all of her hard earned trick money.

The Mayor knocked again. “Buford? You in there?”

The young man clicked more buttons. His character got back into his stolen car, ran over a few pedestrians, and then ended up in a high speed chase with the police.

“Buford!” the Mayor shouted. “You playin’ with yourself in there!”

Buford sighed. “No, Daddy!”

“Then open up the goddamn door, son! I need to talk to you!”

“I’m busy, Daddy,” Buford said. “Come back later.”

Buford clicked a few more buttons. His character drove his car off a cliff and crashed into a helicopter. It was a horrific, fiery explosion that won Buford 10,000 points. The young man celebrated by opening up his soda cup, dumping in the contents of an energy drink can, then closing up cup’s lid and sipping away.

“Buford Bartholomew Dufresne!” the Mayor shouted. “You will open the door for your Daddy this very instant! Don’t you think for one second you’re too big for me to take you over my knee!”

Buford sighed. He felt defeated. He knew his old man had the energy to knock on his door all day. He realized the sooner he got the lecture that was coming his way, the better. He paused his game, got up, and opened the door.
“Buford,” the Mayor said as he stepped into his son’s office. “I got to talk to you. I heard you…”

The Mayor pinched his nose. “Jumpin’ Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick! This room stinks! The last time I smelled a stench this bad I was digging a latrine in De Nang.”

The old man looked to the corner, where Buford’s trash can was overflowing with used fast food containers, some of them weeks old.

“Who are you, Little Lord Fauntleroy?” the Mayor asked. “You too good to empty your own damn trash can?”

Buford sat back down and unappeased his game. “Sorry, Daddy. I just been busy.”

“Busy killin’ your brain cells on them shoot ‘em up video games!” Buford said. “I never should have bought you that stupid thing. When the hell are you gonna get up off your fat ass and get out on the floor and make a sale?”

A little bit of drool pour out of the right side of Buford’s mouth as his eyes remained fixated on the screen. “I’m working up to it, Daddy.”

The Mayor took off his cowboy hat and dabbed at the top of his bald head with a handkerchief, removing the excess sweat. “You’re working up to it? Shee-it. And I suppose the Lord Almighty is workin’ up to the rapture. That’ll come first before you start earnin’ your keep around here.”

“Come on, Daddy,” Buford said.

“Don’t you come on Daddy, me, you little sack of shit,” the Mayor said. “Look at me, son. I’m Sitwell’s pride and joy. I got a business that employs over a hundred people. I’m a beloved mayor who makes important decisions every day. And what the hell are you doing with the one and only life that God will ever give you? Running over computerized prostitutes instead of doing something, anything, literally anything at all to better yourself.”

Buford mashed the buttons on his controller. His character respawned in front of a hospital, then stole a truck and ran over a contingent of little old ladies, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken walkers in his wake.

“I blame myself,” the Mayor said.

“Aww, Daddy,” Buford said. “Don’t gimme that speech about how you blame yourself again.”

“I will give it to you, boy,” the mayor said. “Your old daddy wasn’t around enough when you were growin’ up. I was too busy wheelin’ and dealin,’ chasin’ that green that I never took the time to teach you how to be a man. Now you’re like a man-child, a little baby stuck in man’s body. You’re more confused than a horny alley cat trapped behind a spay and neuter clinic.”

Burford moved the sticks on his controller. His character performed a drive-by on a nun convention.

“I set your momma up right,” Buford said. “She never had to work a day in her life. I thought she’d be able to take care of ya, teach ya how to behave all proper like but I was foolin’ myself. Old Lurleene was just a simple minded stripper, dumber than a box of rocks and hooked on anything she could snort up her nose or shoot in her veins. Hell, given all that, I’m surprised you didn’t turn out worse.”

Buford took a sip of his soda. “It weren’t all that bad, Daddy.”

The Mayor put his cowboy hat back on. “Son, will you let me be there for you now?”

The young man paused the game and looked up at his father. “What’s that now, Daddy?”

