Author Archives: bookshelfbattle

Dec 09 2016
5 Comments
Tomfoolery

Baby It’s Cold Outside (Politically Correct Millennial Version)

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”  It’s the go-to Christmas song whenever male and female celebrities want to cut a Yuletide single.

Good for its time but today, let’s be honest, it’s a tad rapey.

Fear not, for I, BQB, have rewritten it for modern times.  Enjoy!

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:::A couple enjoys a drink by the fireside as snowflakes can be seen coming down through the window:::

WOMAN: I really can’t stay.

MAN: Baby…er, I mean fellow person it’s cold outside.

WOMAN: I’ve got to go away.

MAN:  Fellow person it’s cold outside.

WOMAN:  This evening has been…

MAN:  I had been hoping that you’d drop in, but I say that only in a pleasant, non-threatening manner and with no ulterior motive whatsoever.

WOMAN:…so very nice.

MAN:  Will you sign this form indicating your consent to allow me to hold your hands in order to determine if they are cold as ice?

WOMAN:  My mother will start to worry.

MAN:  Beautiful, uh I mean, person whose looks I did not notice whatsoever because beauty is a social construct of the mind, I’d like to ask what is your hurry though please be aware you are in no way, shape or form required to tell me.

WOMAN:  My father will be pacing the floor.

MAN:  Listen to that fireplace roar.  Perhaps we can sit a spell and talk about how your father is a cog in the patriarchy’s vast anti-female machine.

WOMAN:  So really I’d better scurry.

MAN:  Person, please don’t hurry.  Really, your preferred level of speed is your business.

WOMAN:  Maybe just a half a drink more.

MAN:  Turn on Pandora while I pour.

WOMAN:  The neighbor’s might think.

MAN:  Person, it’s bad out there…and I only say that because I have your safety in mind and not because this is an elaborate rouse to engage in inappropriate activities with you, though I understand why you would suspect me of that because I am a disgusting man.  Please take the bed and I will chain myself in a cage to make sure I don’t succumb to my vile mannish ways.

WOMAN:  Say, what’s in this drink?

MAN:  I don’t know but I got it at the same liquor store Bill Cosby goes to.

WOMAN:  I wish I knew how…

MAN:  Now, I wish to point out that your eyes are like starlight now, but I only say that in an artistic sense and not in a romantic sense because you are not a piece of meat to be ogled.  I am so ashamed of myself.

WOMAN:…to break this spell.

MAN:  I’ll take your hat, not because of some outdated idea of chivalry because I fully understand that you are capable of putting your own hat away, but because I would just appreciate the opportunity to assist you with your hat, though if that isn’t cool, just say the word and I will step away from your hat.  Also, I was thinking about mentioning that your hair looks swell but I won’t because “swell” is another social construct.

WOMAN:  I ought to say, “No, no, no, sir!”

MAN:  Oh no, the patriarchy strikes again!  Person, you are not required to call me “sir” and please, by all means, say no.  Say the word and it is out in the freezing cold blizzard you go.  I’m not even going to ask if you would mind if I were to move in closer.  In fact, I’m going to get a tape measure so I can make sure we are separated by ten feet at all times.

WOMAN:  At least I’m gonna say that I tried.

MAN:  Please, you would not hurt my pride if you left.  Male pride is a social construct.  I wish I could find my pride and rip it out of me to teach the patriarchy a lesson.

WOMAN:  I really can’t stay…

MAN:  Person, you must get out!

BOTH:  Ah, but it’s cold outside!

WOMAN:  The snow is so high I can’t get home!

MAN:  Better that you freeze out there than another man gets his way!

WOMAN:  Say, lend me your coat.

MAN:  Here, now please leave and do not delay!

WOMAN: You’ve really been grand…

MAN:  Men are the worst in this land.

WOMAN:  Why don’t you see?

MAN:  They really should round up and jail everyone with a pee-pee.

WOMAN:  There’s bound to be talk tomorrow.

MAN:  Slut shaming is a source of national sorrow.

WOMAN:  At least there will be plenty implied.

MAN:  I’m going to tell everyone I curled up in the corner and cried.

WOMAN:  I really can’t stay…

MAN:…then you totally shouldn’t!

BOTH:  Ah, but it’s cold outside!

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Dec 09 2016
2 Comments
TV

Ducktales Trailer

Disney XD is coming out with a Ducktales reboot soon.

The trailer doesn’t show much but I’m excited.  I know it is a cartoon but I loved this cartoon as a kid.

We see Uncle Scrooge’s money and we hear Donald’s familiar, “Yeah!” and the iconic theme song.

I worry they may have modernized it.  I hope Huey, Dewey and Louie don’t need a trigger warning before each adventure or something.

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Dec 08 2016
4 Comments
Tomfoolery

Kid Fat Shamed By Santa

Did you hear about the kid that went to see Santa and was told by the Jolly Old Elf to “layoff the cheeseburgers and fries?”

