Bookshelf Battle

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 17

Fort Hauser aka the new name for the East Randomtown Park/Rec Center, ran like a finely tuned precision race car.

Everyone had their job and despite the chaos brewing outside the fence, people worked hard to do what they could to make life on the inside better.

Doug and his squad went on daily scavenger missions. I wanted to help but I knew that Morganstern would, as promised, launch a cruise missile up my ass as soon as he spotted me through one of his surveillance drones.

Technically, that made no sense. Wouldn’t Morganstern, if anything, shove a missile “down my throat?” Because if a missile is coming from the sky, it would have to come downward to get me. It wouldn’t come down and then go up my ass.

You know what? Forget it. Let’s not quibble about semantics.

Besides, Doug insisted I stay on the premises to provide leadership as Deputy Mayor in his stead.

Since all the residents were so well disciplined, the job was mostly ceremonial, and thus I was left with plenty of time to write.

And that was good, since Alien Jones’ boss, the Mighty Potentate, had threatened to conquer the Earth in the event that I die before delivering a novel written well enough to inspire the masses to abandon reality television.

The Mighty Potentate – Earth’s new ruler if BQB doesn’t write the best novel ever before he dies. So yeah, sorry Earth.

Talk about pressure.

I sat in the computer lab and clicked away:

The Amazing Adventures of Johnny Gunhands

“No,” I said. “It needs to be catchier.”

Alien Jones, having nothing better to do, sat in a chair next to me and acted as an instant critic to every word I typed.

“The Mighty Potentate will demand more gusto.”

I retyped the title.

Johnny Gunhands: A Farewell to Hands

“I don’t get it,” Alien Jones said. “And I get everything as I hail from a genius species.”

“It’s a play on Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms,” I explained. “This will be the first part of the series, the origin story in which we learn how Johnny not only lost his hands, but how they were replaced with guns.”

“First part of a series?” AJ asked. “You mean you intend to write MORE of this schlock?”

“Every writer always intends to write more of their schlock now,” I said. “Build a good fanbase and you can keep your stories going on forever.”

“I just don’t see much of a market for Johnny Gunhands,” AJ replied.

“Well, if you have another idea for a book that will ween the masses off of reality television, I’m all ears,” I said.

“As a matter of fact, I do!”

Alien Jones pulled the keyboard away from me and typed out the following synopsis:

Ms. Humphrey’s Way

Riddled with disease, desperation and despair, drug addict Vanessa Humphrey wages an uphill battle to get clean and sober. Rather than continue to ignore the personal demons that drove her to such a lowly state, she faces them and in doing so, overcomes them.

Years later, Vanessa has turned her life around and is now well-respected English teacher, Ms. Humphrey, who uses lessons from Shakespeare’s plays to convince troubled inner city youth to better themselves.

Ms. Humphrey takes a particular interest in one of her pupils, the depressed yet talented Arnold Baker. Arnold’s short story has the potential to win him a four year college scholarship, but he’ll need Ms. Humphrey’s assistance to see the project through.

Along the way, Ms. Humphrey discovers that Arnold is in fact the child she gave up for adoption years before in her addict days.

Is the learning disability that makes it difficult for Arnold to record his ideas into written form Vanessa’s fault for hitting the crack pipe hard while she was pregnant?

Is it possible for a woman to change her life so dramatically so as to become completely unrecognizable to her former self? Should society blame people for past sins forever?

And will it ever be possible for Vanessa to forgive herself?

All these questions and more will be answered as Ms. Humphrey must make a crucial decision:

Should she reveal to Arnold that she is his real mother or should she leave well enough alone?

“That’s all yours if you want it,” Alien Jones said as he handed the keyboard back to me.

I read his synopsis.

The Esteemed Literary One

“This is poignant,” I said. “Breathtaking. Brilliant. It will win every major literary award and will surely be turned into an Academy Award winning film…”

“Why thank you,” Alien Jones said.

“…that only 3.5 people will bother to see! Get your head out of your ass!”

