Hello 3.5 readers, just a reminder to follow yours truly on Facebook, and you’ll get regular updates from deep inside the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.
Bookshelf Battle
The only site where new bestsellers are forced to do battle for space on a nerd's bookshelf.
Category Archives: BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 3)
“Where to?” VGRF asked.
“You know where, babe,” I replied.
VGRF took a right onto Pondmore Road and from there it was smooth sailing. An occasional zombie would take interest, but they were no match for a skilled driver.
Five minutes later, VGRF pulled up to a box shaped building. The sign on the front read:
Decrepit Oaks
Our Seniors Put the “Do” in “Can-Do!”
“You’re going to risk our lives for your old ass aunt?” Blandie asked.
“You know, Aunt Gertie used to talk about you all the time,” I said.
Blandie perked up. “Really? What did she say?”
Aunt Gertie – Dead, missing, or zombified?
“That you’re shallow, materialistic and when it comes to relationships, you care more about what a man looks like than what he’s got going on inside.”
“And that’s a problem…why?”
“I give up, Blandie,” I said. “If you want to stay in the car, fine, but I need to check to see if the woman who raised me is still alive.”
“Fine. I’m coming.”
I got out and Bernie passed Alien Jones to me. The little guy was still exhausted from shooting a force field out of his body, so we were on our own for the rest of the day. I threw him over my shoulder like he was an extra bag. He didn’t weigh that much at all.
The gang grabbed our gear and we entered the old folks home.
Decrepit Oaks wasn’t so much a nursing home as it was an apartment building for old timers. It catered to elderly folk who were still active, but needed some help with meals, cleaning, and so on. I’m not sure my aunt even needed to live there but that’s what she wanted. There were times when I thought Gertie might live long enough to bury us all.
Bernie and VGRF shined their flashlights. The place was deserted. Oddly though, everything appeared to be in immaculate condition.
We headed down the hallway to the residential section.
“Yo, y’all need to be hella careful,” Bernie said. “Some of these damn old peeps might look just like zombies. You don’t wanna gank an old ass human by accident.”
“That’s partially accurate and partially offensive, Bern,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What’s her number?” VGRF asked.
“Forty-nine.”
We walked and walked. Along the way, a few apartment doors had been left open.
I peeked inside each one of them. They were all nice and neat, beds freshly made, everything in order.
“Maybe they were able to evacuate in time?” VGRF asked.
“I hope so,” I said.
We reached forty-nine. Gertie had given me a spare key. I found it on my ring and opened the door.
The place was a mess. The coffee table was turned up on its side. Broken glass pieces were strewn everywhere. A lamp was shattered on the floor.
From the bathroom came a loud moan. I put Alien Jones down on Gertie’s bed, drew my gun, pointed it at the door, and nodded to Bernie, bidding him to open it.
Sure enough, a zombie ran out. He’d once been a young man, late twenties, in combat fatigues. Whoever he was, he was out of place at an old folks home. I exploded his head with one shot.
Zombie attack!
I borrowed VGRF’s flashlight and entered the bathroom. The floor and walls were soaked with blood. In the tub, there was a ripped apart corpse. It was so badly disfigured that it was unrecognizable.
VGRF put her hand on my shoulder.
“Is it…”
“I…I don’t know. God I hope not.”
Bernie picked up the Esteemed Brainy One and carried him for me for awhile.
“What now?” my friend asked.
“This place looks pretty safe,” I said. “Let’s clear all the rooms to be sure, lock the building up, then pick a room and spend the night. We’ll consult Alien Jones on what to do next when he wakes up.”
“I can’t stay here,” Blandie said. “This whole place reeks of bengay and depression.”
“Then feel free to…”
“I know, I know,” Blandie said. “Wait in the car. Fine. Lead the way.”
An hour later we finished checking all the apartments and after discovering the building was zombie free, we locked the front and back doors, took over apartment one, the unit closest to the front door in case we had to make a break for it, and settled in.
“You guys get some sleep,” I said as I took a seat on the couch. “I’ll take first watch.”
Bernie stepped out of the bedroom and made some googly eyes at Blandie.
“The bed’s big enough to share if you catch my drift.”
“I’ll rip off any part of you that touches me, nerd,” Blandie said as she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door in Bernie’s face.
“Shoties be trippin’ yo,” Bernie said.
He crashed on the floor.
VGRF snuggled up into my arm nook.
“Are you going to call another zombie author now?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, “And a plot this thick requires not just any zombie author, but one of the most legendary zombie masters of all time!”
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 2)
“Grab the gear,” Alien Jones said. “We’re leaving.”
“Out there? With those things?” Blandie asked. “No way!”
“You heard the human military leader,” Alien Jones said. “By tomorrow morning, this entire structure will be a pile of charred ash. We can’t stay here.”
I picked up my bug out bag. VGRF and Bernie did the same.
“What’s the plan, Esteemed Brainy One?” I asked.
The Compensator – when only a vehicle capable of depleting the oil reserves of a third world country will do.
“I sense there is a brand new, fully loaded Compensator Sports Utility Vehicle illegally parked across two handicapped parking spaces outside the nearby entrance. It was formerly owned by what you humans would refer to as a ‘One Percenter Douche Bag.’ We will make our way to it, hit the open road, and improvise a further plan from there.”
“Can I have a gun?” Blandie asked.
“You’ll shoot your foot off,” I said.
“You let HIM have a gun,” Blandie said, pointing to Bernie.
“Good point,” I said.
I pulled a spare pistol out of my waistband and handed it to her. She handled it rather clumsily.
“So how do you take the safety off? Is it just this little…”
BAM!
Blandie fired a shot right into the roof.