Check out the CNN story for more.

So many things at play here, 3.5 readers.

First of all, isn’t it kind of ironic for Santa to call anyone fat?  That’s the pot calling the kettle black, right?  The man is literally famous for being a super fat fatty.

Really, Santa?  You want to tell a chubby kid to lay off the burgers?  OK.  Howsabout you don’t eat a plate of cookies and drink a glass of milk AT EVERY HOUSE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD every Christmas Eve?

Sheesh.

But ok, so this story opened up the can of worms that is the ongoing fat shaming debate.

Here’s my two cents.

It isn’t healthy to be overweight.  However, overweight people should be free to go about their lives without being insulted, name-called, treated like crap.

That’s pretty reasonable.  Like most issues, the debate collapses when both sides huddle to their extreme corners.

On the one hand, you have people who say fat shaming helps fat people so feel free to say nasty things to them and treat them like crap.  It’ll motivate them to lose weight.

Yeah, no.  It’ll just make their lives more difficult and the harder their lives are, the harder it is to lose weight.  If you wouldn’t want someone pointing out your problems every time you step foot out into public, then don’t do it to other people.  Mind your business and stop bothering people.  Pretty simple.

Then on the other side of the debate, you have some people who are fat and they say dumb things like being fat doesn’t cause health problems, its ok, people who don’t find me attractive and don’t want to date me are shitty, whatever.  That’s the other side and that’s equally silly.

Is this kid chubby?  Yes.  Is he still a little kid?  Yes.  Should his parents help him out and get him involved in sports and get him eating right and exercising while he is young and his body can easily bounce back and he’s got the energy to lose weight and build muscle and turn it around so he can live a happy, healthy life?

Yes.

Is that easier said than done?

Yes.

Should a little kid be able to sit on Santa’s lap and not be criticized?

Yes.

Here’s why:  Because this kid probably has no shortage of kids at school who will gladly call him fat and make fun of him, so maybe, just maybe, while his mind is still young and he’s able to still feel a childlike sense of wonder and enthusiasm about the world, he should be able to sit on Santa’s lap and not be told that he’s fat, especially when Santa is also fat.

I mean, come on, being a Rent-a-Santa is like the only job where being fat and having gray hair and a beard gives the candidate a leg up for the position.

In conclusion, my advice to the world:

  • Fatty Haters – keep it to yourself.  If the the portly person is minding his own business, you don’t need to make fun of him.  Don’t be a dick and then try to pass it off as you are a nice guy trying to help him realize he has a problem.  He knows.  It isn’t a matter of him not knowing and needing someone to point it out.  It is a whole perfect storm of DNA, environment, emotions, self-control, addiction and so on.  This person feels bad 24/7, so don’t worry, he’s not going to feel great if you give him a pass on the shitty insult you’ve cooked up in your head.
  • Fat Activists – No, fat people shouldn’t be treated like crap, but don’t put out misinformation and try to convince people that weight issues don’t cause health problems.
  • Santa – You’re fat.  Stop calling kids fat and lay off the cookies.

 

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Dec 08 2016
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state of the bookshelf

State of the Bookshelf – 12/8/16

Hey 3.5 readers.

Time for a State of the Bookshelf address.

First, check out the 3D cover of my upcoming book:

bookshelf-q-battlers-3d-2

You know 3.5, I have to say it.  This book cover is a small victory for me.

Maybe one day I’ll share my trials and tribulations but suffice to say, I’ve been through some shit.  I’m ambitious.  I try hard.  I work hard.  Yet inevitably, for as long as I can remember, I always end up landing flat on my face.

Life has always been like Lucy holding that football.  There have been many times where I, in a Charlie Brown-like manner, would assume I was about to make it (i.e. kick that football) only to have life (or Lucy) take the football away leaving me (just like Charlie) flat on my ass.

I wonder if Charles Schultz ever realized how he captured a brilliant metaphor to explain how people can only try and fail so many times before they give up.  Maybe that’s why Charlie is so lovable.  He kept trying to kick that football even though defeat was certain.

I often wonder why I don’t give up, why I keep Charlie Brown-ing it.  But lately, I think I’m Langston Hughes-ing it:

Dreams – Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Yeah, there are many more practical things I could be doing than blogging and writing, especially when my many attempts at kicking life’s football have left me shouting, “Uggh!” before rolling over and over again through the air then landing on my butt.

Yet, what’s the alternative?  I’ve got to hold onto the dream because Langston is right.  Without dreams, life is a field of barren snow.

So I must keep giving Lucy the chance to pull that football away to avoid a snowy life, if that makes any sense.

All this is a very longwinded way of saying that I don’t feel like the football was pulled away from me in this respect.  I got off my butt, I did something, I set up a design contest, I talked to some designers and I got a pretty sweet cover.