“I know it’s awfully late,” the Mayor said. “I’m a tired old fart and you’re almost thirty. I doubt I got many good years left. Let me teach you how to be a man, how to take care of yourself. You got to learn, boy, because one day your old Daddy won’t be around to take care of you and then what are you gonna do?”

Buford sighed. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to sell cars, Daddy.”

The Mayor sneered at his son. “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’m a silent partner in a number of business I have invested in town. One of those businesses happens to be Big Ray’s House of Funbags, the classiest titty bar this side of Orlando. I’ll talk to Big Ray. He’ll give you a job as a manager. You can squire around the girls and polish their titties with titty wax before they get on stage. You’ll be on your own, independent, doing something with your life.”

Buford shoved some more chips into his mouth. “I don’t want to do that either, Daddy.”

“Are you serious?” The mayor asked.

“Sure am,” Buford replied.

“Son, that’s a primo offer,” the Mayor said. “Oh Lord, you’re not one of them gay fellas, are you?”

“No, Daddy,” Buford said.

“Because you know son, you can tell your Daddy if you’re gay,” the Mayor said. “I don’t approve of that, but all them Democrats tell me I’m legally obliged to still love you even if you’re gay so I reckon I still will.”

“I’m not gay, Daddy,” Buford said. “I just don’t want to work in no titty bar.”

The Mayor took a deep breath. “Then son, what is it, pray tell, that you want to do with your life?”

Buford pressed some more buttons on his controller. His character drove a big rig through a department store.

“This,” the young man said.

“This?” the Mayor said.

“Uh huh,” Buford replied.

“You want to play video games?” the Mayor said.

“Until the day I die,” Buford said.

“Son,” the Mayor said. “How do you expect you’ll earn a living playing video games?”

Buford shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I’ll get real good I guess. Maybe I’ll compete in some video game competitions and earn some big money.”

The Mayor repeated half of what his son just said, just to make sure he was hearing correctly. “Compete in a video game competition and earn big money? Oh Lord, how I have failed you.”

“Daddy, I’m comin’ up to a real hard part, here,” Buford said.

“I made life too easy for you,” the Mayor said. “You never had to struggle. Never had to fend for yourself. Never had to fight for scraps. I gave you everything you wanted in the hopes that one day you’d outshine me and now look at yourself.”

“Blah, blah, blah, Daddy,” Buford said. “You gonna stand there and yap all day?”

The Mayor lost it. He picked up one of the monitors and heaved it against the wall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces.

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Get out!” the Mayor shouted. He grabbed the other monitor and hurled it against the wall. Then he picked up the game station, tossed it on the floor, and stomped on it with his cowboy boot.

Buford grabbed his soda, then ran out into the showroom. His father quickly followed.

“Get the hell off my lot, you no good lazy, loafing son of bitch!” the Mayor shouted.

All of the customers and salesmen turned around to watch the scene unfold.

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “Why’d you go and break my video games for?”

“So you’ll grow up, you dumb shit!” the Mayor shouted. “No son of mine is going to waste his life the way do for you! Offices are for people who do work! You do one goddamn day of work in your life and you can have it back! Until then, get out and don’t you dare come back here until you do.”

Buford looked around, confused and embarrassed.

“OK I’m sorry Daddy,” Buford said. “Let’s just cool down and we’ll talk about this at home.”

“That’s MY home, boy!” the Mayor hollered. “Don’t you step one foot back there!”

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “You’re kicking me outta the house?”

“You’re damn right I am,” the Mayor said. “You can either go live with your whore of a mother or you can be a man, earn a living, and find your own place, but I aint gonna coddle you into being a big giant man baby for one day longer, you hear me!”

Buford hanged his head down low and performed the long walk of shame towards the door. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I mean it, boy!” the Mayor said. “You won’t get one more paycheck from me. Not one more hand out, not one more dime until you learn how to become a man. I know there’s something wrong with you, boy. If you aint gay, then it’s something you aint telling me and if you don’t tell me then you’re going to have to sort it out on your own.”