“I don’t have an ass!”

“Well get one and get your head out of it,” I said. “No more schmaltzy awards bait! Action and explosions are the only things that put asses into seats! Johnny Gunhands it is!”

“As if you’ll ever fling that turd past the traditional publishing goalie,” Alien Jones said. “The traditional publishing world is nothing if not a community of high standards.”

“Four words for you,” I said as I typed them out onto the screen:

Christian Grey flavored popsicle.

“OK you’ve got me there,” Alien Jones said. “Still, you shouldn’t cut off any options. Consider self-publishing your Johnny Gunhands nonsense if no one in the traditional world bites.”

“Good idea,” I said. “I better consult a zombie author about this.”

Tagged aliens, books, digital publishing, horror, publishing, Science Fiction, scifi, self publishing, selfpublishing, writers, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

Oct 17 2015

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN THE EAST RANDOMTOWN ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE – AN NN1 SPECIAL REPORT

A NETWORK NEWS ONE SPECIAL REPORT

Dr. Hugo Von Science, a Distinguished Professor of Science at the Advanced Science Institute of Science University, is wanted for questioning in connection to the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.

A source close to the investigation informs NN1’s Hot Ass Blonde Chick Reporter that Dr. Von Science has not been named an official suspect at this time, but it is believed he may have information as to how the undead outbreak occurred.

Dr. Von Science’s distinguishing characteristics include:

Lab coat and blackout goggles – he never leaves home without them.
Refers to everyone as, “mein leipshin.”
Often seen carrying around beakers of suspicious fluid. Some claim they contain highly corrosive acid. Others believe he just likes to drink soda out of beakers.

Authorities advise you to not approach Dr. Hugo Von Science if you see him, as he is believed to have approximately 3-5 “Incredible Exploding Chinchillas” on his person at all times and isn’t afraid to use them.

Next up on Network News One…which brand of lunch meat is giving you syphilis? Put that sandwich down until after these commercial messages, sports, and weather…

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, humor, science, Science Fiction, scifi, You Can't Argue with Science, zombies

Oct 16 2015

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 16

“Ms. Fighter! Ms. Fighter! Look!”

Kenny was a red headed, freckle faced boy, about eight years old. He and his friends were, much to VGRF’s dismay, Buildcrafting it up big time.

“I built my very own Roman era city, complete with a working aqueduct!”

“That’s great Ken.”

VGRF leaned in to whisper to me, “I think I’m just going to walk outside and take my chances with the zombies.”

“Looks like they’re already here,” I said, pointing to a dozen kids whose eyes were transfixed on the game. “What is the point of Buildcraft anyway?”

“There is no point,” VGRF said. “It is completely pointless. You just build and build and build some more. UGH! Why won’t you kids go to sleep so I can play Car Thief Mayhem?”

“One might argue that game is equally pointless,” Kenny said. “All you do on Car Thief Mayhem is destroy. At least here, I’m building something.

VGRF’s “I’ve been bested” look was always priceless.

“Shut up and fix your aqueduct, Kenny! Your columns are all crooked!”

Janey, a fourteen year old with a mouthful of braces, nudged Kenny.

“It’s my turn!”

“Fine,” Kenny said as he saved his aqueduct and turned the console over.

Janey popped in a disc marked The Shuffling Living: The Video Game Experience.

The Shuffling Living was the hottest show on television. It followed the adventures of champion zombie hunter Dirk Lane as he and his band of survivors migrated across a zombie infested landscape.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” VGRF said to Janey. “We’re stuck in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and you’re going to play a video game about a zombie apocalypse?”

“It’s still a good video game!” Janey said.

“What do you do?” VGRF asked.

“There’s some stuff somewhere the group needs but its surrounded by zombies so you have to fight them to get to it,” Janey explained.

“Oh,” VGRF said, exercising her inner critic, “So it’s just like every last episode of that show then?”

“Pretty much,” Janey replied.

“You know we used to watch it every Sunday,” I said.