I started out a pessimist.  I thought it wouldn’t work out.  But it did.  Lucy let my toe briefly tap the ball and that’s a step in the right direction.

3.5 readers, I hate to set an arbitrary date but I really need you all to become 3.5 million readers by 2020.  That’s more or less the last year where I could conceivably use my prospective book writing moolah to throw a wild, lavish party ala that party scene in the NWA biopic Straight Outta Compton.

Yeah.  I know.  That’s a lot of pressure to put on myself.  I’m not sure people could get excited enough about books to support an NWA style party in the name of books.  (You have to see the party scene in that movie to know what I’m talking about).

But at any rate, that’s my gauge for success.  Malibu mansion to throw NWA style party in to celebrate my writing career by 2020.  If it happens in 2021, that’ll be too late.  The millions coming in 2022 or 2023 won’t matter.  Give me millions in 2025 and I’ll just smile and nod and then donate it to charity or some shit because by then I will have lost my ability to care.

Malibu NWA style party to celebrate my book career by 2020 or bust!  And you all 3.5 of you are invited.

Hey, by the way, before I go back to yeti captivity, you nerds have put me over 2000 followers.

Thanks for listening, 3.5.  The state of the bookshelf is strong.

 

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Dec 08 2016
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Stop Sucking With Vinny Baggadouchio

Stop Sucking With Vinny Baggadouchio – Desuckifying the Holidays

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World Renowned Motivational Speaker, Anti-Suck Book Author and Bookshelf Battle Blog Columnist, Vinny Baggadouchio

I’m Vinny Baggadouchio and like a giant vacuum cleaner with a stuck “on” switch, I’m sucking all of the suck right out of this sucky world, one sucker at a time.

Perhaps you have read one of my fine anti-suck books:

Six Ways to Suckday

When a Problem Comes Along, You Must Suck It

Suck Less Now…Ask Me How

Have You Ever Tried to Not Suck?

Suck Free in Sixty Days

Sucky Suckers and the Sucky Suckers Who Suck Them

Get the Suck Outta Here!

Don’t Hate the Suck Game, Hate the Suck Player

The Path to a Suck-Free Life

The Super Suck Cure

Help!  I Suck!

Sucker Says What?

3.5 readers, let me tell you, the holidays are great but sometimes they can suck…especially for a person who already sucks.

Think about what a person who doesn’t suck is doing this time of year.  The non-sucker is putting up twinkly lights with his kids and setting up the Christmas tree.  He’s going shopping with his wife, putting on a tacky yet festive, drinking egg nog and singing carols around the fire with family and friends.

Alas, the average sucker does not have such a wonderful life.  The average sucker is alone.  He’s warming up a six month old TV dinner he found in the back of his freezer and Netflixing a sucky movie that was made specifically for Netflix.

That poor sucker.  Due to his sucky life, he has no one to snuggle with,n o kids to give presents to, and few prospects, if any, of turning his life around.

And yes, as that poor, downtrodden sucktastic sucker falls asleep at his computer, his mind drifts off to the promises he made to himself last Christmas.  “By Christmas of next year, I won’t suck!  I’ll have a wife who doesn’t suck and be on my way to having kids who don’t suck!”

Perhaps the sucker has some extended family he can visit, but a self-aware sucker won’t be happy.  He’ll be miserable.  No one wants to be the sucker with a pity invitation.  Non-suckers throw Christmas parties at their lavish, suck-free homes.  Suckers are invited to them so they can sit in the corner and think about all the mistakes they made to lead to the present day where the holidays suck so bad for them.

You know who else has a hard time on Christmas?  The sucker who wrote me this letter:

Dear Vinny B,

The holidays sure do suck.  My wife divorced me five years ago because I sucked up our marriage by playing hide the turnip with her sister’s best friend’s cousin’s dog-walker’s wife’s sister.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, but not so much now.

Christmas used to be a great time for me.  I’d grab a cup of coffee, snuggle up with the missus and watch the kids open their toys.

Now I live in a sucky single-bedroom apartment on the corner of Crack and Meth Streets.  I owe a ridiculous amount of alimony and child support and my children are being raised by their step-dad/my ex-wife’s former yoga instructor.

Every year, from Thanksgiving until New Year’s Day, I feel like shoving my head in the oven and cooking the suck right out of myself because I just don’t know if I will ever be able to climb the anti-suck hill in order to get back to the kind of suck-less life I used to have.

Sincerely,

Big Time Sucker in Jacksonville

Wow.  That’s a lot of suck to de-suck and dissect.

You know Big Time, I play it straight.  I don’t sugar coat things.  I’m not going to suck all over your leg and tell you that your leg doesn’t suck now.

What you did was a sucktabulous thing.  There’s no excuse for it.  That’s the bad news.

