Category Archives: BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal

This Excerpt From BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal Brought to By Beige Corp!

BEIGE CORP!

Beige

Beige

Yes, Beige Corp!  The world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories is a proud sponsor of the Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal.

“We were devastated to learn of a zombie attack in East Randomtown, mostly because that’s where our headquarters is located, and its going to cost an ass-ton of cash to have it fumigate,” said Lawrence Mortimer, Beige Corp CEO.  “Oh, and also we’re very worried about our dear, dear employees.  They are truly the life’s blood of our drab empire.”

Mr. Mortimer noted that despite of the loss of the East Randomtown HQ, beige products and accessories production will continue via new plants in China, India, and Thailand.

“Fear not, loyal beige loving customers, our third world sweat shops will be set up in no time!  Did I say ‘third world sweat shops?’  Whoops! I meant to say ‘developing nation economic advancement centers!'”

BEIGE!  It’s the color you wear when you don’t want to say anything about yourself whatsoever.

Have you lived a pristine enough life to pull off white?  I don’t think so.

Are you enough of a badass outlaw to walk around in all black?  Johnny Cash knows you haven’t.

BEIGE!

Just look at these fine Beige Corp employees, hard at work, producing beige products and accessories for the beige loving masses.

Or, at least they were before our headquarters was overrun by the gruesome undead.  Where ever you are, East Randomtown employees, we’re thinking about you.

But thinking is all we’re going to do because holy shit, we aren’t fighting any damn zombies.

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Ted Becker, Accounting – Feared dead or zombified.

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Judy Masters, Call Center Operator – Most likely was too bored to fend off a zombie attack.

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Eduardo Ricardo Papageorgio Von Finkelstein, aka Bookshelf Q. Battler, Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice-President for Corporate Assistance – Currently fighting for his life in the East Randomtown Mall.

To BQB and the rest of our employees in East Randomtown, know that your bosses are keeping you in their thoughts and prayers, far far away from that shit hole you call a town, which let’s face it, didn’t even look that great before the zombie apocalypse.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 6

October 6, 2015shutterstock_133662827 copy

I was half-asleep, unsure of what time it was.  The only glimpse of light came when Alien Jones opened his glow in the dark eyes or when VGRF moved around while holding the space phone.

She had it on speaker.

“Hello!” came an automated message.  “You have reached the Pentagon!  If you are a terrorist, please stay on the line and an operator will be on shortly to take your location so we can blow you up and shit.”

“Ugh,”  VGRF said.  “You can never get a real person on the line anymore.”

“You’re being silly, babe,”  I said.  “You really think the Army is going to bother to help us?  All they’re going to do is keep the town under containment.  They’re not going to send a unit into an area teaming with zombies just to save a few people.”

“Oh please,”  VGRF said.  “You just want to keep this insanity going so you can up the hits on your precious blog.”

“VGRF!  How dare you imply I’d ever do such a thing?”

(I was totally doing such a thing.  10.5 readers, here I come!)

“This is a rare occasion where I concur with BQB,”  Alien Jones said.  “I’d prefer to keep the government out of this as much as possible.  One look at me and they’ll cart me off to Area 51.”

“Area 51’s real?”  VGRF asked.

“I’ve said too much,” Alien Jones answered.

The Esteemed Brainy One

The Esteemed Brainy One

“Grab another hat and some sunglasses and we’ll tell them you’re our kid,”  VGRF said.  “Or you can just poof yourself out of here.”

Alien Jones did have the ability to teleport himself away at any second.  It was a true sign of his support that he didn’t do just that and leave the rest of us hanging.

The Pentagon’s automated voice message system was back.

“If you are a United States citizen under attack, press one now!”

VGRF pressed one.

“Please state the nature of the attack.”

“Zombies.”

“I heard, ‘Taylor Swift wielding a club!’  If that’s correct, please press one.  If incorrect, press two.”

“How could this machine have possibly gotten that out of ‘zombies?'”  VGRF asked as she pressed two.

