Book 2 – Son of Toilet Gator:
Book 3 – Toilet Gator in Space:
Book 2 – Son of Toilet Gator:
Book 3 – Toilet Gator in Space:
…so watch it, you nerds. I have to get my money’s worth:
…where Book Three of the Toilet Gator series is going:
3.5 readers, I am so excited to tell you that I have begun the long, hard slog toward finishing a second draft of my beloved novel, “Toilet Gator,” which really and truly is the best novel ever written about toilets, gators, or toilet gators.
My goodness, 3.5 readers. Isn’t that a wonderful cover? Anyway, this is the first time I have begun a second novel draft. It seems like it will be a long, arduous process. The novel is approximately 140,000 words and so far I have rewritten 7,000 of them. It is nice to be able to start solving problems I saw as I wrote the first draft but felt it would just slow me down to fix them, so now the time to fix them has come.
I hope when this book comes out, you will all support it and tell your friends, because if Toilet Gator is a success, then I can really bank some cash on the sequel, Son of Toilet Gator:
You don’t even want to see what the cover of Book 3 will look like.
3.5 readers, I’ll be honest. I’m no spring chicken and the older I get, the more I just want to stop and smell the daisies, then lie down in the dirt and wawit for the moss to grow over me.
So, if this blog makes you happy, and you think that being able to read wonderful books like Toilet Gator and Son of Toilet Gator would bring joy to your life, then please, do what you can to support my little enterprise here.
Read this fine blog. Tell your friends. Help get me some traffic. If I can make money off this, then I can put more time into entertaining you, my beloved 3.5 readers, who I would never want to see be eaten by a toilet gator.
Do watch out for toilet gators, 3.5 readers. They’re everywhere and in greater numbers than you’d think. Frankly, I have taken my life into my hands by publishing their secret, so much so that I get scared every time I sit on the throne to poop now, and not just because I’m a burrito fan.
Stay tuned, 3.5 readers.
I just breezed through reading the full first draft and I’d forgotten a lot of what I wrote. Yeah, this book is funny as all get out. I should win like a thousand awards for this thing. Surely, if there is a “Best Book Ever Written About Toilet Gators” then that award should be mine.
Dear Big Time Hollywood Directors,
I know life is hard for you, what with having a job most men dream of and banging supermodels on top of big piles of cash, all while promising them a gig in your next movie (you aren’t going to give it to them are you, you sly dog) but I’d love it if you could take a moment to consider my book, “Toilet Gator” for your next project:
Toilet Gator. Yes, toilet gator.
It’s got heart. It’s got soul. It’s got people being eaten by a giant lizard while they’re trying to take a dump.
It’s a comedic romp, a heartwarming drama, a baffling mystery, an epic horror story, a romance and a summer blockbuster action tale all wrapped up into one big scaly package. I have no doubt that the alligator chosen to play the toilet gator will become the next big celebrity unless, of course, you choose to go the CGI route. It’s up to you. Who am I to stifle your creative process?
For the hero gator hunter Cole Walker, I see someone like Jon Hamm, a bit up there in years though he has still retained his handsome features. Maybe his estranged wife Sharon Walker could be played by someone like Kim Dickens, that chick the plays the mom on “Fear the Walking Dead.” I’m not telling you how to make your casting decisions. I’m just saying that we need a hot babe after forty who has fought the forces of gravity to still keep it tight, someone who has withstood the ravages of time and come out the other side with the ability to still pop all the boners in her general vicinity.
Is this the best novel ever written about toilets, gators, or toilet gators? Yes. But don’t take my word for it. Check out this quote:
“Toilet Gator is the best novel ever written about toilets, gators, or toilet gators.”
– No One Ever
There’s no arguing with that. Did I mention that Dame Judi Dench would be an excellent choice for elderly spitfire Maude? As for Rusty, we just need a famous redheaded man. What about that guy that played Brodi on “Homeland.” He’s not doing anything important these days is he?
Look directors, I’m telling, this one is a winner. So let’s make a deal. Have your people call my people. We’ll get the crooked lawyers to draw up the paperwork and I’ll tell you where to back up the Brinks truck full of my gold ingot bars as my compensation for allowing you to put the fruits of my genius mind on screen.