But wait.  The good news is that you realize you did a sucky thing.  So many suckers just suck their way through life with nary an understanding of why they suck so much.

You, on the other hand, feel suck shame and that means you are a self aware sucker.  You are mature enough to know the difference between what sucks and what doesn’t suck and that means there is hope for you.

So the first thing I want you to do is to take a look at yourself in the mirror and forgive the sad, depressed sucker staring back at you.  Yes, the sucker staring at you in the mirror sucked up your life.  He looked at all the non-sucking goodness you had and like a skunk in heat, squirted it with a thick layer of suck spray.

That really sucks, but it has been five years.  The mourning period is over and at this point, there’s no use crying over spilt suck.  Once that suck is out of the bag, you can’t contain it. You just have to manage it.

The second thing I want you to do is apologize to your ex-wife.  She signed up with a man she thought did not suck and did not get the non-sucker that she wanted.  Let her know you’re sorry and you know there’s no fixing the suck you brought into her life, but you want to be a man and be a father to your children.

Third, you’re going to put your foot down on the suck and de-suck your life.  Be the non-sucker you used to be again.  Getting angry at yourself for past sucky behavior is normal.  In a way, it is even healthy.  However, at this point, you’ve reached a critical mass where anger, self-hatred and self-loathing will get nowhere.

These negative feelings won’t get your wife back.  They won’t get your kids back.  If anything, they’ll just keep sucking you down, down, down deeper into the suck pit of your sucky life until one day, you find yourself so deep that you can’t crawl back to the suck-free shore and there isn’t a single non-sucker around who would be willing to throw you a suck-free life line.

Improve and take care of yourself.  Curb your sucky habits.  Exercise.  Eat right.  Take care of yourself.  Work hard at your career and find some passions that don’t suck in your spare time.

When you get time to spend with your kids, be the best, least sucky father you can be.  Be a positive role model and maybe, when they’re old enough, apologize to them.  Tell them you’re sorry you sucked things up and want to make sure they don’t repeat your mistakes so they can go on to become productive, non-sucking members of society.

Whether you are Big Time Sucker in Jacksonville, or just one of BQB’s random 3.5 readers, keep this in mind.  The holidays are a celebration of joy, happiness and love.  They are a time to reflect on the past year’s accomplishments and to plan exciting things for the year ahead.

If you feel none of that this season, it is because your life sucks but remember, you are aware of the suck.  You are not ignorant of the suck and realizing that you suck is the first step one must take on the long road to not sucking.

Most importantly, remember how bad you feel this year.  Don’t ball those sucky feelings up and bury them deep inside.  Let them out with a good cry or a loud scream, then spend the next year doing your damnedest to de-suck your sucky life so that next year at this time, you won’t feel depressed.  You won’t feel sad.  You will be one of those non-sucking people who puts on a dopey sweater and hugs his family over the holidays.

Rome wasn’t built in a day or a year, so no, you won’t fix your sucky life in a day or most likely, even in a year.  But a year is long enough to suck a lot of the suck out of your life and you never know, if you put the work in, there just might be a lady who doesn’t suck in your life next Christmas.

Just don’t suck it up this time, Big Time Sucker.

Until next time, I’m Vinny Baggadouchio, wishing you a Suck Free Christmas and a Happy New Year that Does Not Suck.

Don’t forget to buy my one of my anti-suck books at a book store that does not suck near you.

DISCLAIMER: Mr. Baggadouchio is an expert on nothing and has no credentials of any kind.  Nothing he says is to ever be relied upon as advice or taken seriously.  Those with sucky problems are advised to seek out real experts who are trained in the arts of de-sucking the lives of total suckers.

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Dec 07 2016
6 Comments
Writing Prompts

Cover for BQB’s Upcoming Writing Prompts Book

I’m on the way to becoming a self-published author, 3.5 readers.

What do you think of the cover?

bookshelf-q-battlers-for-amazon

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Dec 07 2016
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Things That Really Frost My Ass

Things That Really Frost My Ass – Uncle Hardass Recites Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” – Part 1

By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hello degenerate 3.5 readers.

How are your unlikely writing careers going?

I overheard my idiot nephew Bookshelf Q. Battler saying the other day that you all participated in something called “NaNoWriMo” last month.

Interesting.  Let me do my best impression of the agent that you’ll submit your book to: “NANOWRI…NO!!!”

Get a job, clowns.  The salt mines are calling your name and all that salt isn’t going to mine itself.

In the meantime you useless wastes of space, I want to tell you all about a good man whose reputation is always unfairly trashed this time of year.

That would be one Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge.

You think he’s the bad day in Dickens’ classic?  “Bah humbug!” I say.

Let me lay it all out for you so you special snowflake twerps will understand:

EBENEZER SCROOGE WAS THE ONLY ONE IN THE DAMN BOOK WHO HAD A JOB AND EVERYONE ELSE WAS A BROKE ASS HIPPIE LOOKING FOR A HANDOUT!

