Category Archives: Tomfoolery

The Grass is Greener Where You Water It

I heard the simplest yet seemingly true saying the other day – “The grass isn’t greener on the other side. The grass is greener where you water it.”

When I was young, I constantly thought the grass was greener on the other side. I knew that kind of thinking was wrong but I didn’t think that was what I was doing. I wanted to be a writer from an early age and had some minor success at it as a young man but then chased other things that I thought would make lots of money only to realize that if you put enough time into anything, you’ll eventually make it so you might as well put that “water” into where your talent lies.

I suppose that isn’t always 100 percent true. We all know someone who watered their careers a lot and didn’t get anywhere. But by and large, I think yes, if you put enough water into what you want, your path will become a lot greener.

Oh well. Here’s hoping your grass is green, 3.5 readers.

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When Doordash Delivers Your Order to the Wrong House

Hey 3.5 readers.

Doordash. It’s good because you can get food from your favorite restaurant brought to you even if that restaurant doesn’t have their own delivery driver.

It’s bad because you probably didn’t need that food anyway, fatty.

It depresses me when I get the buzz on my phone, indicating that the order has arrived, only to get a photo of my food sitting on someone else’s doorstep.

This has happened to me a few times and I always wonder what happens next. Does the homeowner open their door, surprised at the sight of free, unordered food? Do they eat it? Do they realize what happened, that they received a free order by mistake? Do they want it if it isn’t the type of food they ordered? Do they think it’s a prank?

Maybe they don’t even see it till the next day when they walk out in the morning and find a day old bag of food on their doorstep.

I don’t know. First world problems. Am I right?

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I Speak for the Bat


I Speak for the Bat

(The Long Awaited Follow-up to I Speak for the Pangolin)

By: Bookshelf Q. Battler

Based on the Lorax

My name is BQB and I speak for the bat.

I don’t speak for the cat or the rat.

I speak for flying rodents.

For it’s the decent thing to do,

To make sure you’re not eating a winged hamster,

Covered in guano poo poo.

Yes!  My name is BQB and I speak for the bat.

They’re tiny and small and have wings that go flap, flap, flap, flap.

Bats have no place in your stew and don’t belong in your pot.

If you’re sticking a bat in your mouth at this moment, I am begging you to stop.

Bats do not taste like candy.  Bats do not taste like chicken.

If you pack a bat for your lunch, it’s the entire world that you will sicken.

Bats don’t taste good with hot sauce and they don’t taste good with ranch dressing.

Eating bats leads to worldwide quarantines, and that’s a state of life that’s oh, so very depressing.

Bats belong in the sky.  They don’t belong in your deep frier.

Eating bats can spread disease, not to mention turn you into a vampire.

Don’t ever put a bat on your spatula,

Or else you’ll end up like Dracula.

Don’t put a bat in your deep frier.

Trust me, for I am not a liar.

Hey!  I am BQB and I speak for the bat.

Bats don’t belong in your Happy Meal.

How many times must I tell you that?

Bats were born to flutter,

Not to be slathered up with peanut butter.

Am I really going much too far,

When I remind you to never eat an animal that can navigate via sonar?

Bats have no place in your fondue and should never be in your microwave.

When you are free of bat dinner, what will you do?  I know! Go dance in a rave!

Bats are smelly and dirty and are like little blood sucking psychotics.

Eating them will unleash a global plague that can’t be cured by common antibiotics.

So please, I’m asking you to never eat a bat.

You’ll get the world sick, and the economy will go splat.

In closing, I say that I am BQB and I speak for the bat.

Bats belong in caves.  It’s their natural habitat.

Bats don’t belong in a face.

It’s just common sense.

So save the human race,

Before we all become past tense.

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No One Reads My Blog

No one reads my blog!

Oh, no one reads my blog!

I just stopped by to say that no one reads my blog!

If no one reads a blog,

Does the blog still even exist?

No, it probably doesn’t.

But what does that matter?

For no one reads this blog anyway.

Hey!  Look!  It’s a frog!

He jumps on a log.

He does everything,

But read this fine blog!

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Bunny Rap

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Yo!  Yo, yo.

Get up off yo keister.

Cuz its time fo’ Easter.

Celebratin’ all them adorable little furballs

Who bring us so much joy.

Bunnies!  What?  Bunnies!  What?

I love me some bunnies.

I love me some bunnies.

I love those big ear motherfuckers

That go hippy hop.

Bring me all the candy

Cuz no they never stop.

Hidin all my eggs.

Be it 2 or 3 or 5.

Bunnies eat the carrots and that’s how they stay alive.

I’m not tryin’ to make you laugh.

I’m not tryin’ to be funny.