“Gimme that!” I said as I took the piece back. I searched around for a blunt instrument and handed her a trophy that read, ‘Blandie Settler: Hipster Hutt Manager of the Year.’”
“You were manager of the year?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Blandie said. “So? What? I can do stuff good!”
I opened the door. That dumb, confused zombie was still bumping into the corner. He was harmless, so I left him alone.
“I need new duds,” my alien buddy said.
Hipster Alien
Alien Jones picked out some hipster wear – a white bucket hat, plaid cargo pants, a muscle shirt and oversized sunglasses.
“What planet are you from?” Blandie asked.
“Oh, it doesn’t really matter,” Alien Jones said as he adjusted his sunglasses. “I doubt you’ve ever heard of it anyway.”
The little green guy punched a button on the space phone and the security gate lifted. A throng of zombies poured in but were instantly vaporized when our tiny protector threw up his force field bubble.
“We only have five minutes,” I explained to Blandie as we ran out of the store. “And whatever you do, DO NOT TOUCH THE BUBBLE!”
Away we went, turning multiple bloodthirsty, brain hungry zombies into mist clouds until we hit the parking lot. Alien Jones’ bubble began to flicker.
“There’s the douche-mobile!” I shouted.
Alien Jones punched a button on his phone and the Compensator’s engine started and the doors unlocked.
“VGRF,” I shouted. “Take the wheel!”
The bubble passed out and so did my alien friend. I scooped him up into the back seat then took the front passenger’s seat. Blandie and Bernie got in the back.
The parking lot was quiet but as soon as VGRF backed the SUV up, zombie heads turned and they all converged on the vehicle.
“BQB you pussy!” Blandie shouted. “You’d let a girl drive?!”
I turned around to face Blandie.
“She’s not just any girl. She’s the Goddamned Number One International Car Thief Mayhem Champion Ten Years in a row.”
I looked at VGRF.
“You got this baby. Punch it!”
The Highest Ranking Car Thief Mayhem Champion in the World
VGRF took off like she was in a stolen car, not just because she was, but because her nimble fingers had played out this scenario on her gaming console millions of times before. She smashed through piles of the undead like they were nothing. Blood and guts sprayed all over the window and she didn’t even flinch. She just sprayed the cleaning fluid and ran the wipers.
She banged a right out of the lot and floored it down the mall access road. Zombies chased along side the SUV, banging on the sides. She swerved right and left, taking them all out.
Full steam ahead, VGRF sailed the big truck at 80 MPH down the road until she came across a gaggle of beasts blocking the way forward. Too thick to slam through, she improvised.
“HANG ON!” my sweetie yelled.
With expert precision, VGRF yanked the emergency hand brake up, swerved out and just barely missed the horde car as she took a right and headed down Main Street.
To our left was a steep hill. More zombies ran down it and flanked the left side of the car.
VGRF rolled her window down and pulled a handgun out of her jacket pocket. She shouted, “BREAK YOSELF, FOOL!” then took them all out.
“BQB?”
“Yeah Bernie?”
“I don’t wanna be rude but your old lady is givin’ me a mad chub right now, B.”
“Me too, Bernie. Me too.”
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 1)
“What are you up to Alien Jones?” I asked.
“Consulting the human news reports,” Alien Jones said as he surfed his space phone.
“Aww sweet,” Bernie said as he cupped his hands and held them out from his chest, performing his best imitation of a stacked woman. “Put on the channel that has that hot ass blonde chick with big titties!”
“Which one?” Alien Jones asked. “All human news outlets appear to require nothing of their reporters other than an attractive face and a copious bosom region.”
“Just pick one,” I said.
Alien Jones pushed a button and put a news channel up on a holographic display so we could all watch it. A television sized squared hovered in the middle of the room.
On it? A female reporter, just as Bernie described.
Boo! Worst angle ever!
“Hello. I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties reporting live from West Randomtown.”
“Wow,” VGRF said. “It’s like they don’t even TRY to hide it anymore.”
“…where the military has established a forward operating base to respond to the zombie apocalypse in East Randomtown.”
The screen switched to the news room. Walking, talking Ken doll Kurt Manley sat behind the Network News One desk, shuffling some papers to give the appearance that he was doing something important.
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” Kurt said. “I see General Morganstern is with you. What’s his assessment of the situation? Just how dire are things in East Randomtown?”
General Thomas Morganstern
The reporter held her mic under the face of the grizzly, war weary General Thomas Morganstern. I recognized his gravelly voice from a number of war related news reports over the years. He wore a finely starched uniform that was lousy with medals.
“Make no mistake about it, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” General Morganstern said. “East Randomtown is filled to the brim with hideous, flesh eating monsters who’d rip your larynx out and swallow it whole as soon as look at you.”
“That sounds horrible,” the reporter interjected.
“It certainly does,” General Morganstern continued. “However, what your viewers need to be aware of, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, is that the U.S. Army is here to keep the situation under control. We’ve surrounded East Randomtown with our best and bravest, who are on standby to eradicate any zombie who dares attempt to shuffle over the town line. Moreover, a series of coordinated air strikes are scheduled to begin bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“What’s the first target, General?” the reporter asked.
“Well, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” the General said. “Surely, you understand that normally I would not advertise over the public airwaves where we intend to hit the enemy. However, since we’re only dealing with a bunch of dumbass zombies here, I can tell you the first strike will be on ground zero of the zombie apocalypse, the East Randomtown Mall.”
We all let out a collective gasp. One of us emitted a panicked fart. I swear it wasn’t me. It probably wasn’t Alien Jones either as he doesn’t have a butt. My guess is it was Bernie though I never did get closure on that one.
Back to the newsroom.
Kurt Manley, Network News One Anchor
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties…”
“Yes, Kurt?”