J.J. Abrams, you could add a sci-flare with an edge to this.
Tarantino, you could feel free to start the story with a victim getting pooped out by the gator then work your way to the beginning when the victim is eaten.
Scorcese, you could turn this into an Italian gangster flick with the toilet gator as the boss.
Ron Howard, you could hire Tom Hanks to play the toilet gator. Just put him in some green makeup and then have him steal our hearts for the umpteenth million time.
Wes Anderson, you could turn this into an eccentric comedy, one where people who read the New Yorker and sit around their chic Manhattan apartments and sniff their own farts find it hilarious while the rest of us don’t find it funny at all but feel bad about ourselves for not laughing, like if we’d just paid a little more attention in school we’d get your jokes.
Christopher Nolan, you could make the toilet gator really dark and brooding and leave us completely unsure of what we just saw.
M. Knight Shyamalan, you could end the story with the toilet gator unzipping himself to reveal that he is actually a toilet elephant. What a twist!
George Lucas, you could present the toilet gator with some fabulous special effects and then sell out twenty years later and add in a bunch of bullshit that no one wants just because CGI gives you the ability to do so.
Steven Spielberg…eh, I’m not messing with you, Spielberg. You’d make a fantastic toilet gator flick.
Patiently Awaiting Your Answer,
Bookshelf Q. Battler
5 months. 147,373 words.
And now, the first draft of Toilet Gator is complete.
I learned from the mistake I made last year. I wrote a great first draft of “How the West Was Zombed” but that story turned into a multi-volume series and right now, I just need to get a few one and dones up onto Amazon just to start building that fan base.
As you can see from the Epilogue, the door is open for a Toilet Gator sequel, but also, shut just enough in case there isn’t a resounding demand for Toilet Gator 2.
I learned a lot. Specifically, comedy is my best stuff, because it keeps me interested, makes me laugh, have fun, and most importantly, I can break the rules, rules that can never be broken in other genres.
Now all I have to do is get it polished up and edited. Thanks for reading, 3.5 readers.
Flanked by the secret service, President Stugotz entered a top secret government lab. There, he found Professor Lambert standing over a table covered with Skippy’s tail and a bunch of disgusting alligator chunks.
“Well,” President Stugotz said. “Can we rebuild him? Do we have the tech…”
Professor Lambert raised his pointer finger and pressed it over the President’s lips. “Shh! Don’t finish that sentence. It’s most likely a copyright violation. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that no one has ever pissed off Lee Majors and lived to tell the tale.”
“Blech,” President Stugotz said. “Don’t put your dirty finger on my pristine lips. I don’t know where that finger has been.”
The Professor sniffed his finger and shook his head. “Come to think of it, neither do I.”
“So what’s the good word, Professor?” the President asked.
“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “I was honored when you asked me to participate in this project. Really, I was, but now that I have had the time to learn the end result you’re hoping to achieve here, I have to say, this initiative goes against everything I’ve spent my entire life fighting against.”
“I’ll add three more zeros to your check,” President Stugotz.
“And my morals just went out the window,” Professor Lambert said.
The professor lit up a doobie and puffed on it.
“Should you be smoking around the samples?” President Stugotz said.
“The samples?” Professor Lambert asked. “Oh, you mean all these gator chunks? No, yuck. We can throw them away. They’re useless.”
“What the hell, man?” President Stugotz asked. “I thought you were just going to sew all these gator chunks back together and make me a great big beautiful Frankengator, you know, a monster of my very own that will obey all my commands and pop out of the toilets of my enemies to devour them hole.”
“With the CIA’s help, I found something much better, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said.
The professor punched a combination into the door of a refrigerated vault, then pulled out a small vile filled with a frozen liquid.
“Is that what I think it is?” President Stugotz asked.
“Indeed it is, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert answered.
The two men laughed in a profoundly evil manner. “Muah ha…muah ha…muah ha ha!”
When they were done laughing, the President turned to the Professor. “I’m starving. The First Lady has me on a new diet. Nothing but kale cauliflower. I’ve never been more regular. Believe me, there’s no one as regular as I am now. But screw it, I’m hungry, want to get something to eat?”