I’m not talkin’ bout dogs or cats,

I’m talkin bout the bunnies!

What?  The bunnies!

What?  The bunnies!

Sixteen bunnies in the clip and one in the bunny hole,

Hop on down the cotton trail and a bunny will save your soul.

Bunnies are the cutest little creatures known to the human race.

And their ears are so big they can hear shit in space.

The bunnies!  What?!  The bunnies! What?

I aint gonna make you laugh and you know this aint funny.

Now go on grab a friend and tell their ass about a bunny!

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Swaddled Pug

For no reason other than maybe some of my 3.5 readers could be cheered up by the sight of a wrapped up pug:


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Coronavirus Blues


:::Harmonica Riff:::

Ba bum ba bum!

Ba bum ba bum!

Oh lord, I got the corona!

Oh lord, I got the coronavirus blues!

Yes, lord I got the corona!

I got the coronavirus blues!

Baby, haven’t you heard the news?

I got the coronavirus blues!

Woke up this mornin.’

Had to take a poo.

Nothin’ to wipe my butt with.

Oh what’s a man supposed to do?

I say I got the coronavirus!

I got the coronavirus blues!

Baby, fetch me my walking shoes!

I gotta get outta here!  Before I catch that corona too!

Ba bum ba bum.

Ba bum ba bum.

Everything’s closed down.

All my friends are out of jobs.

I got a big frown,

And I’m livin’ like a slob!

I say I got the corona

I got the coronavirus blues!

Baby, I think I just heard my cue!

It’s time to talk about the coronavirus blues!

Ba bum ba bum.

Ba bum ba bum.

Never used hand sanitizer before.

Now one bottle will never do.

I just sold my left kidney.

For some Purell and a couple of clorox wipes too!

Oh, I say I got the corona!

Yes, I got the coronavirus blues!

Baby, don’t you know that you’re my muse?

Sing with me about the coronavirus blues.

Ba bum ba bum.

Ba bum ba bum.

Well this looks like the end.

The apocalypse has finally come.

The economy will never mend.

And I still can’t wipe my bum.

Oh, listen up y’all, cuz I got the corona!

I say I got the coronavirus blues!

Time to gulp down some delicious booze.

Cuz I’m so low with the coronavirus blues.

Uh huh.  Yeah.  Coronavirus blues right here, baby.

Someone fetch the neighbor’s cat.

That’s right. I gotta wipe my tucas something fierce.


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Coronavirus E-Mails


Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here, hunkering down in BQB HQ as we ride out the coronavirus pandemic.  Don’t worry about me.  I’m fit as a fiddle.  COUGH COUGH!  Whoa?  Is that phlegm or a Jackson Pollock painting?

Anyway.  Fun fact about the social media age.  Literally, everyone is an epidemiologist know, and everyone has an opinion they want to share, immediately, directly to you, right away.

Worse, every company I have ever given my e-mail address to wants to tell me what they are doing about the coronavirus.  In case you haven’t received these missives, allow me to summarize:

  • My preferred pizza parlor wants me to know that if I so desire, I can choose the “no contact delivery” option while placing my order, and the driver will set the pizza down on my stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run away, really fast, with his arms flailing about, to and fro as he screams about how we are all doomed and the end times are here.  For five dollars more, I can get the super extra no contact delivery, which means the driver will slow down to 30 mph and throw the pizza out his window, allowing it to splatter all over my front door.  I tried this once and found the pizza box on my front lawn, while the pepperoni ended up on the grass and the cheese was in my neighbor’s rose bush.  Not the best way to eat a pie, but the good news is, I am coronavirus free.


  • My local car dealership wants me to know that if I want to test drive a new car, I can do it online.  They have some type of app where I can virtually drive the new car off the lot, virtually wince as the sticker value decreases by half, virtually get cut off in traffic, and virtually get honked at when the light turns green and I wait one fraction of a second to hit the virtual gas because the honker, as you know, is a very important person and needs to get where he is going right away.  He is probably on his way to a meeting where he will announce his invention of a device that will cure global warming and not just some ass hat on his way to buy a bag of Fritos and a gallon of Mr. Pibb.  Oh, and if I need any service done on my car, I can choose the no contact service option.  That’s right.  I can just point the car at the dealership parking lot, slow down to like 10 mph and jump out at the last minute before the car rams into a brick wall and sure, the car will need major body work after that buy hey, there was no contact…with other humans.


  • My favorite big box store emailed to let me know they have spritz down everything in the store with sanitary goo, as opposed to the years and years where this goo was not applied and I was allowed to shop in what essentially was a steaming cauldron of airborne fecal matter.  Also, they are working overtime to make sure that additional rainforests are being chopped down so that all the nervous nellies out there can fill their basements with toilet paper, because, God fordbid the apocalypse comes and you might have to wipe your ass with a leaf or a newspaper or a magazine or your neighbor’s cat or something.