“Used to being the operative words,” VGRF said. “If I never see another zombie again it’ll be too soon.”

VGRF picked up the case for the game Janey was playing.

“Huh. PG13. I guess it’s ok for you then.”

She read on.

“Play as Dirk Lane and eradicate zombies or play as a zombie and feast on human brains!”

My significant other looked at me.

“This is sick! Who’d want to control a zombie in a video game?”

“That’s a good question,” I said as I whipped out the space phone. “And I know who can answer this…”

“Oh my God,” VGRF said as she snatched the phone away from me. “Stop being such a spotlight hog and let me do another interview already!”

Tagged Comedy, funny, grand theft auto, horror, humor, talking dead, the walking dead, video games, walkingdead, zombies

Oct 15 2015

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 15

Defacto Mayor Hauser

VGRF and I sat in Doug’s office, located in the back of a locker room. “Coach Hauser” was stenciled on the door.

Blandie was busy bumming make up products off other survivors, arguing “just because it’s the zombie apocalypse doesn’t mean I can’t look good.”

Bernie was working on the lyrics to another wholesome rap song, as usual.

Alien Jones, having worked harder than anyone else in the group so far, was taking a well deserved siesta.

“A few days ago, one of my squads was on a mission to look for survivors on Becker Street when three Apache helicopters flew overhead. The pilots hovered in for a closer look at my men and then dispersed,” Hauser said. “It made no sense to me until I read the part in your survivor’s journal about Morganstern blowing up the mall just to get to you.”

“The army’s gunning for me,” I said. “Obviously, when they figured out none of your men were me, they moved on.”

“We should leave, BQB,” VGRF said. “Morganstern’s liable to blow up everyone here just to get to you.”

Hauser poured himself a scotch. He offered us some, but my girl and I are teetotaling nerds.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Hauser said. “Between the basketball court and the other camps in the park, I’ve got close to a thousand people here. Hauser may be ruthless, but I don’t know how anyone could sweep that many bodies under the rug.”

Hauser sipped his drink.

“No my friends, I think you need to stay here. Safety in numbers. BQB, once you step outside the building, that bastard will get you I guarantee it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help the camp?” I said. “I want to earn my keep.”

“Of course,” Hauser said. “I assign jobs to everyone. Video Game Rack Fighter, how would you like to run our day car center?”

VGRF scoffed.

“Oh what, because I’m a woman?”

“Because we’ve got a fifty inch plasma and all the video games you could possibly want,” Doug replied. “I figure you could keep the kids entertained with that. The whole place is run by a back up generator so you can play forever.”

“Sold,” VGRF said.

Doug looked at me.

“And you. I’ll expect big things out of you…Deputy Mayor.”

“What?” I asked.

BREAKING NEWS: BQB NAMED DEPUTY MAYOR OF EAST RANDOMTOWN!

“BQB, this settlement is all that’s left of East Randomtown,” Doug said. “Our humble little burg’s two greatest citizens, the man who was beaten senseless for thirty seconds on a 1980’s TV show and the man who set up a web site so exhilarating that it drew in 3.5 readers. Past and present working together for a brighter tomorrow. What do you say?”

I echoed VGRF’s sentiment with a “sold” of my own.

“Excellent,” Doug said as he stood up. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to round up a party to go raid the pharmacy.”

The three of us walked out onto the basketball court floor.

Hauser whistled loudly. He spoke with a big, booming voice.

“Attention, everyone! Attention!”

He slapped me hard on the back. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.

“I’ve just appointed Bookshelf Q. Battler as deputy mayor. He’s well qualified, having started up a WordPress blog with 3.5 readers. He’s the boss while I’m gone so what he says, goes!”

The survivors carried on with their business.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that,” Doug said.

The Mayor walked away. I put my arm around VGRF.

“Did you ever think we’d ever get to make such a difference in the world?” I asked.

“Says you,” VGRF said. “You’re the second-in-command. I have to babysit a bunch of rugrats all day and I’m now realizing I won’t be able to play Car Thief Mayhem around them. I’ll be staring at that stupid Buildcraft bullshit until the end of time! That game is completely pointless!”