“Machines screw with humans all the time,”  Alien Jones said.  “They test your patience and take notes regarding your responses for the purposes of planning their inevitable takeover.  Same thing happened to the Moloklaxons.”

“Please state the nature of the attack again.”

“Zombies!  We’re being attacked by zombies!”

“I heard, ‘Rob Lowe is ordering a chicken to peck your eyes out!’  If that is correct, press one…”

“ARRRRGGGGH!!”

It was a VGRF’s turn to flip out.

“Just hang up,”  I said.  “Leave it to the zombie authors.  They’ll get us through this.  The government will just screw everything up.”

“Please state the nature of the attack again…”

“Operator!”  VGRF said.  “I want to talk to a person.”

“You have requested to speak to an operator.  Please hold.”

Elevator muzak.

“It’s catchy,”  Alien Jones said.

“You do realize Dr. Hugo did this on purpose, don’t you?”  VGRF asked me.

Dr. Hugo Von Science - incompetent hack, or cunning mad scientist hell bent on world domination?

Dr. Hugo Von Science – incompetent hack, or cunning mad scientist hell bent on world domination?

“What?”

“He’s always been bitter that scientists aren’t as beloved as celebrities,”  VGRF said.  “He turned those reality TV stars into monsters to start an apocalypse and spread chaos.”

“Get out of here,”  I said.  “Dr. Hugo’s just a tad scatterbrained.  So he didn’t adjust his invention properly.  Cut the guy some slack.  Sure, he might be borderline incompetent but he means well and he’d never do anything like this on purpose.”

“That’s just his schtick,”  VGRF said.  “He knows exactly what he’s doing.  Haven’t you read his columns?”

“Not really.”

“They’re on YOUR blog.  You should be reading everything on it.  Dr. Hugo is always listing his inventions, then ‘accidentally’ mentioning one invention that sounds like it could be used to take over the world.”

“Listen,”  I said.  “I get you’re upset, but I can’t sit back and allow you to tarnish the good name of the great Dr. Hugo Von Science.”

“She’s right,”  Alien Jones said.

“Excuse me?”  I asked.

“Video Game Rack Fighter is astute in her assessment,”  Alien Jones said.  “I read Dr. Hugo’s mind during the demonstration.  He fully intended to start a zombie apocalypse.  He plans to blackmail the government into turning over a hundred billion dollars in exchange for the zombie cure.”

“There’s a zombie cure?”  I asked.

“There’s a cure for everything,”  Alien Jones said.  “Had your human scientists spent less time developing erection medication and more time on other inflictions, they’d of realized this long ago.”

“AJ,”  I said.  “I’ve never believed that you can read minds.  I’m calling BS on that one.”

“VGRF is disgusted by the amount of time you spend on “Buttstravaganza.com” every day,”  Alien Jones said.

I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

“That’s…that’s absurd…I’ve never…”

VGRF confirmed it.

“All I’m saying is you’d think that when an intergalactic despot is threatening to take over the world if your writing career doesn’t take off, you might spend less time on the ‘Butt of the Day’ and more time on your novel.  Or at least respect me enough to erase your browser history!”

“That’s…that’s inconclusive,”  I said to AJ.  “That could be anyone looking at those butts.  You just guessed that.”

“You despise it when Video Game Rack Fighter clips her toe nails in the living room,”  Alien Jones said.

VGRF glared at me.

“Wrong,”  I said.  “There is absolutely nothing that this enchantress could ever do to upset me and OH MY GOD yes it’s so disgusting!”

“BQB!”  VGRF shouted.

“If you won’t do it in the bathroom like a normal person, would it kill you to at least do it over a trash can?  Meet me half-way here, woman!”

“I always pick them all up!”

“You THINK you pick them all up but then I always step on one.  And it’s usually the big toenail, the friggin’ big daddy of them all!”

“Humans, please,”  Alien Jones said.  “It was not my intention to cause turmoil in your relationship.  I simply needed to prove my mind reading capabilities so as to make it clear to you that Dr. Hugo was indeed the culprit in this sordid affair.”