  • My movie theater wants me to know that they are selling only half the seats because they don’t want it on their conscience if anyone catches the coronavirus while watching such masterpiece works like “Brahms: The Boy Part 2” or that Fantasy Island reboot where someone thought it would be a good idea to bring a lighthearted 70s romp into a horror movie.  It’s probably due to the coronavirus and not because everyone was already at home watching Netflix anyway.


  • My florist will also offer a no contact delivery option.  If I want to cheer up the special lady in my life, they’ll be happy to fill a cannon full of daffodils and shoot it at her front door.


  • Finally, my psychotherapist emailed to tell me the joke’s on him, for all these years, it turns out I was right about social distancing, and everyone was so very, very wrong.

Have you received any fun coronavirus emails from your favorite places of business, 3.5 readers?  Feel free to share in the comments.

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Happy 4th of July

Happy 4th of July, 3.5 readers.

Alas, you have been without me for 14 days now.  A whole fortnite (the period of time, not the video game.)

Long story short, a lightning strike near BQB HQ knocked out my Internet router.  Took me awhile to get a new one and to get it up and running, so sadly, I wasn’t able to entertain you with my tales of mirth and merriment.

I hope you all have a good holiday, continued our yearly gloatfest, lording it over those Brits about how George Washington karate chopped King George in the nutsack to win our independence.

Ironically, we’re taxed more and regulated in more ways than King George ever dreamed of.

Oh well.  Pass the hamburgers, please.

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The Biggest Bug Ever Has Infiltrated BQB HQ


BQB’s Uninvited House Guest.  Imagine this, but 100 times larger and also, it is most likely an airborne rapist.

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I opened my door for a second.  Closed it.  Went out my night and watched some TV.  I got up and as I moved about the house I heard a fluttering and low and behold the biggest frigging bug I’ve ever seen is buzzing around my downstairs.

It must have been in the room with me a long time, quiet, only to start flying around when I got up.  I stayed still because I could tell it was flying around in like a little fighter jet formation, trying to find me.

I debated what to do.  I could attack but maybe he’d sting me and though a bee sting is bad enough I have no idea what this sucker is and it is so big it looks like it is from the deepest, darkest depths of the jungle and is probably packing the ebola virus or something.

It landed on my lamp and rested and at that point I thought about grabbing a broom and smacking the shit out of it but then I’d break the lamp and I like that lamp.  Also, it’s a pricey lamp.  And maybe it would survive and attack.

So I went upstairs to bed.  And I’m lying here and I hear buzzing.  And moving.  Like its flying around and bumping into shit down there and honest to God, it’s so loud down there it sounds like burglars are down there.  Like if you woke up and heard this shit for the first time you’d grab a baseball bat or something…that’s how loud this little fucker is.

I thought about propping my door open.  Maybe the little bastard will fly out.  But then again maybe 50 of his brothers and sisters will fly in and rape me.  Like, I’m serious.  They’ll smoosh themselves together into the form of a burly longshoreman, drunk with lust and bourbon, lonely from his years at sea and ready to make mincemeat out of my backside.  I can’t have that.

There’s a part of me that just says grab the broom and have at it.  Whatever.  Smack him.  Knock over the TV and the pictures and the knickknacks and just destroy the house.  Whatever.  It’s fine as long as he goes with it.  I can buy more household shit.  I can’t buy another life when this giant buck stings me to death and then rapes my corpse and puts my head on a pike in front of his bug castle, wherever that is.

I’m serious.  I can hear the little shit moving around down there and so far my plan was to just shut my bedroom door because I’m worried he’ll figure out how to fly upstairs.  Other than that, I don’t know what my plan is for tomorrow.  I’m hoping he’ll fly into a wall and knock himself the fuck out.

Maybe I need a cat.  I could borrow a cat and he’ll eat the son of a bitch.

Either that or I could get a can of Raid, one with the little red straw thing to use for aiming long distances and try to shoot the fucker out of the sky but then again I’d be dousing my house in noxious chemicals.

I have also considered burning down the house just to destroy the bug but I can’t guarantee that would work.  I could picture myself at ease, staring at the flames, satisfied I killed the beast only to have it buzz up behind me, sting me, and then rape my corpse.

For some reason, I have decided this bug is a rapist.  I don’t know if there’s a lot of sexual assault in the insect kingdom.  I’m just saying, I think this bug does not respect the #metoo movement.  He has invaded my personal space and I am this close to talking smack about him on Twitter.  Fuck that bug.

What should I do to get rid of this bug, 3.5 readers?  Discuss in the comments.