“On the way here, wherever ‘here’ is, I saw a fried chicken stand next to a titty bar out of a tiny slit in the bag the CIA put on my head,” Professor Lambert said.
“Professor,” the President replied. “You had me at chicken and titties.”
NATALIE BROCK: Witnesses on the scene reported that the ghost haunting the abandoned tuna fish factory was, in fact, an elderly real estate speculator engaged in elaborate scheme to drive down local real estate prices via an elaborate rouse. The suspect’s last words just before the police beat him senselessly and tazered him in all of his body cavities? “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those pesky kids and their dumb labradoodle.”
(Natalie shuffles some papers and turns to a different camera angle.)
NATALIE BROCK: In other news, the war in No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan has come to an end, for now. Peace negotiators say that both sides have agreed to stay on their respective sides of the country and stop hacking each others’ taints up with machetes and to stop shooting rocket propelled grenades up each others’ butts. According to the newly elected prime minister, Buko Tuko A-doobie Doo, “No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan will now and forever be a bastion of religious tolerance, a place where every man, woman, and child can worship God in whichever way they see fit, but seriously, everyone better start doing it my way quick if they don’t want to drown in their own tears and vomit as they watch all of their first born sons’ skulls get crushed underneath the powerful weight of my vast army’s tanks…Muah ha ha ha! Also, everyone keep voting for me or die. Thank you.”
(Natalie turns to a different camera.)
NATALIE BROCK: Good morning, USA. If you’re just tuning in, Kurt Manley, formerly America’s Favorite Anchorman, has retired from the news game to participate in an extensive, six month sex addiction rehab center, where we can only hope his testicles are snipped off and stored in the back of a high security vault where they can never annoy anyone ever again. I’m your new anchor, Natalie Brock.
(Natalie shuffles some papers.)
NATALIE BROCK: Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m not the type of woman you are used to seeing on Network News One. I don’t have blonde hair. I don’t have big titties. I’m not even, quote unquote “hot.” I mean, I’m not so ugly that the mere sight of my face makes tiny school children cry, nor am I so attractive that you need to change your shorts every time you see me. I am, like most of you out there, average. That’s OK with me, and it should be OK for you, because I’m not here for you to fap to and yes, you sir, yes you, the man in Scranton, Pennsylvania with your hand down your pants. Yes, I’m talking to you. Put that thing down immediately.
(Natalie switches camera angles)
NATALIE BROCK: I’m not here to be fodder for your wet dream fantasy. I’m here to tell you what’s happening in the world, and to do that, you don’t need to be a hot ass blonde chick with big titties. You just need to be an experienced journalist with a nose for news and that, my dear friends, I am. Now, don’t get me wrong. We’re not getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties that you’ve all grown to love.
(A man off camera yells out, “Thank God!”)
NATALIE BROCK: Shut up, Dan. No, we aren’t getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties but in the name of diversity, I’m proud to announce that we will be adding Hot Ass Redheaded Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Brunette Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Black Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Asian Chicks with Big Titties and yes, we will continue to add every color of Hot Ass Chicks with Big Titties imaginable until our network is one great big breasted rainbow.
(A man off camera yells out, “Dr. King’s dream is finally here!”)
NATALIE BROCK: Nobody likes you, Dan. No, viewers, we won’t take away the hot chicks with the big titties, but NN1 owner Roscoe Whipplethorpe has empowered me to make a few changes around here and so it is with great pride that I announce that this network will also be adding plenty of average women, women without big titties, women with average and yes, even below average looks, women who will be able to captivate you not with their looks but with their minds.
(A man off camera yells out, “Boo! Lame!” Natalie Brock points off stage.)
NATALIE BROCK: OK, you can go now, Dan! Yes, I said go! Go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.
(Natalie looks at camera.)
NATALIE BROCK: I know it will take some getting used to, but after all, Network News One is America’s premiere source for news, information, and titties and as I told Mr. Whipplethorpe when he promoted me to this illustrious position, ‘Shouldn’t the titties attached to the women who bring you news and information on America’s premiere source for news, information and titties look like the diverse, melting pot of titties found throughout America on any given day?’ I think so.