If you haven’t read the book yet because you’re too busy working on your writing career (which will go nowhere) then I’ll tell you what happens.

Ebenezer Scrooge is the richest son of a bitch in London and he didn’t get there by writing books and reading stupid ass blogs, let me tell you.  No, he became wealthy through the sweat of his brow and the cut of his jib.

The man was a genius who worked his ass off, saved his money, then, as all rich ass futhermuckers do, he put his money to work for him by becoming a money lender.

Thus, because he’s so friggin’ smart and rich you’d think he’d be the hero of the story and everyone would want to emulate him but noooo.  Instead, every cheap ass, lazy ass do nothing assface in Jolly Old England comes knocking on Scrooge’s door to complain because they’re a bunch of jealous losers who wish they could be half as successful as this pillar of the community.

Do they pick Scrooge’s brain and ask him for tips on how to be successful?  Do they ask him for a job so they can learn the skills they need to make it in the world?

Nope.  They just bitch and moan about what a rich prick Scrooge is rather than look at themselves in the mirror and realize they have made poor life choices and they are failures and if they had an ounce of Scrooge’s work ethic, they wouldn’t be crying poor mouth all the time.

Anyway, so a couple of do gooder charity collectors knock on Scrooge’s door looking for the old man to part with his dough in the name of the less fortunate and Scrooge is all like, “Eat a dick, do gooders, those losers can go to the workhouse or the prison or some shit.”

So then the do gooders are all like, “But shit, yo, the poor people would rather die then do that.

And the Scrooge is all like, “Good then tell them to die, bitch, I ain’t got time for this shit I’m a hard ass working man, son.  Don’t let the door hit you in your do gooders asses on the way out.”

Later, Scrooge’s nephew comes by.  I don’t remember the cat’s name so we’ll just call him Fuckface McGee.  Young Fuckface is all like, “Uncle why don’t you come to my Christmas party!  I love Christmas and I’m all happy and shit!” and then Scrooge tells him, “Yeah, well you would be dick nuts since your parents worked hard and gave you all their cash so you can mince around like a pansy and rub your lack of a need to work in everyone’s face but some of us had to work for what he have so no, go lick a scrote because I don’t have time to go to your Christmas party.”

Then Scrooge’s man secretary Bob Cratchitt gets in Scrooge’s face and he’s all like, “Scrooge can I put some coal on the fire and can I get Christmas Day off?” and Scrooge is all like, “Damn it Cratchitt. Do I look like I’m made of coal?  Does coal just pop out of my ass?  No, that shit costs money.  And you want me to pay you to NOT work on Christmas?  What kind of pinko Commie Marxist bullshit is this?”

But then Scrooge feels bad even though he shouldn’t because let me tell you, that man could have put an ad in the paper for Cratchitt’s man secretary job and have fifty candidates lined up by the end of the week and none of them would want extra coal on the fire or want the day off for Christmas or any of that other crap.

Therefore, Scrooge was all like, “Yeah fine take Christmas off but get your ass here bright and early the next day because all of my important papers and records and shit aren’t going to write themselves, man secretary.”

After working a long ass day because he was such a hardworking man, Scrooge plops his old ass into bed only to hear some chains jingling.  He looks up to find the ghost of his old partner, Jacob Marley.

“Boo, bitch!” cries Marley to wit Scrooge replies, “Goddamn it, Marley!  I’m overworked and old as fuck!  Are you trying to give me a heart attack with your spooky white translucent ghost ass?!”

vintage-1705150_1280

Just another hippy harassing a hard-working, self-made man.

“No, bitch!” Marley says.  “My ass got sent to Hell because we cheated so many people and  stole all their money and shit and now I’m here to warn you to be nicer and do some do gooder shit and give away all your money to lazy ass incompetent freeloaders who don’t do anything!”

And Scrooge says, “What?  Eff that in the A.  Trump won so I’m not going to do all that hippy shit!”

Marley jingled his chains and was like, “Booo!  Boo!  I’m a ghost and shit and I will leave you with a warning that three more ghosts will come to haunt you this evening!”

Then Scrooge rolled his eyes and said, “Damn it.  A hard working, successful man can’t get some sleep around here.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Dec 06 2016
2 Comments
Technology

Amazon’s Checkout Line-Less Grocery Store

Hey 3.5 readers.

Skynet begins!

That’s right.  Amazon has opened up a grocery store without checkout lines, cash registers, employees taking your money or what have you.

The whole thing works with your phone and when you walk out the door, you get charged for whatever food you’ve got with you.  The food items have sensors or something and somehow this damn robot store can tell what food you have taken.

I’m curious how they’d stop shoplifters.  I mean, OK they’ll charge your phone if you have it set up so there’s in that case, even stuffing a bag of Funions down your pants won’t work because you’ll just get charge for those delicious crispy onion treats.