Buford lost it. He threw his soda cup against the wall and it exploded, sending drops of diet cola all over the nearby customers. “I aint gay and there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“There damn sure is something wrong with you, boy!” the Mayor shouted. “You’re not right in the head and any two-bit, half-ass shrink could easily see that from a mile away! Fix yourself and do it pronto!”

Buford threw his father the middle finger. “Choke on a ten foot dick and die, Daddy!”

“Oh!” the Mayor said. “That’s real nice talk! I bet you learned that from your mother!”

“I’ll prove you wrong, Daddy!” Buford shouted. “I’ll be richer and famous-er than you ever were!”

“Good!” the Mayor said. “Then I won’t have to worry about your stupid ass, anymore!”

Buford gave his father two middle fingers. “Fuck you, Daddy!”

The Mayor returned both middle fingers. “Fuck you back, son!”

The young man exited the building and slammed the door behind him. The Mayor looked around at all of the astonished customers. He straightened his tie.

“Sorry about that folks,” the Mayor said. “Tell you what? Ten percent off any car built during the Clinton administration for all your trouble!”

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Apr 23 2017
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Zom Fu

Zom Fu – Chapter 62

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“Aaarrrrgggh!”

Junjie screamed as he came to his senses. He looked around. He was back in the Emperor’s throne room. The ghostly apparition of the Infallible Master stood before him.

“He…he killed my parents?”

The master looked away. “Yes, my son.”

“You knew!” Junjie shouted.

“I did,” the master said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Junjie asked.

“Because a mind locked in rage can never be truly focused on a higher purpose,” the master said. “You already despised Dragonhand for turning your beloved Mei-Ling into stone. You would have lost control had you learned that he killed your parents as well. You would have fought with fury, rather than skill…with anger, rather than cunning. You would have…”

“I would have known the truth,” Junjie said.

“You would have died,” Junjie said. “Dragonhand would have defeated you. Of that, I am certain.”

Junjie stood up.

“I intended to tell you,” the master said. “After…all of this.”

Junjie wiped a tear from his eye. He leaned in to hug the master, put his arms passed through.

“I forgot,” Junjie said.

“I know,” the master said.

“Dragonhand never realized I was the child?” Junjie asked.

“An undead man’s brain is a swirl of confusion,” the master said. “Most of the time, Dragonhand believed he was his own man, separate from Longwei. That is true, for Longwei’s soul resides in Diyu. However, Dragonhand possessed Longwei’s brain and with it, his memories. At times, the creature was perplexed and puzzled, confident that he was a champion, free from a sense of right and wrong that a soul provides and yet, burdened by all the petty jealousy and aggrieved feelings that were stored away in Longwei’s mind. He claimed he was better than Longwei and yet, a part of him longed to prove to me that he was my best student.”
“Am I your best student?” Junjie asked.

“Well,” the master said. “I’ve never had a student who defeated a foe such as Dragonhand, so I’d say yes.”

A few seconds of silence passed.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” the master said.

“I won’t,” Junjie replied.

“And now you know my great shame,” the master said. “I could have destroyed Dragonhand all those years ago, at the very instant he became one of the undead. I could have saved everyone – the kung fu clans, the masters, the soldiers, so many innocent villagers – I could have spared so many so much pain had I just brought myself to extinguish him but I could not.”

“Why couldn’t you?” Junjie asked.

“Because every member of the Clan of the Sacred Yet Inscrutable Tiger Claw is my child,” the master said. “Their pain is my pain. Their suffering is my suffering. A father doesn’t stop loving a child just because he has done wrong. I loved Longwei too much to snuff out Dragonhand, but I realize now that I selfishly put my own emotions over the lives of so many.”

“I don’t know that I can blame you,” Junjie said.

“We all make mistakes,” the master said. “For centuries, the master of our clan has been called, ‘the Infallible Master,’ but I assure you, your master is very much fallible.”