“What about collateral damage?” the anchorman asked. “Surely there must be a few survivors left within the East Randomtown limits.”
Back to the base.
“Have you taken potential survivors into account, General?” the reporter asked.
“Indeed we have, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” General Morgenstern replied. “The public should rest assured that through a carefully conducted campaign of drone surveillance, we have concluded beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are no more human beings left alive in East Randomtown. Every last resident is either dead or has been turned into a hideous zombie. Once we’ve softened up key positions through a series of bombing runs, our units will move in and clean the rest up.”
A bunch of forty-something ladies wearing pink bedazzled cat sweatshirts and blue denim sweatpants marched onto the scene, waving picket signs and shouting, “Save the Funky Hunks! Save the Funky Hunks!”
Bernie was beside himself.
“People still love us!” Bernie shouted. “I knew it!”
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” Kurt said. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Kurt,” the reporter said. “I’m going in to investigate.”
The reporter pulled aside one of the protestors.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m a Hot Blonde Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties reporting for Network News One…”
“Oh yah!” the lady responded with a thick North Dakotan accent, “I love the Network News One, dontcha know?”
“May I have your name?”
“I’m Mrs. Mary Flunderson of Bismarck and my friends and I represent the North Dakota Funky Hunks Fan Club.”
Marge Flunderson, Funky Hunks Superfan
“The Funky Hunks?” the reporter asked.
“Oh yah,” Mary said. “They were a real nice, polite duo of boys from the late 90’s and early 2000’s who rapped about wholesome topics like looking both ways before crossing the street and asking a girl for permission before you give her the old smooch-a-roo.”
“I don’t understand,” the reporter said. “What do they have to do anything?”
Mary pointed to her picket sign. It had pictures of Bernie and I from back in the day, decked out in our rap gear, backwards hats and all.
Funky Hunks represent.
“The Funky Hunks used to go by the names ‘Read N. Plenty’ and ‘MC Plotz’ but they’re really Bookshelf Q. Battler and Bernie Plotznick. They’re both residents of East Randomtown and as soon as we heard about the zombie apocalypse, we drove all the way here to hold a candlelight vigil for those wonderful boys.”
“Does she realize you guys are just a tad younger than she is?” VGRF asked.
“Hold on,” I replied. “Hear the woman out.”
“Our mothers loved the Funky Hunks and now we do too, thanks to streaming media, dontcha know?”
“Have you been getting residuals?” I asked Bernie.
“Yeah,” he said. “The studio sends me a ten dollar check every year.”
“Where’s my check?”
“It’s uh…supposed to be for the both of us,” Bernie said, sinking his head down. “Sorry yo.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s ok. Keep it. You need it.”
“The Army cannot blow up the East Randomtown mall,” Mary said. “BQB and Bernie are there right now!”
“How do you know this?” the reporter asked.
“Have you ever read the Bookshelf Battle Blog, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?” Mary asked.
“No,” the reporter answered. “Is that even a real thing?”
“Yes,” Mary said. “It’s a blog with 3.5 readers operated by Mr. Battler. He’s been keeping a zombie apocalypse survivor’s journal from day one.”
“I have noticed a slight uptick in readers lately,” I said. “It must be Mary and her buddies!”
Kurt put a concerned look on his face and intervened.
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”
“Kurt?”
“I’m told our in-studio technician is working to confirm the existence of this so-called ‘Bookshelf Battle Blog’ but in the meantime, what is General Morganstern’s reaction?”
“General Morganstern,” the reporter said. “In light of this claim that two former rappers are alive and inside the East Randomtown Mall, will you cancel tomorrow’s airstrike?”
“Absolutely not, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” the General said. “These forty-something year old ladies in blue denim stretch pants are mistaken. We’ve researched the matter thoroughly. Everyone in East Randomtown is either dead or a zombie.”
The military man raised his hands.
“Please disperse ladies! There is nothing to see here! Leave now or you will be arrested!”
Army dudes marched in and cleared the ladies out.
“Reporting live for Network News One, I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, signing off.”
Back to the newsroom.
“Thank you Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” Kurt said. “Next up, is your breakfast cereal trying to strangle you in your sleep? Another Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties will give you the answer after this word from our sponsor…”
“Alien Jones,” I said. “Can you put up my blog stats?”
AJ punched a button and the Bookshelf Battle Blog stats were on screen.
“Whoa!” I said. “One million…two million…three million…THREE POINT FIVE MILLION AND….back to 3.5. Everyone’s back to officially not giving a shit.”
“Better to have had readers and lost than to have never had readers at all,” Alien Jones said. “But I believe we have bigger problems.”
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 11
“I am the way into the city of woe,
I am the way into eternal pain,
I am the way to go among the lost.Justice caused my high architect to move,
Divine omnipotence created me,
The highest wisdom, and the primal love.Before me there were no created things
But those that last forever—as do I.
Abandon all hope you who enter here.”-Dante’s Inferno
I felt like I was in the seventh circle of hell.
Typical Blandie
“You’re so useless, BQB,” whined my ex-girlfriend, Blandie. “A real man would have rescued me already. A real man would have swooped me up in his arms and whisked me back to his house for drinks by now.”.
“Maybe you should call Troy,” I said. “Or Channing. Or Lance. Or one of those perfectly coiffed hair muscle bound douches you assured me you weren’t sleeping with behind my back even though you totally were!”
“Oh whatever,” Blandie said. “A real man wouldn’t have his head stuck in the past.”
“Call the Mighty Potentate,” I said to Alien Jones. “I want him to vaporize me and put me out of my misery.”
“He won’t do that,” my alien buddy replied. “He believes in you too much, though personally, I wonder if he might have jumbled his prophecy. Not that I’d ever tell him.”