“I can’t believe this,”  I said.  “Dr. Hugo Von Science.  My mentor.  The greatest scientific mind the world has ever known.  A columnist on my website a wanton criminal.”

“I’m sorry I had to be the one to break it to you,”  VGRF said.

“I have no idea who to trust now,”  I said.

“Pentagon Operator, how may I direct your call?”

“Hello,”  VGRF said.  “My friends and I are trapped in the middle of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.”

“Ma’am, it is a serious offense to file a false report with the Federal government…”

“Does this sound false to you?”  VGRF asked as she walked closer to the gate so that the phone would pick up all the zombie snarls and growls.

“Hold on,”  the operator said.

We waited a few minutes.

You're stuck in the middle of what now?

You’re stuck in the middle of what now?

“Ma’am, I’m told we’ve set up a special hotline for all reports stemming from the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.  If you give me your number I’ll text it to you.”

“Oh for the love of…fine!”

VGRF made the same mistake I did, trying to read Alien Jones’ phone number off the screen.

“I think there’s three pyramids…”

She covered the receiver and showed the screen to Alien Jones.

“Is that a cat with a syringe?”

“It’s the sign of the Omnosphar Contingent,”  Alien Jones said.  “But that’s no matter.  Hang up, for I have already read the minds of your government’s officials and they have no intention of helping you.”

“Really?”  VGRF asked.

“Really,”  the Esteemed Brainy one said.  “They’ve determined that it is better to quarantine East Randomtown rather than allow any survivors to leave.  It is their hope that the zombies will just devour everyone and then each other until there is no sustenance left and they all die…again.”

VGRF’s face took a depressed turn.  She hanged up the phone.

“We’re doomed.”

“Not necessarily,” Alien Jones said.  “I will do all I can to get this group to safety.  The Mighty Potentate will expect nothing less.”

I grabbed the space phone.

“I need to consult one of the world’s preeminent zombie scholars about this.”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  3.5 readers, you have no idea how many hilarious porn site names I thought up in order to write this post, checked to see if they’re real or not (for research purposes only, of course) only to discover the porn industry has no shame when it comes to using hilarious sounding names.  “Buttstravaganza.com” was the first one I came up with that does not exist, and thus it was used for fictional purposes in the story above.

Future reader of this post,  if somewhere out there, at some date in the future, some pornographers start up a site called “Buttstravaganza.com,” please know it did not exist when I wrote this.

I of course never frequent such horrible sites.  VGRF may be my soulmate, but she’s also a liar, liar pants on fire.  It’s all WordPress and Wall Street Journal for me.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 4

“The horror. The horror.”

Bernie's starting to become the weak link in our survival group's chain.

Bernie’s starting to become the weak link in our survival group’s chain.

Bernie sat on the cold tile, trying to conceive of the atrocity he’d just committed.

“It’s ok man,” I said as I rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the zombie apocalypse. We’re all bound to do something stupid sooner or later.”

“But look at them all, man!” Bernie said. “I…I can’t believe I did this.”

“I can’t believe he did that either,” VGRF said, surveying the mess.

“Is there a point to making him feel bad about it now?” I asked. “What’s done is done.”

Alien Jones strolled in, nonchalant as usual.

“Gadzooks!  Is anyone going to clean up all these candy bar wrappers?”

“Twenty Crunchtasticks,” Bernie said as he laid back on the floor and grabbed his stomach. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I ate them all.”

“We’re all under a lot of stress,” I said. “You just have to find a way to deal with it by doing something more productive than snarfing down a bunch of candy bars.”

“This isn’t how I wanted my life to be,” Bernie said. “I wanted the Funky Hunks to go double-platinum! I wanted to hang out with Fiddy and Snoop and drive a Bentley and throw hot tub parties with supermodels.”

He leaned up and grabbed my shirt collar.

“So many supermodels! Where are my supermodels, BQB? Where?!”