The conversation between master and student was cut short by the sounds of the Whirlwind, struggling under the strain of a massive weight. He entered the room. Niu had come to and he was in his feet, but resting most of his bulk on the Whirlwind’s shoulder.

“Hergh!” cried the Whirlwind as he eased his hefty charge down onto the steps.

Once free of Niu, the Whirlwind choked and wheezed as he caught his breath. “It’s nothing but vegetables from hereon out for you, baldy!”

The Whirlwind collapsed on the steps next to Niu. “I will hurl myself from the highest cliff in all the world before I carry your giant ass around, that I can guarantee!”

Junjie and the master rushed to Niu’s side.

“My son!’ the master said.

Niu was speechless.

“That bag of filth took his peepers,” the Whirlwind said. “But I bravely carried his carcass all the way here, putting myself…and my back…in great danger.”

No one appeared to be all that concerned with Niu’s well-being. Junjie ripped a strip off of Dragonhand’s robe and handed it Niu. The big man held it over his eyes to sop up all the blood.

“Niu?” Junjie asked. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, Niu nodded his head up and down. His voice was hoarse. “Yes.”

The master turned around. “Watch over my son, Whirlwind. Junjie, come, we must save the Clan of the Mediocre Yet Effective Club Bonk.”

As master and student walked towards the door, they were met by Rage Dog. His hair and clothing were sopping wet from rain. He held up a big, brown sack. Inside, a little boy wiggled around and whimpered.

Rage Dog gazed upon Dragonhand’s corpse. He thought about this development for a moment, then laughed hysterically.

“I suppose I should thank you for dispatching my master,” Rage Dog said to Junjie. “Now the Emperor’s brain will be mine!”

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Apr 23 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 20

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With all the turmoil afoot in Sitwell, Mayor Dufresne was doing what any good public servant would do – figure out away to make more money. His Honor was up, bright and early on his car lot, getting prepped by a production crew he hired for his latest local television commercial.

“What do you suppose happened at the college last night, Mayor?” a makeup artist asked as he applied some rouge to the Mayor’s flabby cheeks.

“Oh, hell if I know,” the Mayor said. “These goddamn millennials, always with their drugs and their drinking, their sex and their social media. Rotting their brands instead of serving their community. Why, it’s enough to make a bonafide public servant like myself sick, but I carry on because I know that’s what the good lord would want me to do.”

The makeup artist rested his hand on the Mayor’s shoulder. “You’re very brave.”

“I know,” the Mayor said.

Carl, the Mayor’s top seller, walked on over. Carl was a good enough looking fellow, save for his wall-eye. At any given moment, it was hard to tell where exactly Carl was looking at.

“Just sold another one, boss,” Carl said.

“Hot damn,” the Mayor said as he slapped his knee. “Who’s the lucky sucker…er, I mean, customer?”

“Edna Dinkus,” Carl said.

“That old battle axe?” the Mayor said. “Shee-it. I’ve been barking up that tree for months, but that old dog wouldn’t hunt. How’d you seal the deal?”

“She wanted a car with less than a hundred thousand miles,” Carl said.

“Yeah,” the Mayor said. “Well, like I told her, I want to be the King of Siam and have throngs of bodacious babes tickling my nut sack but wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which fills up first.”

Carl had long learned to not try to decipher the Mayor’s strange sayings or “Mayorisms” as they were known about town. “I let her test drive an old Caddy. She liked it, but wanted one with less wear and tear. So I took it around back, cranked the odometer back to a thousand, told her it was a different that was only owned by a little old lady who only drove it to church and bingo! Sold!”

The Mayor slapped Carl on the back. “Aww, atta boy, Carl. Atta boy. You are the son I wish I had.”

“Thanks Boss,” Carl said. “That sure does mean a lot, coming from a pillar of the community like you.”

“Don’t mention, my boy,” the Mayor said. “Speaking of sons, where’s the one I wish I never had?”

“Buford?” Carl asked. “He’s holed up in his office.”

