Category Archives: Tomfoolery

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

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:::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

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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

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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.

A Rap Song in My Honor

I paid to have a rap song rapped in my honor, so every once in awhile I must trot it out for my 3.5 readers.

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Five Year Anniversary of this Fine Blog

(This video is the best thing I ever got a woman to do for five bucks.)

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

Five years ago, this blog was conceived when I was crying myself into a cheesy burrito at Taco Bell, upset that I had not yet achieved my dream of becoming a professional writer.

I then realized that blogging technology exists, everyone was doing it, that I was someone and ergo, I should also add my voice into the vapid Internet vacuum.

And so, on that fateful day, this terrible blog was born.  Ironically, it wasn’t the worst thing that happened that day.  Years later, I would come to realize that when I ate a burrito, I was engaging in highly unwoke cultural appropriation, for I am not a Mexican and therefore have no right to consume Mexican food.

To condense this tomfoolery, I have never forgiven myself for either atrocity – the blog as well as the unwoke food choice.

Worse, I continue to do both to this day, having not learned my lesson.  Come to think of it, I’m eating a burrito as I type this right now.  Mmm tasty for a minute, but then an hour devoted to cleaning cheese out of my keyboard later.  Oh well, nothing good in life ever came easy.

When I first started, this blog was supposed to just be a little hobby.  Something to give me an online presence.  In the meantime, I was going to work on books and try to query them and then be like, “Hey agent!  I have a blog!”

That never bore fruit.  Instead, I got hooked on the world of self-publishing.  It remains to be seen if that was a good thing to get into or not.

Part of me thinks it is a viable business opportunity if I just remain patient and realize that it is a long game where you have to get maybe 5 or 6 really good books out there before people take notice.

Another part of me thinks life would be so much better if I’d just throw my computer in a dumpster, toss in some gas and a lighted match, set it all ablaze, extinguish it, leave a note of apology to the dumpster company and then spend the time I use for writing on something like, oh, I don’t know, walking on a treadmill and making green smoothies.

I’d say that last option would make my doctor happier but honestly, I don’t think my doctor could pick me out of a lineup.

I’d quit this if I could and there’s a part of me that thinks maybe social media is ruining everything.  Sure, it gives a voice to the voice-less, but it also gives a voice to a lot of a-holes and I fear I may be one of them.

Here are some stats I’ve scored in my five years of bloggery.  You tell me if they made this futile exercise worth it:

(All numbers are what I’ve racked up since the blog began 5 years ago.)

POSTS – 3,537 (Mostly about farts)

VIEWS – 122,325 (Mostly Aunt Gertie)

VISITORS – 80,078 (Mostly people who came here for directions on how to get away from here.)

And there you have it.  My blogging all boiled down to the stats.  By the way, I also have 2,605 who have clicked the follow button on this blog but somehow, I only have 3.5 readers.  I know 3.5 is facetious but it isn’t that much of a stretch either.  On an average day, I’m lucky to crack maybe 20 or 30 visitors.  Getting over 100 in a day is reason to pop the champagne.

So, let me know what you think about my 5 years of blogging.  Oh, and if you’ve followed me from the beginning, for a couple years, or just started recently, thank you…and also, I hope whatever ailment you are suffering from that keeps you housebound and unable to do anything productive so all you do is just read dumb blogs like this one clears up soon.

Don’t forget to buy a book.

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3,500 Posts for 3.5 Readers

Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

It’s official.  I have now written 3,500 posts for 3.5 readers.  This is not my 3,500th post.  My last post was that one.  This is the post to let you know that 3,500 posts have been posted.

Thank you, 3.5 readers.  It has been a joy to entertain all 3.5 of you.  Sometimes I wish you would each tell a friend so I could have 7 readers, but a good writer never looks any gift readers in the mouth.

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A Dramatic Reading of a Conversation I Had With My Cable Company (Embellished Version)

 

CUSTOMER SERVICE REP (CSR):  Hello, thank you for calling Big Ass Cable Company.  We’ve already told the NSA how much porn you watched today.  How may I help you?

BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER: Hello, ma’am.  Bookshelf Q. Battler here.  I’d like to schedule an appointment to get a cable jack installed in my house.

CSR:  (typing sounds). OK, Mr. Battler.  I see here you just ordered an Awesome Box and it is on the way.  I’ll schedule your tech visit after your Awesome Box’s arrival.

BQB: Oh, ok.  Hey, listen, this might be confusing but I’ll try to explain.  You see, I just got a new TV for my BQB office.  I really shouldn’t have spent the money but, well, you can’t take it with you and I doubt I’m ever going to have a hot, big breasted blonde to spend the money on, so I figured I needed a brand new TV so I can see Ben Affleck’s hair plugs in high def whenever I watch “Reindeer Games” and relive my 1990s glory.  Anyway, I ordered an Awesome Box for this TV but your company made a mistake and sent me a Suck Box instead.

CSR: Uh huh.  I’m pretending to understand.

BQB: Well, at first I was irate, but then I just decided to re-order the Awesome Box and pray to Jesus that you get it right this time.  In the meantime, you’re in luck, because your company’s incompetence has born fruit.  I decided that at the low rate you’re offering the Suck Box, I can afford to attach it to a small TV in a room I rarely use.

CSR: OK.  One moment please.  Hold on…I’m processing this information.

BQB: Sorry, this has gotten so complicated.  You know, to simplify this, we don’t really need to be worrying about any boxes.  All I need is for a human being from your company to come to my BQB HQ and install a jack…

CSR: A jack?

BQB:  Am I using the right terminology?  An outlet?  It’s the plate in the wall that you would attach the cable to your cable box and then in turn, you’d attach the box to your television.

CSR: I see.  OK we can do that.  I’m going to cancel your order for an Awesome Box and just make the note that the technician can bring an Awesome Box for your appointment and…(typing sounds)…oh, sir, I’m sorry but my system won’t let me arrange for a technician to install your Awesome Box until it arrives.

BQB:  (breathes deeply and sighs for dramatic effect.)  I’m sorry, maybe I’m not explaining this well.

CSR: That’s ok.

BQB:  Why I am calling has nothing to do with any boxes.

CSR: OK.

BQB: The box situation is fine.  We can stop talking about the boxes and move on.

CSR: OK.

BQB: What I need is a cable outlet installed…

CSR: For your new Awesome Box?

BQB: (breathes loudly and sighs.) No.  Alright, let me try this again.  I got a new TV.

CSR: OK.

BQB: The new TV is located in a position where there already is a cable jack in the wall.

CSR: Got it.

BQB: I ordered an Awesome Box to attach to this new TV via the already installed cable jack.

CSR: OK.

BQB: Your company, in error, sent me a Suck Box instead of the Awesome Box instead.

CSR: OK.

BQB: I don’t want a Suck Box for my Awesome TV.  I want an Awesome Box for my Awesome TV.  It’s in a room I spend a lot of time in.  Ergo, I want to be able to watch Nicki Minaj videos where every little droplet of sweat pours off her copious butt cheeks in high definition surround sound, an experience that the Suck Box just can’t offer.

CSR: OK.

BQB:  But, I have decided to reward your company’s stupidity.  You see, there is a smaller, suckier TV in a room I rarely use.  And, for the low rate you offer for the Suck Box, I figured I can attach the Suck Box to the Suck TV in the room I rarely use and I will rarely, ever watch this Suck TV with the Suck Box but I figure, you know, since you’re offering a cheap deal, it will be worth it whenever I have a family gathering and I can excuse myself from all the relatives and friends I despise.  I can tell them I have to go to the room I don’t use and hang up my company’s coats or some bullshit that sounds like I’m working hard on my hosting duties, but really I’m going to just going to pull up a bean bag chair and watch Suck TV on the Suck box.

CSR: OK.