“Why do you keep writing on that stupid blog of yours, anyway?” Blandie asked. “Writing. Please. Lame. I mean, ‘Hello?’ It’s the twenty-first century! No one reads anymore! Get your head out of the clouds! Duh!”
Bernie was fast asleep. VGRF distracted herself from Blandie’s blatherings with Alien Jones’ space phone, playing a rousing game of Car Thief Mayhem: Mobile Edition.
Can’t get enough of that Car Thief Mayhem
“When are you ever going to stop being a nerd and grow up, BQB?” Blandie asked.
“You know what?” I asked. “No. Forget it. It’s not even worth it to tell you off.”
“Oh whatever,” Blandie said. “Like I care.”
“People are different, Blandie,” I said. “I act like a nerd because I AM a nerd. You made me feel like shit for years, that there was something wrong with me…”
I put my arm around VGRF and snuggled her close to me. Her eyes remained fixated on her video game.
“…it wasn’t until I met this goddess that I realized it was ok to be me, that there’s nothing wrong with being a nerd. I am nerd, hear me roar, in numbers too big too ignore.”
“Aw sweet!” VGRF said. “I just ran over a crack dealer and stole all his money!”
Blandie blew a raspberry, making a big “PBBBHHHT!” sound.
“Whatever.”
Blandie was a big fan of the word, “whatever.”
“You’re a nobody, BQB,” Blandie said. “You think you’re somebody but you’re not. The whole time we were together, you were just this big geek who played with action figures and read comic books and wrote boring stories and wore dorky glasses and….and….”
Blandie’s eyes welled up and tears poured out.
“BQB, the human is leaking,” Alien Jones said.
VGRF paused her game.
Bernie snored. He could sleep through anything.
“…and you were always THERE FOR ME!!!”
Blandie broke out into full weeping mode and threw herself at me, blubbering incessantly as she forced her words out between sobs.
“You never cheated on me like Troy did and you didn’t steal my life’s savings and run off with my sister like Channing did and I don’t even want to tell you what Lance did…”
“Um,” I said as I timidly patted Blandie on the head. “There there?”
“I’m going to die alone in the zombie apocalypse and my last thoughts are going to be about how I gave up the only man who ever truly loved me and that he’ll never take me back now because he’s in love with a girl who buys all of her clothes from the dollar store!”
“This is all JC Penney, bitch!” VGRF said.
Blandie snorted and cried some more until she passed out and fell asleep. Gently, I rested her head down onto one of the bug out bags, letting her use it as a pillow.
“I’m the man,” I said.
“What?” VGRF asked.
“I’ve found the love of my life in you, plus the girl who broke my heart is beside herself in agony over losing me.”
“Please,” VGRF said. “That’s just the zombie apocalypse talking. When she wakes up, she’ll go back to chewing you out again.”
“True,” I said. “Being locked in this small room with her is like being trapped in…”
“Hell?” Alien Jones asked. “As described by the human writer, Dante?”
“Exactly,” I said as I picked up the space phone. “Come to think of it, I know an author who could shed some light on this.”
#31ZombieAuthors – WEEK 2 – Last Week/Next Week with Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian
ANNOUNCER:
Ladies and Gentlemen and assorted undead things, the following is an announcement from the management. The Holy Water being passed around is bad. Repeat…it is bad. The Holy Man who blessed it was ordained online from a fly by night church out of Barbados. Totally does not count. Any monster you throw it at will just laugh at you.
And now…ugh, why are you people still here? Haven’t you heard there’s a zombie apocalypse? Oh well, put whatever you’ve got left for Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian!
SCHECKY:
Hey there all you ghosts and goblins! It’s good to be here on bookshelfbattle.com – said no one, EVER!!! BUAH HA HA!
Seriously, Bookshelf Q. Battler’s audience is really small…
AUDIENCE:
HOW SMALL IS IT?
SCHECKY:
Thank you, audience! Wow, that was about as spontaneous as my yearly proctologist appointment!
BQB’s audience is so small…a gremlin just called it shorty!
::::rimshot:::::
BQB’s audience is so small…even Frankenstein can count how many readers he has!
::::rimshot::::
Yes, my friends, BQB’s audience is so small, WordPress prints his stat reports on…a postage stamp! (And they still have room left over).
But let’s not get hung up on BQB’s low readership when instead, we can thank the fine zombie authors who showed up last week:
COMPLETED INTERVIEWS:
Monday, October 5 – Perrin Briar
Blood Memory, Z-Minus, Swiss Family RobinZOM – hell, this guy has killed more zombies on his pages than Rick Grimes and Michonne on a double date.
S.G. Lee and BQB compared zombie battling advice as well as toy collections. Yes, they are both grown men.
Wednesday, Oct. 7 – Gillian Zane
BQB asked the NOLA zombie series author how to become an alpha male. Jeeze, that’s like asking an engineer to teach a chimp how to build a nuclear reactor. In fact, the chimp have more success.
Thursday, Oct. 8 – Joseph “Zombie” Zuko
Joseph “Zombie” Zuko stopped by bookshelfbattle.com to help BQB get “apocalypse fit.” It lasted for five minutes and then BQB immediately reached for a box of ding dongs.
Friday, Oct. 9 – Devan Sagliani
The HVZ: Humans vs. Zombies screenwriter stopped by to dispense writing advice to our resident poindexter. Will BQB ever get his act together and write a novel? I don’t know, but word has it that zombies will go on a no-brain diet first. Thanks for educating our resident nerd anyway, Devan.
Saturday, Oct. 10 – Armand Rosamillia
Armand has written over 150 stories and puts out 2 podcasts. Last week, BQB feel asleep on his couch whilst eating a taco. Let’s hope some of the can-do attitude of these zombie scribes will rub off on our resident nerd.
WHO’S UP NEXT?