But what if you don’t have the app set up?  I assume Jeff Bezos just sends a team of drones to hunt you down, pick you up by your feet and jingle all the spare change out of your pockets.

It’s very interesting.  I can see some good behind it.  It speeds things up so you don’t have to wait in line.  You can just walk right out the door when you have everything you need.

On the other hand, I do feel bad as this may very well lead to less jobs for grocery store workers.  I know that personally, I have seen more and more stores up the number of self-check out registers in recent years so automation seems to be the trend.

You know what I would love?  If I could just enter all the stuff I want into an app, order it, and then when I show up at the store, someone just hands it to me because they’ve packed it up already.

Come to think of it, there are some stores that do have an online ordering/delivery feature where you can order in line and then they deliver the food to your house.  The downside is you can’t squeeze the melons in the produce section to see if they are ripe or not and I hate to miss out on that because this is the most action I get in life.

What say you, 3.5 readers?  Is this how Skynet begins?

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Dec 06 2016
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Douche Shark

Douche Shark II: Return of Douche Shark (Or, How to Chill, Bro)

By: Douche Shark, the World’s Douchiest Shark

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What up, 3.5 bros?

Pound it, bros.  Pound my fin.  Don’t leave the fin hangin’ bro.  Don’t leave it…aw nice there you go.

Check it bros, not much going on since I last checked in and downloaded my details.  I’m still dope.  I’m still fresh.  I’m still the biggest, baddest, toothiest killer fish in the sea and all the sexy, fly ass she-shark hunnies are after me.

“Oh Douche Shark,” the she-sharks say. “We can’t stop touching your fin” to wit I am known to reply, “That’s cool because there’s plenty of Douche Shark fin to go around ladies and I’m not going to be rationing it any time soon.”

But you know what, 3.5 Brosephs?  I worry about you all.  I worry that you aren’t chilling enough.  You’ve got to chill.  You’ve got to paint yourself yellow so you can totally mellow, bro.  I’m like, super serious right now.  Seriously bro.  Don’t deny my seriousness.

Here are like, some things or whatever, that I, Douche Shark, like to do when I need to chill:

  • Limp Bizkit.  You gotta have Limp Bizkit.  You just have to.  Is it rock?  Is it rap? Is it a man who just banged his thumb with a hammer by accident and now he’s screaming in pain?  You’re guess is as good as mine, Broheim.
  • I like to get my fin frosted.  You don’t got a fin, bro?  Aww, that’s bullshit bro.  You gotta get your hair tips frosted then.  Like, just mix in some blonde with some black and you know what your hair should be at least seventeen different colors bro.
  • Take and post 900 shirtless selfies of my sweet, rockin’ shark bod.  Yeah, all the she-sharks are like, “We aren’t cool with that” but what-evs, brah.  If they don’t like it they can swim aside to make room for a she-shark that digs my rockin’ shark abs.
  • Catalog my wardrobe that consists entirely of sleeveless shirts and backwards hats.  I mean, yeah, a hat isn’t backwards until you put it on your head backwards but don’t complicate the situation, bro.  Don’t contradict me bro.  I’m all hopped up on shark steroids and shark energy drinks so it puts me in a hella bad mood, bro.  FYI dude, you can’t go wrong with a backwards hat and a sleeveless shirt no matter how old you are.  Buy a metric shit ton of backwards hats and sleeveless shirts because they will complete your ensemble no matter how old your ass gets.
  • Get my ass a sweet spray on tan.  I am not a happy douche shark unless I am an orange douche shark.  Don’t blame me, bro.  The sun doesn’t reach the depths of the ocean where I live.  It’s not my fault you don’t know science, guy.
  • Talk to peeps on my bluetooth.  People are impressed by that shit, let me tell you.  When the fish see me with my bluetooth in, they’re all like, “Shit, that is one important douche shark because he can’t put the phone down for a minute and just swim.”
  • Ahh dude, you know what else is a good look bro dude guy?  I like to wear sunglasses but not over my eyes but on the tippy top of my head.  That way, I’m prepared for the sun.  The sun could attack at any minute but as long as those sunglasses are on the top of my head, I can just pull them down within seconds bro and then the sun is defeated.  I can only chill when I have my top of head sunglasses on.
  • I gotta spend at least five hours a day working on my shark car.  It’s a piece of shit from 1972 but I like to spend all my duckets on it.  Put some solid ass spinning gold rims on it.  Get some fuzzy ass dice and a horn that plays Limp Bizkit and tiger skin seat covers and big ass monster truck tires and, what?  Yo, eff you, bro.  Don’t be coming up here and telling me that for all that scratch I could just buy a brand new car.  That’s not how this douche shark rolls, son.
  • Pump those guns son.  Get your ass to the gym.  Work your muscles.  Give everyone unsolicited advice and when they aren’t interested then just say something like, “OK, fine, just keep doing it wrong then, bro” then be sure to snap at least a hundred and fifty photos of your gun pumping to throw up on Facebook.
  • While I do most of my travel by swimming because I’m a shark, I do from time to time enjoy a good cruise in my sweet ass tricked out 1972 shark ride.  When I do, I like to beep the shit out of my horn at the guy in front of me at the exact instant the light turns green.  I don’t even wait, bro.  Not thirty seconds.  Not a minute.  Just, “Green…BEEP!”  You gotta beep as soon as the light turns green, kid.  Otherwise the guy ahead of you won’t know what to do.  It’s not my fault people are stupid bro.  I blame the public school system and the asbestos and lead paint and whatnot.  So many people get stupid just by licking lead paint and asbestos its insane, bro.  It really is.