“Some things just weren’t meant to be,” I said. “Some people get a hot tub full of supermodels. Some people don’t. We live and die by the cards life has dealt us and there’s no use whining about it.”

“But we were on TV!”

It was time for a confrontation that was years in the making.

“For five minutes,” I said. “Fifteen years ago. At four a.m. on World’s Lamest Musicians. When are you going to get over it, Bernie? The Funky Hunks are dead! Deader than those zombies outside the gate that want to kill us! Stop selling oranges and get a job!”

“What?” Bernie asked. “You’re going to make fun of my oranges now? I will have you know that I provide the world with much needed vitamin C. Whenever you don’t have a cold, you can thank me.”

Fun fact: Stank Daddy, the top rapper on today's charts, coined the phrase "Dropping a Funky Hunk" to refer to the production of a lousy rap song. All rappers live in fear of "dropping a Funky Hunk." More often than not, the phrase is interchangeable with, "Dropping a Funky Dump."

Fun fact: Stank Daddy, the top rapper on today’s charts, coined the phrase “Dropping a Funky Hunk” to refer to the production of a lousy rap song. All rappers live in fear of “dropping a Funky Hunk.” The phrase is interchangeable with, “Dropping a Funky Dump.”

“You bum five bucks off of people who feel sorry for you and give them an orange so you can trick that rattle trap you call a brain of yours into thinking you actually DID something,” I said. “Yes, Bernie. We tried something with the Funky Hunks and we failed. Our rap duo was a miserable failure. On the great list of ‘Worst Rappers in History,’ we actually rank BELOW Milli Vanilli even though those guys were caught lip syncing. And you know why? BECAUSE WE SUCKED!”

“I don’t suck! You suck!”

“We totally sucked,” I said. “But you know what? At least we tried. We tried and we failed and that’s more

“You bum five bucks off of people who feel sorry for you and give them an orange so you can trick that than most people ever do. Be honest with yourself. You refuse to try do anything else now because you’re afraid any new path you take will end up in a massive failure of Funky Hunkian proportions, don’t you?”

Bernie stood up and marched toward the gate, which was teaming with hungry undead beasts.

“I don’t have to take this!”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m leaving.”

“You can’t go out there!”

“Watch me. I’d rather be out there with those things than with a poor excuse for a friend like you!”

Bernie’s hand was inches away from slapping the red button that would open the gate.

“Stop!” I said. “You’re going to let them in!”

Various zombies of all races, colors and creeds were rattling the gate, looking at us like we were delicious chicken nuggets.

Alien Jones pointed a finger at Bernie and instantly, my buddy was frozen.

“Holy Crap!” I said. “Did you kill him?”

“He is frozen indefinitely,” Alien Jones said.

“Can you do that to them?” I asked, pointing at the zombies.

“It only works on living organisms.”

“Bernie’s really down in the dumps, huh?” VGRF asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “But since when is there a guarantee that we are all supposed to get the life we want?”

VGRF handed me Alien Jones’ space phone. She’d been reading an e-book. On the cover was a young girl holding a sledgehammer.

“I think the author of this book could help us out with that.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 3

It was only a matter of time.

Since October 1, zombies have been trying to break through the metal gate that separates Price Town from the rest of the mall. Thus far, it has held.

We secured the front doors leading to the parking lot as well, locking them, then chaining and padlocking the handles together for extra measure. We moved as much furniture and junk as we could find to put in front of the glass doors.

In the stock room, the loading dock was impenetrable. There was a giant roll-down steel door that was shut tight.

But we forgot one thing.

The four of us were playing a rousing board game that may or may not have involved dungeons and or possibly dragons when a hideous zombie popped out of a ceiling vent.

Zombie Farmer...E I E I...ARRRRGGHHH!!!

Zombie Farmer…E I E I…ARRRRGGHHH!!!

The creature was ugly and wore a pair of overalls. I assumed he must have been a farmer in his previous life. He lunged at us and I didn’t hesitate to unload a clip in his chest, to no avail.

Bernie scored a headshot and the zombie’s brains went flying everywhere.