BQB: And for this rare occasion, I don’t need the high performance Awesome Box.  I can get by with the low def for watching, I don’t know, the 11,000th episode of NCIS or whatever will be on while I’m hiding out from my guests next Thanksgiving, drowning my sorrows with cheap beer and wondering where I went so wrong and what can I do better next year so I’ll end up celebrating with people I actually like.

CSR: OK.

BQB: I don’t need much for my Suck TV.  I don’t need HD to watch Fox News and learn how Trump’s farts cure cancer, or when I watch CNN and learn how Trump’s farts cause cancer, or when I watch MSNBC and learn how Trump’s farts cause cancer and AIDs, or when I watch C-SPAN and get to see the raw footage of Trump’s farts and am left to determine on my own their potential curative properties or lack thereof in relation to cancer.

CSR: OK I think I understand.

BQB: To review, I’ve got the boxes I need.  Now, all I need is for a human being experienced in the installation of cable outlets to come to my house and install one.

CSR: Uh huh…. (typing sounds) …OK, sir, I’m sorry I’ve tried putting this into my system but I’m afraid I just can’t have the tech install your Awesome Box unless I cancel the delivery of the Awesome Box and…

(BQB covers the receiver.  Screams loudly out of fury and exhaustion.  Retreats to the fridge to eat half a cheesecake.  Returns to the phone.)

BQB: Ma’am, please, I’m trying here.  I really I am.  Listen, let me break this down.

CSR: Fuck you, mansplainer.

BQB: Pardon me?

CSR: Sorry, bad connection.

BQB: OK.  You work for a major cable company.  Your company is in the business of providing channels that come into TVs via cable installations.  My question is…

CSR: I understand your question, sir.

BQB: Do you?  Because it sounds like you’re telling me that your cable company cannot install a cable jack and to me, that’s like going to Dunkin Donuts and being told by the worker at the counter that they only have peanut butter celery sticks, or showing up at Starbucks and being told I’m a shithead for thinking that they would have coffee.

CSR: OK.

BQB: So, ok, drumroll, moment of truth here, please, just yes or no, can your cable company, which is in the business of providing cable, install a cable outlet in my house?

CSR: Sir, if you’d like to install your Awesome Box on your own, that’s fine, we’d just have to.

BQB: Am I being Punk’d?  Is Ashton Kutcher going to jump out of my closet and laugh at me?

CSR: I have no idea what that means.

BQB: I give up.  I’ll just assume you’re telling me that you can’t install a jack.

CSR: A what?

BQB: (eats the other half of the cheesecake): Look, it’s fine.  It’s not you.  I blame the public school system.  I need a cable jack.  I’m not sure how it’s done. I think someone smarter than me crawls the fuck around in my attic and feeds a cable line down my wall and then cuts a hole with expert precision that, when all is said and done, will allow cable to appear on a television.

CSR: You could just plug your Awesome Box into the…

BQB: The Suck Box…Look, just…I….I’m sorry…I need to hang up now and crawl into a corner and curl up into the fetal position and question why my luck is so terrible.

CSR: OK.

BQB: Because seriously, whenever I look at Facebook, all my high school friends are playing golf and eating lobsters on yachts and jamming on guitars and strolling through Tuscany and I just know that whenever they call your company in need of a jack they just get a person who knows what to do…

CSR: Would you like to upgrade and get STARZ and CINEMAX for the low price of…

BQB: Goodbye.  To the fetal position I go.

 

 

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Merry Christmas, 3.5 Readers

Hey 3.5 readers.

Merry Christmas.

I’ve been writing this blog since 2014.  Next March, it will be 5 years.  My Christmas wish is that next year this little enterprise will actually start turning a profit.  Toilet Gator will hopefully come out in 2019 and if a book about an alligator who eats people while they are pooping can’t make me a millionaire then I don’t know what will.

In the meantime, check out one of my books below and if you have a spare 99 cents, feel free to buy one.

What is your Christmas wish?  Discuss in the comments.

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