“There are worse fates,” I said.

“You’re not even here a day and he gives you a position of authority?” VGRF asked. “I’m calling shenanigans.”

“I know it’s hard babe,” I said. “But you need to learn how to trust people.”

“I trust no one in a zombie apocalypse.”

We found Alien Jones sawing logs under a blanket on the bleachers. A trio of pre-teens were poking him with a stick.

“What is this thing?” one of the kids asked.

“Guys, can you not disturb my deformed kid?” I asked.

“Why don’t you show me where the day care center is?” VGRF asked the urchins. “I’m supposed to play video games with you guys.”

“Sweet!” one of the kids yelled. “I call first dibs on Buildcraft!”

As she walked away, I heard VGRF mumble, “Son of a…”

I reached into Alien Jones’ pocket and retrieved the space phone.

I knew just the right zombie author to call.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, flash fiction, funny, humor, stories, zombie apocalypse, zombie fiction, zombie stories, zombies

7 Comments

Sanctuary in a Zombie Apocalypse – Stay or Run?

It’s one of the oldest zombie apocalypse tropes going.

A plucky band of survivors happen across a makeshift utopia, a community safe from zombie attacks.

They’re invited in, made to feel welcome, given a purpose, a chance at a new life…and then…BAM!!!

The old double-cross. They’re betrayed, killed, chopped up into a stew, you name it.

BQB thinks Fort Hauser is a pretty sweet deal and wants to stay.

VGRF thinks its all just a little too perfect and wants to head for the hills.

Who’s right? Who’s wrong.

3.5 readers, BQB is counting on you. Advise him in the comments as to whether Fort Hauser is haven or a hoax.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, humor, talking dead, the walking dead, walking dead, walkingdead, writers, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 – (Part 3)

Doug gave us the dime store tour of the camp he’d set up in the rec center gym.

Over a hundred makeshift beds were scattered across the wooden floor. Some people slept on cots, others in sleeping bags, or on sheets and blankets. Some folks who weren’t able to sleep milled about in different groups.

Near the bleachers, there was a buffet set up. The welcome smell of hot soup filled my nostrils.

“This was all just a matter of being in the right place at the right time,” Doug said. “I’ve been a volunteer coach here since I retired…”

Hauser parlayed his fifteen seconds of fame into a car dealership, Hauser Hyundai. People from all over stopped by to buy

Doug Hauser – One of East Randomtown’s best and brightest, though that’s not saying much.

South Korean cars at a reasonable price and watch Doug recreate his infamous fight scene. Usually, he’d just whip a long haired wig onto one of his salesmen and ask him to pretend to be Don Johnson.

I witnessed this spectacle myself once when I was twelve and Aunt Gertie bought herself a used Hyundai.

“I was watching my boys score another win when the zombie apocalypse broke out,” Doug explained. “The fence around the park has kept the monsters at bay and a few brave souls and I have been making daily scrounge missions into town, picking up all the supplies and survivors we can find and bringing them back here.”

“That’s impressive Doug,” I said. “East Randomtown is in your debt.”

“Oh it’s nothing, BQB. I’m just doing what any good citizen in my shoes would do.”

“What’s this I hear you’re the Mayor now?” I asked.

“Oh that,” Doug said as he rolled his eyes. “People just started calling me that. I never asked for the title but you know how people are. They need some authority figure to glom onto. I was sad to hear about Mayor Bramble. I’m going to call for a fair election as soon as possible.”

“Doug,” I said. “About that statue. You know, I never had anything to do with…”

Doug belted out a big “SHHH!”

“Please BQB. Of course I know you never asked Bramble to tear my likeness down and replace it with yours. Do you really think I give a rat’s ass about that thing anyway?”

“You don’t?” I asked.