TODAY – Rachel Aukes of the Deadland Saga is going to counsel BQB through being stuck locked in a room with his ex-girlfriend.
TOMMORROW – Legendary zombie writer Joe McKinney will talk to BQB about striking a balance between work and writing life, the zombie craze, and why it’s important to stop and smell the roses.
Tuesday, October 13 – Michael Cairns
This year, Michael’s a man on a mission. The Thirteen Roses author began 2015 with a challenge to publish 15 books (including works he’s written previously.) He’s been keeping a daily video log of his progress and will talk to BQB about how its going.
Wednesday, October 14 – Kate L. Mary
A busy mother of four and U.S. Air Force wife, Kate will tell BQB’s 3.5 readers all about her Broken World books. Her claim that she prefers “nerds over hunks” intrigues BQB, causing him to grill her over this claim extensively. Here’s hoping this interview is the victory over hunks that nerds have long waited for.
Thursday, October 15 – Peter Meredith
As BQB’s 3.5 readers are aware, he was once so wrapped up in finding the meaning of life, he actually went on an epic adventure to find it. Thus, he can relate to Peter Meredith, who worked in real estate, as an emergency room nurse, and finally as a lighting company CEO before embracing his true passion, writing. The Apocalypse Crusade author will advise us on finding the calling that brings joy to your life.
Friday, October 16 – Saul Tanpepper
Zombies. Video games. Sure, we all love hits like Resident Evil and Dead Rising, but Saul “upped his game” by combining zombies and video games in his Gameland series, in which players actually control the undead and a group of hackers get trapped in the middle of the mayhem. Seen above in Peanuts form, Saul will also give BQB the 411 on how to improve his book blog.
Hey, BQB! Here’s a thought – review a book!
Saturday, October 17 – Jeremy Laszlo
Jeremy Lazlo once attempted the traditional publishing approach, but when a publishing industry intern accidentally hit the “reply all” button and Jeremy received a snarky email in which said intern was joking about how he’d just batch rejected 600 authors, the fruitful self-publishing career of the Left Alive author was born. This marine will give me the lowdown on how to balance writing with everything else that happens in life (motivation that I sorely need) and will answer that age old question – Orcs vs. zombies? Who wins?
FINAL THOUGHTS
Don’t forget to check out BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal, 3.5 readers! I hear this week BQB and the gang actually make it out of the East Randomtown Mall! Will they survive? Will they become zombie lunch? Who knows?
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 10
The quarters were cramped in the back office of Hipster Hutt. There was barely enough room for us to huddle together on the floor. I missed the luxurious space and cornucopia of supplies provided by Price Town.
Blandie, who’d discovered Alien Jones’ space phone, wasn’t doing much to reassure me that saving her was worth it.
Alien Jones grabbed his aching head.
“I’ve traveled from one end of the universe to the other and I swear humans are the only beings who react to a being they aren’t sure of by kicking it in the face,” the Esteemed Brainy One said.
Ignoring her victim, Blandie used AJ’s space phone to take one selfie after another to post on Randombook, a popular social media site catering to both East and West Randomtown.
“Hashtag Zombie Apocalypse,” Blandie said as she typed with her thumbs then posed for another one.
“She certainly is in love with herself,” VGRF noted.
The duck face selfie – a mystery even to the Esteemed Brainy One
“Why do Earth females insist on taking photos of themselves whilst making their lips protrude like a duck bill?” Alien Jones asked. “Are Earth men attracted to water fowl?”
The space phone let out a loud ring and then projected a three foot tall hologram of another alien.
Surprised, Blandie shouted a trail of obscenities and dropped the phone. The hologram shut off but we could still hear an angry voice.
“JONES? JONES! HOW DARE YOU HANG UP ON YOUR SUPREME OVERLORD?!”
“For the love of Scalamox’s Forbidden Quadrant!” Alien Jones shouted as he dove for the phone.
The Esteemed Brainy One punched a few buttons and the hologram was back.
We all stared at the image of an alien who looked similar to Alien Jones, but wore an elaborately bejeweled crown, a flowing cape, and carried a scepter. Also, he was gray instead of Alien Jones’ usual green color.
Alien Jones set the phone on the desk then hit the ground, bowing up and down repeatedly.
“I’m sorry Oh Potent One. It was one of the miserable humans. She dropped the phone with her clumsy ape like fingers. All hail the Mighty Potentate!!!”
AJ turned his head toward us.
“Hail the Potentate, you barbarians!”
ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!
It was always an odd experience to see Alien Jones communicate with his boss, the Mighty Potentate, Supreme Overlord of Alien Jones’ homeworld. AJ was a being of great wisdom who’d dedicated his life to reason and rational thought and yet whenever his boss was around, he turned into a blubbering lackey.
I can’t say as I blame him, what with the Mighty Potentate’s track record for vaporizing his subordinates.
VGRF, Bernie and I let loose a very half-hearted, “All Hail the Mighty Potentate.”
“What?” Blandie asked. “I didn’t vote for him.”
“Ha ha,” Alien Jones said. “Human humor. To what do I owe the pleasure of your most glorious transmission, Your Potentosity?”
“Jones,” the maniacal despot said. “What is this I hear that the Chosen One’s life is in jeopardy?”
“Jeopardy?” Alien Jones asked, trying to deflect the question with a question. “I know of no jeopardy, Oh Mighty One. Chosen One, are you well? Are you feeling jeopardized?”
I didn’t know the protocol of how to address this particular alien situation.
“I…uh…feel fine?”
“I’m not talking about his health,” the Mighty Potentate said. “Although now that we’re talking about it, son of a braying tawazal beast Jones, would it kill you to get the Chosen One to do a few jumping jacks once in awhile? He’s looking awfully pudgy.”