The makeup artist finished and removed the white paper smock from the Mayor’s chest. The Mayor picked up a martini glass and a lit cigar, both of which had been resting on a nearby stool. Together, Carl and the Mayor walked over to the middle of the lot, where a hole slew of video cameras had been set up.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy,” the Mayor said.

“Aww,” Carl said. “Don’t be too hard on him, Boss. He’s just adjusting to his new position.”

“New position?” the Mayor said. “Boy’s been here for three goddamn years and hasn’t made a single sale. I have half a mind to have him tested. No one way of my golden sperms could have produced a boy who can’t make a sale. Hell, I could sell an outhouse to a man without an asshole but that boy couldn’t even sell penicillin to a discount prostitute.”

“He’ll figure it out one day, Boss,” Carl said. “Growing pains, you know.”

“Growing pains?” the Mayor said. “Shee-it. Boy’s nearly thirty years old and as far as I know the only pussy he’s touched is the one that belonged to his Momma when the doctor yanked him out of it.”

Carl snickered. “That’s a good one, Boss.”

The director of the commercial, a young man with a backwards baseball cap on, called out to the star. “We’re going to roll in five minutes, Beau!”

“That’s good,” the Mayor said. “Let’s get this show on the road. Time is money, you know.”

The Mayor took a sip of his martini, then a puff of his cigar. He looked around the lot. Juggling clowns were entertaining families. Strippers turned part-time models were striking seductive poses by cars as crusty old perverted men stopped to oggle. Lot workers passed out cotton candy and popcorn. Kids went nuts in bouncy houses.

The Mayor shook his head. “I’ve told that boy time and time again, ‘All this will one day be yours.’ And it just doesn’t get through to his pea brain.”

“Some people just don’t appreciate what they got, Boss,” Carl said.

The Mayor stared at Carl’s lazy eye. The old man moved to the left, then to the right. “Carl, where the hell are you looking?”
“At you, Boss,” Carl said.

The Mayor looked over to a nearby El Camino, where a model was standing.

“Are you looking at me or that model’s ass?” the Mayor asked.

Carl blushed. “Both.”

“Shee-it,” the Mayor said. “If that isn’t a super power.”

“It comes in handy,” Carl said.

“Yeah,” the Mayor said. “Still, it freaks the bejesus out of me. How many times do I have to tell you to wear a pair of sunglasses in my presence?”

“I forgot, Boss,” Carl said.

“Stop forgetting,” the Mayor said as he scratched his chubby gut. “I need my people to look presentable, you hear?”

“I hear, Boss,” Carl said.

The Mayor sipped his martini.

“Two minutes, Beau!” the director shouted.

“Damn it!” the Mayor shouted at the director. “You don’t need to count down like this is some kind of fancy newfangled nuclear missile launch, son! Just tell me when you’re ready to shoot!”

“OK, Beau,” the director said.

The Mayor used the sleeve of his white suit to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Goddamn it. I live a burdensome life, let me tell you. I gotta do everything around here. If only that useless, good-for-nothing son of mine would step up to the plate once in awhile, I could enjoy my golden years before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“I’m sorry, Boss,” Carl said.

“Not your fault, Carl,” the Mayor said. “You’re the wind beneath my wings and the apple in my dumpling. I don’t know what I’d do without you. But that son of mine? Shee-it. When I was his age, I was broker than a train hopping hobo. I didn’t have more than two pennies to rub together but through strength and hard work and determination, I became a great success. My Daddy didn’t have a pot to piss in to leave me. If my Daddy had left me a classy operation like this, I’d have jerked him off on command and been happy to do it.”

“I’m sure it will all work out someday, Boss,” Carl said.

“I hope so,” the Mayor said. “You’re a good boy, Carl. I don’t say that enough.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Carl said. “You know, I didn’t see my Daddy growing up all that much, so sometimes I look at you like you’re my…”

The director shouted, “Action!”

The Mayor pushed Carl away. “Get the hell outta my frame, ya’ googly-eyed, monster!”