“Hell no,” Doug said. “Thirty years ago I was a dumb kid who tried to become an actor. Other than getting the shit beaten out of me on one cop drama, it didn’t pan out. That’s just life. You try one thing. It doesn’t work. You try something else. Bramble was the one who made a big deal about it. He was always obsessed with drawing attention to a town no one’s ever heard of, same thing he did with you and your website.”

“You’re a good sport, Doug,” I said.

“I always lecture my team about good sportsmanship. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t follow my own rules,” Doug said.

Janet Melman was two years behind me at East Randomtown High. She went on to become a nurse.

“Hey BQB,” she said as she walked over in a pair of scrubs.

She turned to Doug.

“We need to talk, Mayor. I’ve got a list of medications my patients need. Some of them aren’t going to last long without them.”

“Excuse me, BQB,” Doug said. “Please, you and your friends get something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Doug and Janet walked off.

“And you thought coming here was a bad idea,” I said.

“I’m still not convinced it wasn’t,” VGRF said. “This is all just a little bit too perfect.”

“Think whatever you want,” I said. “I’ma get me some hot soup and call another zombie author.”

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, writers, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 2)

WELCOME TO HAUSER TOWN

ONLY THE WORTHY ARE WELCOME

To protect the indigenous wildlife, a tall fence ran the whole perimeter of East Randomtown Park.

VGRF pulled our ride to the front gate.

It was manned by a pack of gun toting local yokels.

There was George the Barber, who’d made his living providing men’s regular cuts for forty years. He was packing a pretty

The DiStefano Brothers – a pair of gun toting hoodlums even when East Randomtown wasn’t zombified

fierce looking shotgun.

The DiStefano Brothers, Carl and Billy, each carried a machete in one hand and a handgun in the other.

“Halt,” George said, shining a light into our car. “Who dares enter Fort Hauser?”

“It’s me George,” I said. “BQB. You’ve been my damn barber since I was a kid.”

“That gets you no special treatment here, nerd!” George replied. “State your business!”

“State my business?” I asked. “My friends and I want to come in and not get eaten by zombies!”

“Hold please,” George said.

The barber pulled out a walkie talkie and mumbled into it. A few seconds later, the voice on the other end clearly stated, “Send them in.”

Carl rolled the gate open.

“Proceed directly to the Rec Center,” George said. “Don’t dilly dally. Mayor Hauser is expecting you.”

“MAYOR Hauser?” I asked.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, poindexter,” George said.

We did as we were told. When we reached the rec center, we hopped out of the truck and found ourselves face to face with the infamous statue in question.

It was actually two statues set on one base. Both cast in bronze, the one on the left was of a young, chubby cheeked Doug Hauser doubled over, a pained expression on his face as the statue on the right, that of a young Don Johnson, delivered a punch to Hauser’s stomach.

On the base, a plaque read:

In Honor of Douglas Adams Houser

Thirty seconds getting the snot beaten out of you on the greatest crime drama of the 1980’s brought an infinite amount of glory to East Randomtown.

Duct taped to the side of Doug’s head was a red piece of paper that read:

OFFICIAL DECREE

This monument is to be destroyed immediately and replaced with a sculpture of Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Plaque to read, “In honor of Bookshelf Q. Battler, the East Randomtown resident whose ingenuity brought the eyes of 3.5 readers to his hallowed website.”

Signed,

Mayor Philbert T. Bramble

“We need to leave,” VGRF said. “This guy is going to shoot you in the head as soon as he sees you.”

“VGRF,” I said. “I’ve met him before. He came to my elementary school once and told us all about how Don Johnson left him pissing blood for a month. Sure, that probably wasn’t the best story for a bunch of little kids to hear, but still. Doug Hauser is East Randomtown’s favorite son. I don’t care what Bramble’s stupid decree says.”

I knocked on the glass door.

Doug’s voice came over the intercom.

“One moment. I’m coming.”

A minute later, the door opened and Doug walked out to greet us. He wore a dirty white undershirt, a pair of jeans and had a gun secured in a holster on his hip. He was in his early sixties, but despite a few wrinkles, a few extra pounds, and a receding hair line, he looked just like his statue.