“Duly noted,” Alien Jones said, and then to me yelled, “Chosen One! Jumping Jacks immediately!”
“Aw come on.”
“How dare you defy the Most Potent of Us All?”
“Fine.”
There wasn’t a lot of room but I managed to provide a few lackluster jumping jacks for show.
“Jones, I’m talking about allegations of a zombie apocalypse in the Chosen One’s residential area. It’s been all over the human television transmissions. Are these reports valid or are the just a new form of that most reviled form of media…”
The Mighty Potentate shuddered then continued, “…reality television.”
“I’m sorry, Supreme Overlord. I do not wish to disappoint you but I cannot lie to your either. The reports are true but rest assured, your humble servant is on the case and I will not rest until the Chosen One is delivered to safety.”
“See that you do,” the Mighty Potentate said. “And how is the Chosen One’s novel coming along?”
Alien Jones stalled on that question, just as I’d been stalling to write my novel my entire life.
“Come again, oh Omnipotent Overlord?” Alien Jones said. “The transmission is fading and I…”
It was never a good idea to screw with the Mighty Potentate.
“DO NOT DECEIVE ME, JONES! I DEMAND A STATUS REPORT ON THE CHOSEN ONE’S NOVEL AT ONCE!”
It’s a good thing Alien Jones doesn’t poop, because he probably would have. He was surely trembling like he wanted to.
“You heard the Mighty Potentate, Chosen One! Report on your novel immediately!”
I stepped in front of the hologram.
“Umm…hello Mr. Potentate.”
“Greetings, Chosen One. Please do not be shy. Regale me of the novel you are writing, the story I have foreseen that will inspire all humans to demand a higher level of storytelling from Earth’s entertainment industry, thus shutting down the reality television menace once and for all.”
“It’s uh…it’s going good Potentate. Really good.”
“Elaborate.”
“What?”
“ELABORATE!!!!”
Damn that guy was shouty.
“It’s the most badass novel ever. It’s got mystery, action, suspense, drama….”
The Mighty Potentate listened intently.
“…twists and turns, hot naked chicks, explosions, daredevil stunts, wars, fires, pestilence, plagues…”
“Go on.”
“Oh and there’s a big car chase and the hero of the novel has these uh….uh….”
I noticed Bernie’s 9MM poking out of his bug out bag.
“The hero has gun hands.”
“Gun hands?” the Potentate inquired.
“Yes,” I replied. “‘Johnny Gun Hands’ is his name. The Mafia cut off his damn hands and left him for dead but he didn’t die so he replaces his hands with guns, shoots all of his enemies and then he uncovers a conspiracy in which umm…umm…yes! I’ve got it. He uncovers a conspiracy in which a group of furries, you know, those weirdoes who dress up in plush animal costumes and have sex with each other, are importing knock-off designer handbags out of Kuala Lumpur.”
The Mighty Potentate tapped a finger on his jaw as I ranted away.
“And so, the bad guys kidnap the only woman Johnny ever loved, so he breaks into their secret lair and BLAM BLAM BLAM Johnny massacres every last one of those furries with his gun hands and the ending…oh my God the ending. Johnny and his woman walk into the sunset and they want to get married but they can’t because, holy shit, Johnny has guns for hands so you know, it’s not like they can do it or anything because it would be way too dangerous.”
I took a moment to breathe. Everyone in the room was fixated on me now.
“So Johnny walks off all alone and he’s depressed and he sticks his gun hands up to his temples and is about to end it all but NO! You know what he does?”
“What?” Bernie asked, transfixed on the story. “What does he do, yo?”
“Johnny sets up a center to take care of other people who are also afflicted with having guns for hands and he finds a sense of peace and inner happiness from being able to help others suffering from the same problem he has and he lives to a ripe old age, fully content with the life he lived.”
We all remained silent, waiting for the Mighty Potentate to say something.
“That sounds like…”
He stopped, removed his crown, scratched his head, then continued.
“…THE BEST F%&KING IDEA FOR A NOVEL I’VE EVER HEARD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!”
Alien Jones gasped a sigh of relief.
“Thanks Potentate,” I said. “Can I ask you something? Are you sure I’m the Chosen One?”
“Of course,” the Mighty Potentate said. “I have foreseen it. My predictions are never wrong.”
“Well,” I said as I wrapped my arm around Alien Jones, “For what it’s worth, this guy is a real credit to your organization.”
“Who? Jones?”
“Yes,” I said. “His column is an asset to the Bookshelf Battle Blog. Sometimes his words drive my stats as high as 7.5 readers.”
“Astonishing,” the Mighty Potentate said. “Though you are aware you’ll need to write a bestseller to avoid world domination, yes?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Splendid!” the Mighty Potentate said. “Good luck with the zombie apocalypse. I expect the Chosen One to remain alive, Alien Jones and Chosen One?”
“Yes?”
“I expect to see a rough draft of Johnny Gun hands by the end of the year. POTENTATE OUT!”
The hologram shut off.
Alien Jones hopped up onto the desk, grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “What have you done?!”
“What did you want me to do? Tell him the truth? That everyday I come home from work, try to write a novel, give up after three words and watch The Walking Dead in my underpants with a bowl full of Cheetos?”
“Lying to the Mighty Potentate always makes things worse,” Alien Jones said. “Do you realize you’ll actually have to write a Johnny Gunhands novel now?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I know just who to call to ask for some writing tips.”
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 9 (Part 2)
There’s something about being chased by ravenous creatures of the damned that puts your body into overdrive. Adrenaline takes control and gives you that extra oomph you need, at least it did for me.
Zombie after zombie crashed into Alien Jones’ protective bubble, getting instantly vaporized.