The illustrious car salesman composed himself. He contorted his ugly face to form a wide-grin, right into the camera.

“Hooo, dawgies!” the Mayor said. “How y’all doin’ out there in TV land? Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium here. You know, people say my cars are slightly used, but I like to say they’re previously loved. Every car on my lot was treated with a gentle touch by their previous owners, the kind of gentle touch that you only see in one of them fancy French romance films.”

The Mayor stepped in front of an extremely old beige sedan. “Take this beauty here. Owned by a shut-in who never even drove it. Why, this baby is in such tip top shape that…

Whack! The Mayor slapped the hood of the car. The front bumper instantly fell and clattered to the ground.

The Mayor was furious. He looked around. “Who the hell put that car out here?”

The director waved his hand. “Keep going! We’ll fix it in post!”

The Mayor composed himself and returned his gaze to the camera. “Boy, it’s a hot Florida summer, folks. Hell, I just looked at a thermometer and it told me that it’s hotter outside than Scarlett Johansson’s behind. You know what y’all should do on a hot day like this? Come on down to Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium. Have yourself a nice, cool glass of lemonade and talk to one of my highly qualified, intensely trained salesmen. Each one is guaranteed to make you a deal that’s right for you. No pressure. No gimmicks. Just straight up southern hospitality with a smile.”

Just off to the Mayor’s left, a model dumped a dab of white powder onto the back of her hand and sniffed it. The Mayor glared at her. She looked around with a surprised look on her face.

“Oh,” the model said. “Are we still rolling?”

“Post!” the director shouted. “We’ll fix it in post!”

“I’m fixin’ to post my foot up all your asses!” the Mayor shouted.

“You’re doing great, Beau,” the director said. “Keep going.”

The Mayor composed himself again. “Here at Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, we provide service with a smile and we aim to please. Why, if you’re not happy with your experience in the slightest way, I want you to bend my ear about it and we’ll get you fixed up in two shakes of a dog’s leg.”

The Mayor climbed behind the wheel of a used convertible. The top was down. The Mayor tipped his cowboy hat at the camera.

“Life is short, folks,” the Mayor said. “And you deserve to look good. Hell, even the ugliest ignoramus will look like a Hollywood star behind the wheel of this fabulous…”

The Mayor turned the key. The engine stalled.

“…behind this fabulous….”

The Mayor turned the key. The engine stalled again.

“I say, even the ugliest ignoramus will look like a Hollywood star behind the wheel of this fabulous…”

The Mayor turned the key a third time. Kaboom! The engine exploded. The hood flew twenty feet into the air before it crashed on top of one of the bouncy tents, causing the air to rush out of it. Lot workers ran over in a desperate attempt to save all the children inside. Flames and smoke chugged out of the engine.

“I can’t work like this,” the Mayor said as he hopped out of the front seat. He started walking towards the lot’s main office building.

“Come on, Beau!” the director said. “We’ll fix it in post!”

“You can kiss my cotton pickin’ ass in post, son,” the Mayor said as he gulped the last drop out of his martini glass. “I need a refill.”

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Apr 23 2017
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Toilet Gator

Ten Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays!

The time sure does fly when you’re having fun…

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Apr 23 2017
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TV

Daily Discussion with BQB – Child Actors Need Help

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.  As you know, I am involved in a number of noble causes, ranging from the Oscars So Pretty Movement (we will not rest until Steve Buscemi brings home the gold) to finding a cure for Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death (we will find a cure).

I’m also going to throw my hat into a new ring.  Let’s do what little we can to help child actors.

I mean, there’s very little I can do as I am not a Hollywood mogul or anything.  But perhaps I can at least raise awareness amongst my 3.5 readers.

TMZ reports that at the time of her passing, Erin Moran, who played Joanie on Happy Days, was living in an Indiana trailer park.

That sucks.  And I’m not going to speculate about how she got there.  I have no idea about the journey that took her from child star to living in a trailer park.