He took one look at me, grinned, and gave me a big hug.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler. Thank God you found us.”

“Good to see you, Doug,” I said. “This is…”

“I know,” Doug said. “We’ve got a generator going and one of my guys rigged up a Wi-Fi hotspot. I’ve been monitoring your survivor’s journal. A pleasure to meet you, Video Game Rack Fighter. Bernie. Blandie. And this must be…”

Doug squatted down and gave Alien Jones the old once over. AJ was still in his incognito hipster disguise.

“Are you for real?” Doug asked.

“Are you?” Alien Jones replied.

“If it’s all the same,” I said. “We try to keep him on the down low. Sure, I talk about him on the blog but no one ever believes any of my posts are for real. If we could just tell everyone he’s my deformed kid with ADD, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Doug said. “Please, entre vous. Mi casa es su casa.”

At this point, Attorney Donnelly, Official Legal Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, advises me to state that at no time did Mr. Don Johnson, one of the greatest thespians in the history of the stage and/or screen, ever make Doug Hauser piss blood, nor did he beat him up or injure him in anyway. Any reference to Mr. Johnson and/or Miami Vice are purely for fictional and parody purposes only.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 1)

October 14, 2015 – 12:00 A.M.

Night fell and we were back in the Compensator, heading west through the Great Random Forest, a tract of undeveloped land where the trees grew tall and other than the squirrels, there wasn’t much of anyone to keep a guy company.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a plywood sign.

Scrawled on it with black spray paint were the words:

Sanctuary for the Worthy

Head Ye Who Would Dare to Fort Hauser

(Formerly Known as the East Randomtown Park and Rec Center)

“Fort Hauser?” VGRF asked.

“Hauser,” I said. “Doug Hauser!”

Doug Hauser – BQB’s rival for the title of East Randomtown’s Most Famous Citizen

“The guy who was an extra for thirty seconds in one episode of Miami Vice in 1985?” VGRF asked. “The guy you beat for the title of most famous East Randomtown resident when you obtained 3.5 readers for the Bookshelf Battle Blog?”

“The same,” I replied. “He must have started a survivor colony.”

East Randomtown Park was a family favorite. Picnics, concerts, sports, you name it. It had a walking trail, a beautiful pond, tennis courts, I could go on and on. It was one of the few locations the town had going for it. At the Westernmost point of the tract of land was a rec center with a basketball court and a gym, not to mention an indoor track and swimming pool.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” VGRF said.

“I’m sorry,” Bernie said. “That was me, yo.”

Blandie gagged. “Oh my God! I need air!”

“That’s not a good idea,” VGRF said.

“It’s not a good idea to die of asphyxiation either,” Blandie said as she rolled down her window.

Alien Jones, who was sitting between my ex and my friend, chimed in.

“I must concur with the blonde human. The stench is quite potent. Fairly close in molecular composition to the gas banned for warfare purposes by Intergalactic Space Law.”

“I wasn’t talking about that anyway,” VGRF said. “This guy just puts out signs inviting people to seek his help because…why? The kindness of his heart? I’m sorry but throwing in with him would be a terrible idea.”

“A zombie apocalypse can bring out the worst in people,” I said. “Or the best. Maybe this is Hauser at his best?”

“Your mate is astute, BQB,” Alien Jones said. “I sense this is the worst.”

“That’s just an old zombie apocalypse trope,” I said. “The old ‘invite people to a camp under the guise of charity then rob and/or murder and/or eat them’ routine. This isn’t a book or a TV show. This is real life. We should check it out.”

“Aren’t you’re the last person Hauser wants to see?” VGRF asked. “Seeing as how Mayor Bramble was planning to have Hauser’s statue torn down and replaced with a sculpture of you?”

“I never wanted that,” I said. “I’m sure Hauser knows that. Head to the park, babe. There’s safety in numbers. Morganstern can’t kill everyone.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Alien Jones said.

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, zombie apocalypse, zombies

Oct 13 2015