OK 3.5 bros, that’s all the douchy chillaxing advice I’ve got for you as of this moment in time, but if you’re a douche and you’ve got some advice on how to be a douche for all the other douches reading this shit then by all means, share in the comments, bro.

Until next time, I’ll be swimming up to some crunk ass parties uninvited and drinking all the beers, cuz.

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Dec 05 2016
4 Comments
Tomfoolery

An Interview with Krampus, the World’s Most Notorious Ancient Germanic Yuletide Demon

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

So, as you know, I’m a hostage of the yeti, but he is allowing me to interview my next guest because he is such a fan of his work.

I’m not a fan per se but, you know, the blog must come first and I need the clicks.

Without further ado…Krampus.

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Krampus: Vile Ancient Yuletide Demon/Denier of the Power of Facial Scrubs

BQB: Your Evil Hornyness, welcome.

KRAMPUS: Thank you, BQB. I’d say it’s good to be here but I’ve been thrown out of places much classier than your pitiful blog.  Hell, I had way more than 3.5 followers in the olden days when computers hadn’t even been invented.

BQB:  Right.  So, can you tell my 3.5 followers who you are?  I don’t mean to be rude.  I’m just not sure that they have heard of you.

KRAMPUS: That’s cool, bitch.  First of all, I am hella old.  I date back before pre-Christian times.  Second, I’m the antithesis of everyone’s favorite fat man, that rotund wishy washy do-gooder Santa Clause, or as I call him, “Old Saint Dick.”  See what I did there?

BQB: Yes.

KRAMPUS:  Because he’s really Old Saint Nick but I called him Old Saint Dick because I think he’s a dick.

BQB: Punny.  But we all know what Santa does.  He brings toys to all the good little girls and boys of the world.  What do you do?

KRAMPUS: Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone and stop the presses, Cochise.  Santa does not bring toys to good girls and boys, so let me just straighten out your bent propaganda there.

BQB: He doesn’t?

KRAMPUS:  No, he doesn’t.  Oh sure, he’s got you all hoodwinked with all the, “He sees you when you’re sleeping” and the naughty/nice list but really, honestly, truly, we all know that shit is a scam.  That fat bastard will bring a toy to a kid no matter what and he does not give a shit whether or not that kid has been naughty or nice.

BQB:  Really?

KRAMPUS:  You know it, bitch.  Look, parents love to get their misbehaving little turds to straighten up by warning them that they will get jack shit when Santa finds out all the heinous shit they’ve done, but Santa doesn’t care enough to actually cross-reference a naughty/nice list of every damn child in the entire world.  And you think the elves are going to help him do it?  Those little freaks are union.  They have like nineteen smoke breaks a day and the fat man is lucky if he can get those pointy eared butt goblins to do a half-hour’s worth of work in a day where he pays them for eight hours at a rate of fifty bucks an hour.

BQB:  Wow.

KRAMPUS: I know.  If I were that fat ass crushed red velvet suit wearing diabetes patient, the first thing I would do is send all of those Keebler cookie rejects packing and ship the entire North Pole operation to China.

BQB:  I think we’ve gotten off topic.  You still haven’t told my 3.5 readers what you do.

KRAMPUS:  Well, nothing right now, but back in ancient times, I did Santa’s job.

BQB:  Oh.  So you delivered toys to good little girls and boys?

KRAMPUS: Say what?  Bitch, please.  If a kid was good, I walked my demon ass right on by that kid’s house without giving him a reward.  You’re supposed to be good and to channel my inner Chris Rock, you’re not supposed to get a “cookie” for doing something “you’re supposed to do.”

BQB:  Oh.  And the bad kids?

KRAMPUS:  Beaten with chains.

BQB: Umm…

KRAMPUS:  Yup.  “Hey Gunter and Greta,” all the ancient Germanic parents would say.  “Be good and do your chores and clean up the cave and wipe all the moss off the rocks and don’t talk back or else Krampus will throw you in his sack, beat you with his chains, then drag you off to Hell.”