Four more zombies charged out of nowhere, but were instantly misted.

Alien Jones smacked his vaporizer.

“Out of power? I thought I charged this thing before we came here!”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that’s my bad. I unhooked your vaporizer because I needed to charge my electric toothbrush.”

Alien Jones' Pocket Vaporizer

Alien Jones’ Vaporizer

Alien Jones face-palmed himself, took a seat at VGRF’s video game console and started playing Car Thief Mayhem.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I thought you didn’t like that game,” VGRF added.

“Yeah, well, you dummies have put me in a prostitute running over mood,” was the Esteemed Brainy One’s reply. “Go secure every vent in the store. I can’t do everything for you.”

“Sheesh,” I said as VGRF, Bernie and I walked away. “If he had a butt, I’d ask what crawled up it.”

“It’s the zombie apocalypse,” VGRF said. “It’s stressful. Puts a lot of pressure on everyone. You can’t expect everyone to act like their usual selves. Circumstances like these bring out the worst in people…and aliens.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “People are the same no matter what situation you put them in. Right Bernie? Bernie?”

Bernie was busy, smearing his face with war marks, using dark eyeshadow he nabbed from the make-up

Bernie's losing it...more so than usual...or than he ever did in the late 90's.

Bernie’s losing it…more so than usual…or than he ever did in the late 90’s.

aisle.

“Look out for Charlie. He’s everywhere. And its either us or them.”

He took a kitchen knife he pinched from housewares and walked up to the carcass of the farmer zombie. There wasn’t much head left, but there was just enough there to hold an ear.

Bernie cut it off and showed it to us.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a necklace,” Bernie said. “As a warning to the other zombies.”

I leaned in and whispered into VGRF’s ear (luckily still intact) and said, “You might be right.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 2

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter was in her element.

She’d hooked up a gaming console to a fifty inch flat screen, moved a couple of bean bag chairs in front of it, and was fielding questions from Alien Jones regarding the finer points of her favorite video game, Car Thief Mayhem.

“You’re operating that stolen vehicle at an inadvisable pace,” Alien Jones said. “You run the risk of injuring one of these pixelized beings and…oh my! There goes an entire gaggle of prostitutes.”

“It’s just make believe,” VGRF said.

“Why would one want to pretend to run over prostitutes?” the Esteemed Brainy one asked.

“I don’t know,” VGRF. “It’s just a game.”

“Are all humans aware this is just a game?” Alien Jones inquired. “Surely there are some slower witted hairless apes who might take this too seriously.”

Bernie walked up with a shotgun.

“Aww sweet, Car Thief Mayhem! I get dibs on next game! I’ma run me over some prostitutes!”

“Case in point,” Alien Jones said.

“Bernie,” I said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“What, this?” Bernie asked as he cocked his new gat. “God bless America baby! Food, clothes, toys, and guns all under one roof. You want one? This place has a ton of ’em.”

VGRF paused her game.

“Put that away,” she said. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

“Didn’t you just shotgun a bunch of old ladies and steal their Winnebago?” AJ asked.

“Again,” VGRF replied. “It was make believe. I’m not one of the idiots who can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.”

“Bernie,” I said. “Show me where you found that. We should all be packing.”

“Hell to the yeah, ‘cuz. I’ma stone cold busta cap in some zombie ass. Blakow!”

“Hold on,” VGRF said. “What if there’s a nice zombie?”

“What?” I asked.

“A nice zombie!” VGRF repeated. “Or a confused, bumbling zombie. No one wants to be a zombie. Should we really just start shooting zombies with reckless abandon if we don’t have to?”

“Check it,” Bernie said. “Zombies ain’t all like the people they used to be and shit, girl. Maybe they used to be nice people but now all they want to do is rip us open, feast on our guts, and turn us into zombies.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” VGRF said. “Maybe most of them but not all of them. If we can avoid killing them we should.”

I grabbed Alien Jones’ space phone.

“Hold on. I know who can settle this argument.”

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