East Randomtown was a small community where everyone knew each other, and I recognized many of the zombies that the Esteemed Brainy One was plowing through.
There was Edna, the lady who ran the beauty parlor and Sid the the old man who wandered around collecting tin cans to take back to the recycling center. I’d recognize his ‘stache anywhere, even on a zombie lip.
There was another zombie wearing track shorts and a whistle around his neck. That had to have been my old high school gym teacher, Mr. Culpepper. Sure, that guy was a dick, but I never wanted him to become zombified and then vaporized by an alien force field either.
Alien Jones was running as fast as his little green legs could carry him when suddenly, he slipped on an errant banana peel, careened face first into the floor, and dropped the force field.
We were screwed.
VGRF, Bernie and I huddled together, taking as many shots as we could as the beasts circled around us. It was pitch black but we could see the monsters’ yellow eyes drawing near and smell the fetid stench of their breath.
Seriously. Those undead dudes needed a mint.
“This is it,” VGRF said.
“Not yet, baby,” I said.
I turned around, hoisted the dummy, aka, the decoy human over my head and threw it as far as I could.
“Go get it, zombies!”
Have you ever thrown a milk bone across the room only to watch your dog trip over itself to get it? It was just like that. The zombies abandoned us completely.
Stupid zombies.
I found Alien Jones and helped him up. Out came the force field bubble and we were back in action, running until we reached the end of the mall.
“This is it!” Alien Jones shouted.
I looked up and shined my flashlight.
The sign read “Hipster Hut.”
Hipster Hut was a small boutique store catering in the latest “I work extra hard to look look like I don’t care what you think about me when secretly I really do” fashions.
Their motto? “Is there a store that’s better at bringing you the latest hip fashions than Hipster Hut? Sure, but we doubt you’ve heard of it.”
Welcome to Hipster Hut. Are you sure you belong here? We’re pretty exclusive.
The store was empty, sans one zombie who kept walking into the corner, bumping his head on the wall over and over again.
Bernie raised his 9MM to take him out but VGRF put her hand on his.
“No,” I said. “He’s not a bad zombie. He’s just stupid.”
“Gotcha,” Bernie replied.
Alien Jones took the space phone from me, hit a button, and the store’s security gate closed. A torrent of zombies crashed against it.
I knocked on the door to the back office.
An angry female voice yelled, “Go away!”
“Blandie? It’s me! Bookshelf Q. Battler!”
“Oh. It’s about time!”
Blandie – known for ripping BQB a new one early and often.
The lock clicked, the door opened and out popped my ex-girlfriend, the voluptuously hot yet soul crushingly mean Bland Life “Blandie” Settler.
Yeah, I know like it seems as though I’m trying to make a point with that name, but I didn’t give it to her. You can check her license.
“Why did you bring nerds?” Blandie asked, pointing to my posse.
“They’re my friends,” I said. “You remember Bernie.”
“Yo.”
“And this is my girlfriend, Video Game Rack Fighter.”
“Blech,” Blandie said. “A snow hat? You might as well just wear a sign that says, ‘I’m a lesbian.’”
“You were right,” VGRF said to me. “We should have left her here.”
Alien Jones stretched out his hand.
“Ms. Settler, I’m Alien Jones, Emissary of the Mighty Potentate, it is nice to meet…”
Blandie screeched like a howler monkey, kicked AJ in the face and punted him across the room.
“What are you doing?!” I shouted.
I ran over to check on AJ. He was out cold. I scooped his listless little body up in my arms.
The Esteemed Ouchie One
“What the f$%k is that thing?!” Blandie asked. “Is it a mutant zombie?”
“He’s an intergalactic adventurer and thus far, he’s been the brains of our operation, saving our asses at every turn, and you just put him into a damn coma!!!”
“Well I didn’t know,” Blandie said. “You think you’d give me a warning. ‘Hey. I have an alien with me.’ Is that too much to ask?”
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re ALWAYS right aren’t you? Everything I do is totally wrong and EVERYTHING you do is perfect isn’t it?”
“Oh here we go with your crybaby routine,” Blandie said. ‘Waah waah waah, I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I have a tiny…’”
“Awk-ward,” Bernie said.
I walked into the backroom and laid Alien Jones across Blandie’s desk. The group followed. Blandie shut the door and locked it behind us.
“So what’s the plan now?” Bland asked.
“I don’t know. You just auditioned for the Rockettes on my planner’s face.”
“Are you still on that? Typical BQB, always living in the past.”
“Typical Blandie. Never able to apologize for anything.”
I overheard VGRF whisper to Bernie.
“Wow. Did they always fight like this?”
“Y’all don’t even know the half of it, boo.”
Video Game Rack Fighter grabbed the space phone.
“I better call someone.”
BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 9
At the entrance to Price Town, Alien Jones assembled a massive pile of laptops (ten percent off because Price Town has the best prices in town!), tablets, and game consoles, all hooked together with cables. Somehow, he connected that mess to one giant battery he formed by connecting thousands of smaller batteries together, and then attached everything to a dehumidifier which was, in turn, rigged up to a leaf blower.
“Switching from suck to blow now,” Alien Jones said, inadvertently paying homage to Spaceballs. “Does everyone have their Sarah Lyons Fleming approved bug-out bags?”
“Affirmative,” VGRF replied. “And remember, if you see a zombie like Jaime Johnesee’s ‘Bob,’ don’t shoot him.”
“That’s quite a contraption, AJ,” I said. “But what did you need the troll doll for?”
Alien Jones held up the tiny little plastic guy I’d found for him. It had a tuft of blue hair popping out of its head.
“I just think they’re adorable,” the Esteemed Brainy One said.
“OK then,” I said.
“Is everyone ready?” Alien Jones asked.
“One more thing,” I said.