(Camera pans out to show Walt sitting at the anchor desk next to a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.)
NATALIE BROCK: Coming up in the next hour, our very own NN1 cameraman Walter Kincaid will be interviewed by a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties about a book I co-authored with him about our award winning coverage of the toilet gator murders. I can hardly wait.
(Walter stares and drools all over the big titties.)
WALTER KINCAID: Me neither.
NATALIE BROCK: And you know what, while we’re making changes around here, I’m not going to make you wait through a bunch of crummy commercials, then sports and weather just to find out which one of the household products you use everyday is going to kill you, so here it is. Shoe polish makes your dick fall off. Don’t ask me how. A group of Canadian scientists have issued a study indicating that fumes from shoe polish can go up your nose and create a negative chemical reaction that literally makes your dick detach from your body, fall down your pants leg, and roll out onto the floor before coming to a full stop like a sad little lump of clay. Brubaker’s Magic Shoeshine Polish is the brand to avoid so if you want to keep your dick, stay away from Brubaker’s. Please enjoy these commercials and after that, we’ll be back with sports and weather. For NN1, I’m Natalie Brock, and I’m an average woman with medium sized titties.
ANNOUNCER: You’re watching Network News One. The hottest and also the smartest regular looking women whose titty size is none of your business! Oh yeah, and we’ll reporting the news and shit a lot more from here on.
Over a hundred shirtless men had crammed themselves into a dimly lit basement. They swilled beer and cursed without a care as they held up stacks of dollar bills.
“Give me fifty on Bruno!” one man shouted.
“I’ll take a grand on Stanley!” another man cried.
Rusty, himself shirtless and sweaty, strolled through the ring, collecting bets. “Have I got all the action? Yeah? Then gentlemen, to your positions!”
Two absurdly obese and ridiculously hairy men entered the ring. They leered at one another and growled.
“In this corner,” Rusty said. “Weighing in at four hundred and twenty eight pounds, Bruno the Bear!”
The crowd cheered.
“And in this corner, weighing so much that he broke the damn scale, Stanley the Stallion!”
The crowd cheered again.
Rusty stood between the two men. “Alright. You know the rules. You know what I expect them to be followed. Now get out there and give it your all, gents!”
The redheaded man exited the ring and joined a shirtless Moses and a shirtless Felix at the judge’s table.
“This was an inspired idea, Moses,” Rusty said.
“Yeah,” Moses said. “But Felix did all the legwork and you did all the promotion.”
“We’re a good team, aren’t we?” Rusty asked.
“You better believe it,” Moses said.
Rusty picked up a microphone and stood up. “Gentelemen, are you ready?”
The crowd of surly, booze addled men shouted, “Yeah!”
“I can’t hear you!” Rusty said.
The crowd shouted even louder. “YEAH!”
Rusty turned towards the competitors in the ring. “Begin!”
Bruno and Stanley paced furiously around the ring, locking eyes, each man waiting for the other to make a move until finally, they smashed their big bellies together, wrapped one another in a passionate embrace and fell to the floor and a calm, soothing snuggle.
The crowed cheered.
“What’s the first rule of Male on Male Hug Club!”
“Sir!” the crowd shouted. “The first rule of Male on Male Hug Club is ‘Do Not Talk About Male on Male Hug Club!”
“Exactamundo,” Rusty said. “And what’s the second rule of Male on Male Hug Club?”
“Sir!” the crowd shouted. “The second rule of Male on Male Hug Club is ‘Do Not Talk About Male on Male Hug Club!”
A random man stood up and shouted a question. “Hey! Are those dudes gonna fuck or what?”
Rusty looked around the room. “What? Who said that?”
Unable to find the questioner, Rusty shouted, “What’s the third rule of Male on Male Hug Club?”
“Just because men like to hug each other doesn’t mean they’re automatically gay!”
“And the fourth rule?” Rusty asked.
“No butt stuff!”
“Damn straight!” Rusty said.
Rusty returned to the judge’s table.
“You were tough but fair,” Moses said.
“Yeah, well,” Rusty said as he picked up a beer and chugged it. “You gotta have boundaries. Just saying.”