BQB:  This interview has taken a turn for the worse.

KRAMPUS: Oh please, don’t feed me that namby-pamby bleeding heart shit.  The ancient holiday season was fun.  Ancient folk would even sing songs.  “Krampus Carols” we used to call ’em.

BQB: Please don’t sing one.

KRAMPUS: “Jingle chains, jingle chains, Krampus has got his chains…”

BQB: Stop.

KRAMPUS: “Over the river and through the woods and into Krampus’ sack we go…”

BQB:  Stop.

KRAMPUS: “…it’s slung over his back and down through the cracks of the earth and into the underworld we go-ah-oh!”

BQB:  We get the picture.  So obviously, you don’t do that anymore.

KRAMPUS:  A shame really.  So many children deserve a good in-sack, chain beating.

BQB:  Wow.  OK, just for the record and not just because my lawyer is advising me to say this…I do not condone or approve of violence against children in any way, shape or form.

KRAMPUS:  Fine, fine.  We can nix the chains and the sacks and the dragging naughty children off to Hell now that we live in quote unquote modern “enlightened” times.  But at the very least, that little shit that keeps pulling his sister’s hair and treats his parents like cash machines and personal servants should not get a present from the fat man, don’t you agree?

BQB:  Eh…kids are kids.  Sometimes the worst kids grow up, realize the difference between right and wrong and live good lives despite youthful naughtiness.

KRAMPUS:  Yeah, and like I said, no more sacks, chains, and/or draggings off to the underworld, but maybe instead of a new bicycle, Tommy can pay his penance for bullying all those nerdy kids at school by being forced to watch a week’s worth of incredibly dry documentaries.  “No Tommy.  No presents for you.  No trip to Grandma’s house to play with toys and stuff your face with cookies.  You will now watch programs about how wicker furniture is made until New Year’s Eve.

BQB:  I’m not really for it but I guess it is way better than the chains and the sack and so on.

KRAMPUS:  I’m a hip demon.  I get with the times.  I can find all kinds of new age punishments that twenty-first century hipster millennial parents will be down with.  “What?  You didn’t do your homework?  No presents for you until you eat this bowl of vegan, gluten-free tofu.”

BQB:  I think I know the answer already but I have to ask.  Why aren’t you as well-known as Santa?

KRAMPUS:  Ah.  Where do I start?  Rumor has it that Hitler had me banned.  I can’t confirm or deny that because we evil demons have to stick together, but between you, me and your 3.5 readers, I was such a shit heel that even the dude who was all like, “Hey, maybe shipping off six million people to their doom isn’t such a bad idea” heard about me and was all like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Krampus!  Enough with the chains and the sack beatings already!”

BQB:  So it was Hitler?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, you could say that but really it was commercialization.  The gift and card industry.  Those advertising pricks on Madison Avenue.  I mean, really, around this time of year, whose face do you want to see on your box of cookies, or on your soda-pop bottle or on your television?  Me and my jagged razor sharp teeth of Fatty McGoody-Two-Shoes, what with his chubby angelic cheeks and his professor glasses and his red suit and his warm smile and his overall aura of, “Hey, you all do your best, so here’s some free toys and shit and you know what?  I’ll even let you naughty kids fool yourselves into thinking you were nice all year long because that’s just what the Grandpa of the World does.”

BQB:  Well, when you put it like that…

KRAMPUS:  There’s just no way I can compete with that adorable walking “Before Jenny Craig” model.  I might be getting soft in my old age because there are times when even I want to let bygones and bygones and give old Fatty McManTits a big hug.

BQB: Why don’t you?

KRAMPUS:  Eh, Mrs. Claus and I used to date.  Santa is kind of a dick about it.  It’s all very awkward. I’ve said too much.

BQB:  It’s cool.  Only 3.5 people read this blog anyway.  So what do you do with all your free time now that you have hung up your sack and chains?

KRAMPUS:  Oh, let’s see.  What don’t I do?  Yoga.  Knitting.  A little bit of crocheting.  Spin class.  Pottery Barn.  I can’t even get within five feet of a Pottery Barn without destroying my credit rating, let me tell you.

BQB:  They do have some nice stuff at Pottery Barn.  Krampus, that’s all the time we have and I’d like to thank you for this interview, but I won’t, because it was truly awful and will no doubt give my 3.5 readers nightmares, which they don’t deserve because they are all nice people.  Before you go, do you have any last words?

KRAMPUS:  Don’t be good because an obese, raging pizza addict at the top of the world will give you a free video game if you do, because he will give it to you even if you’re a total asshat anyway.  Instead, be good because you’re supposed to be good.  And if you’re good for the right reason, then good things will come to you throughout your life.

BQB:  Wisdom found in a surprising place.  Thank you for reading, 3.5 readers.  Good night and Merry Christmas.

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