I walked to the clothing section, grabbed a mannequin, tucked it under my arm, and rejoined the crew.
I never go anywhere in a zombie apocalypse without a decoy human.
“Why are you bringing a dummy?”
“Insert joke about Bernie here,” I said.
Bernie was too busy admiring his duel 9mm automatics. (Conveniently located next to the toy aisle, come on down to Price Town!)
“This isn’t just a dummy,” I said. “It is a…decoy human.”
“What?”
“My sweet Video Game Rack Fighter,” I said. “Earlier this year, my life was saved thanks to the wisdom of one of the wisest sages in the self-publishing game.”
“Not the decoy wallet story again,” VGRF said.
“The decoy wallet story indeed!”
I put the dummy down, then pulled one leather bound wallet out of my jacket pocket and a second velcro wallet out of my pants pocket.
“This wallet,” I said as I held up the wallet in my left hand, “Holds my driver’s license, credit cards, and money. To be relieved of it from the likes of a common street hoodlum would be an arduous ordeal for certain.”
“All you have to do is call up the credit card company and have them cancel your old card,” VGRF said.
“This wallet,” I continued, ignoring my girlfriend’s protestations while holding up the wallet in my right hand, “is a distraction. NAY! An illusion. A decoy!”
“I’m sorry I asked,” VGRF said.
“It contains one expired credit card, exactly three dollars, no more, no less, and a punch eleven and get your twelfth sub free at Sub Shack coupon.”
“How many punches?” VGRF asked.
“Ten. Come to think of it, I’ll be damned if some degenerate mugger is going to walk away with my free sub.”
I switched the sub punch card to the real wallet.
“A few months ago, as I was strolling down the street, a villainous desperado jumped out of an alleyway and demanded I turn over my wallet. Turn it over I did, yet little did he know I turned over a decoy. I walked away safe and sound and did not have to spend an hour on the phone waiting for an operator to replace my cards.”
“So if your decoy wallet was stolen, then what is that?” VGRF asked. “A decoy, decoy wallet?”
“No,” I replied. “A REPLACEMENT decoy wallet.”
“What if the mugger gets mad that you only have three dollars and blows your head off?” VGRF asked.
I pondered that question for a moment. Failing to think of an answer, I chose to ignore it.
“Moving on,” I said as I picked up the mannequin. “This is a decoy human. If the zombies corner us, I can fling it in the opposite direction. They’ll go after it and by the time they wise up we’ll be long gone.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” VGRF said.
“No,” I said. “The decoy wallet is a brilliant invention brought to us from Dave, the wisest of all the self-publishing sages. Dave is truly a gift from the creator, sent here to Earth to share his wisdom and advice on decoy wallets, book covers, and the lousy service at Olive Garden.”
“Oh right,” VGRF said. “Johnny, Sean and Dave of the Self-Publishing Podcast. You love those guys. Why don’t you call Dave? He co-authored a zombie book series.”
“What?” I asked. “VGRF, please. As if a renowned celebrity/decoy wallet enthusiast of such a high stature would ever, EVER take a call from a peon like me. I love you baby but come on. Get your head out of your ass.”
“Whatever,” VGRF said. “Just a thought. Let’s roll, Alien Jones.”
This post dedicated to Self-Publishing Podcasters and All Around Awesome Dudes Johnny, Sean, and Dave, noted zombie writer and decoy wallet enthusiast.
The little guy yanked the cord on the leaf blower and started his device up.
“Remember,” he said. “This is a primitive recreation of a vaporization cannon, so it will only be capable of firing one shot. After that, we’re on our own.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Open the gate on 1,” my intergalactic colleague commanded.
AJ had set his space phone up so all I had to do was hit a button to make the security gate open. The Esteemed Brainy One was able to hack just about any electronic device with that thing.
“3…2…1!”
I hit the button. Slowly, the gate rose. The zombies, who’d been standing there for over a week, just biding their time, yearning for a chance to tear into our flesh, stampeded toward us like a herd of wild buffalo.
Alien Jones pulled the trigger and a bolt of blue light reduced over a hundred zombies into nothingness. Their particles simply floated away.
We walked into the mall’s main thoroughfare. It was dark and we weren’t able to see anything. I shined my flashlight and was able to see a group of zombies gathered around a waterfall in the center. They were too busy bumping into each other to notice us, but that would surely change.
The waterfall had stopped flowing days earlier and had become just a mere tepid pool of water.
“Turn out the light,” Alien Jones said. “It attracts them.”
I did as instructed.
“Take my hands, humans,” Alien Jones said. “I can see in the dark.”
VGRF and I each grabbed an alien hand. Bernie, the odd man out, grabbed hold of my backpack strap.
The Esteemed Brainy One led the way. I could hear the zombie gurgles and groans grow louder.
“Are we there yet?” Bernie asked.
“No,” AJ answered
“How ’bout now?”
“Silence human.”
I could hear footsteps moving towards us.
“Humans?” Alien Jones asked.
“Yes?”
AJ let go out our hands, outstretched his, and made another force field bubble, misting all oncoming undead.
“RUN!”
POLL- Should BQB and the Gang Save Blandie?
Bookshelf Q. Battler: No! We’ve got a great set-up here in Price Town! Free food, supplies, and a gate that’s keeping the zombies at bay! Plus, she made this face at me for as long as I knew her:
VIDEO GAME RACK FIGHTER: Yes! She’s still a person and I’ll never live with myself knowing I could have prevented her from being eaten by ravenous zombies, even if she and BQB used to get jiggy with it.
WHAT SAY YOU, 3.5 READERS?
SAVE BLANDIE OR LET HER BECOME ZOMBIE CHOW?
CAST YOUR VOTES IN THE COMMENTS!
Bookshelf Battle 