What I have seen, in general, as a lifelong watcher of TV and observer of pop culture, is that all too often, child stars grow up thinking they’ve got it made, that America loves them as kids and pretty soon, they’ll be adults and they’ll crossover into being the lead in big time films, making lots of money and earning praise and adoration from legions of fans.

Sometimes, in the case of say, Leonardo DiCaprio, it works out that way.

More often, in the case of say, Macauley Culkin, it doesn’t work out that way.

This could be for a variety of reasons but I believe the number one reason is this:  that a kid was adorable as a kid doesn’t mean they are going to grow up to become a good looking adult.

Most kids are cute.  And some, just like those scrunchy faced pug dogs, are so ugly they’re cute…when they’re little.  Macauley Culkin nailed his role in Home Alone as a little boy who is wise beyond his years and manages to outfox two bumbling burglars.

But, adult Macauley Culkin as a leading man in a Hollywood film?  Maybe if the right film were to come along but otherwise…not so much.

Child stars becoming adult stars happens, but not often enough, and sadly, it all depends on looks.  Scarlett Johansson started out as a child star, appearing as a kid in films like Just Cause and The Horse Whisperer.  When she grew up, she turned into a hot babe and thus her career as an actress skyrocketed.

Meanwhile, who can even tell me the name of that little kid with the glasses in Jerry Maguire?

Sadly, Hollywood is a looks based industry.  That you were once a cute little kid doesn’t mean you’ll end up as a hot adult.  And sure, there might be some niche parts you might find but overall, many child actors have a tough time when they reach adulthood.

Some play it smart.  Some find a way to work in some kind of behind the scenes role in the entertainment industry.  The kid who played Chunk in the Goonies, for example, grew up to be a respectable entertainment lawyer.  Jason Hervey, who played Kevin’s older brother on The Wonder Years, became a producer.

Sure, child actors ought to try to see if their youthful stardom can translate into adult success.  But after awhile, if they’ve put their bait out in the Hollywood sea and no one’s biting, they need to be content that they had a good run and then search for a more practical way to make a living.

I know that’s easier said than done.  I can only imagine what a tremendous disappointment it must be to be on top of the world as a kid only to have no one return your calls as an adult.  You thought you had it made in the shade and now everyone is throwing you shade.  I’m sure that’s a depressing situation that can lead to epic sadness, humiliation, drugs, drinking, and so on.

I assume part of the issue is money.  Some of these kids have parents who manage their money well.  Others, not so much.  Perhaps there should be greater oversight as to what happens to the money of child actors.  Then again, it’s not like the government can worry about that what with all the other problems it has.

Perhaps some studio representative should sit the kids down when they are in their teens and say, “Hey, just because this works out today, doesn’t mean it’s going to keep working tomorrow.”  Get them working on an exit plan and on the path to supporting themselves in the event studios don’t want to give them the time of day after their 18th birthday.

There is one thing we can do as a society and that is, don’t bust on child stars who don’t continue with adult stardom.  Child stars who grow up, can’t find acting work, can’t find a behind the scenes job in entertainment, have every right to support themselves, so they should be encouraged to find any kind of ordinary, humdrum job that will support them without feeling embarrassment or shame.

In other words, if one day you enter your local burger joint and find your favorite child star all grown up and flipping burgers, just accept the burger and walk away.  No need to point or gawk or stare or write a snarky post about how that child star became a loser.  Maybe they aren’t a loser.  Maybe they are brave for getting up and carrying on everyday, supporting themselves in a regular way and learning to cope with disappointment and feelings of “what could have been.”

I have a feeling that public ridicule, i.e., “That child star just flipped my burger ha ha ha” is a big reason why child stars who can’t catch a break in Hollywood when they grow up don’t pursue traditional jobs to support themselves.  We normals can’t do anything to help adult ex-child stars get Hollywood jobs, but we can control ourselves and not be dicks when those ex-child stars seek traditional employment.

Anyway, that’s my 3.5 cents, 3.5 readers.

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