Category Archives: Tomfoolery

BQB Calls the Super Bowl

Hey 3.5 readers.

Good news. I was hired to provide the play by play for the Super Bowl.  Yes, the NFL wanted to save some money so they hired a nerd who knows nothing about sports.

Here goes nothing.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen welcome to Super Bowl 50.  That’s right.  The only sports contest thats too old to hang out in the club, but not old enough for an AARP card.

I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I don’t know a damn thing about sports, but I was happy to take this job in exchange for $50 and an autographed picture of some football guy whoever the hell he is I don’t know they all look the same to me.  The signature looks real though so I’ll probably sell it on ebay.

And the sporting contest has begun!  Yes!  Two teams of large men, each from different geographic locations have met on the gridiron and you, the viewer at home, will be called upon to cheer for the team closest to your geographic location or else be considered a smelly communist.  Yes, that’s right, if you watch anything else but this sporting contest tonight you’re an automatic a-hole.

And the ball has been kicked!  Yes the ball has been kicked!  And now men are fighting for control of the ball!

Yes and…oh my God!  Oh my God!  One of the men has the ball and he’s running toward the opposing team’s side of the field.  That’s right folks!  If he gets the ball all the way across the opposing team’s side of the field then it’s a goal for the team of the man running with the ball.

Mother of God the man with the ball has been tackled to the ground!  He’s not running with the ball anymore.  Yes, this is quite a sporting contest and all kinds of sporty shit is happening.

By the way, I’d like to take a moment to thank our sponsor, Cheesy Munch Chips.  That’s right.  While all of you fat, middle aged people sit on the couch and live out your NFL fantasies, flagellating yourselves over what you could have done better when you played for your high school team a million years ago, be sure to numb the pain by tossing a sack full of Cheesey Munch Chips down your gullet.

And back to the action.  There seems to be quite a scramble for the ball.  Possession of the ball, by the way, is very important because whichever team controls the ball has the ability to score a point and as you’re all aware, the team with the highest number of points at the end of the game wins and the team with the least amount of points will be treated like pathetic losers and will have to go home to their mansions and cry on their piles of money to comfort themselves.

Who has the ball now?  Yes it is…that guy!  That guy that everyone likes!  He’s in that funny commercial.  Whoa!  But he just passed it to that guy that was caught on tape punching his girlfriend’s lights out.  Yes, he was suspended for an entire fortnight.  That’ll teach ’em.

Sweet Jesus, and now that guy has passed it to that guy who was arrested after the gun fell out of his sweat pants in the night club.  Holy Shit, why can’t all of these athletic one percenters handle their shit?

And the ball’s getting closer and closer and….huzzah!  That team scored a point!

Ladies and gentlemen, such a rousing game.  I’m so excited.  I hope all you fat bastards at home are having a good time shoving chicken wings into your face holes and trying to feel better about not making the varsity cut when the first George Bush was president.

Now it’s time for the halftime show.

Wow!  It’s that Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs!  She’s singing a catchy song that you’re all going to download immediately, hum in the back of your head for three months, and then forget all about it when the Next Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs comes along.

Wait a minute.  What?! It’s not enough to have a Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs!  That’s right, they’ve rigged the Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs up to a crane and an elaborate system of ropes and pullies to make it seem as though she’s flying through the air like Peter Pan.

Yes, nothing says “America loves its musical talent” like forcing them to put their lives in danger just to provide us with a few minutes of entertainment.  God Bless you, Hot Pop Star Chick with Enormous Boobs.

Holy Smokes!  And now Controversial Rapper is here to provide a rap version of Hot Pop Star Chick’s song.  OH MY GOD! And now Country Band is here to countrify the shit out of this routine.

Yes, this is America and everyone has to be happy with everything!  Good God now there’s some glorious fireworks!  Whoa!  Watch out Hot Pop Star Chick, one of those whizzed right past you while you’re being held by wires at a ridiculously high altitude for America’s viewing pleasure.

What’s really amazing to me is that all of these stars are performing this number on an elaborate stage that totally moves around and shit.  It’s not like that’s a death trap waiting to happen or anything.

Hey, the commercials are on!  Howsabout these commercials, ladies and gentlemen?

Folks, I’m like you in that I’m on a budget and when I’m forced to make a decision, I always come down on the side of the brand with a hilarious talking cartoon animal, or a dumb guy that does dumb things to get a product, or stops doing dumb things once he gets the product, or a product that looks good when its held by Celebrity Hot Chick with Enormous Boobs.

Back to the big game.  Close up on some celebrities in attendance.  Yes, they’re just like you and me.  They love sports and they get to attend in person because they can afford the astronomical price for tickets while the rest of us sit on the couch and wished we lived like them.

And…points have been scored!  Repeat points have been scored!

This is so tense.  It really is.  Let’s get a close up of the coach barking orders at the players.

You know a lot of people ask me, “What’s the difference between the coach and the players?” and I always tell them, “The players try to score points while the coach tells them the best way to score the aforementioned points.”

Very subtle.  A lot of nuance I know.  But right now we can see the coach telling a player how to score points.  We don’t have a microphone on the coach so we can’t listen in but I can read lips so here’s what I believe is being said:

COACH:  I thought I told you to score some points!

PLAYER: I’m sorry, Coach.  I really tried to score some points.

COACH:  You need to try harder to score some points!  That thing you did before, that’s never going to score you any points!  But if you do this thing I’m telling you now, then you’ll score a lot of points!  Understand?

PLAYER:  Yes sir!

COACH:  Good! Now get out there and score us some points!

Holy Crap I was moved by that.

Points, points, so many points being scored by each side now.  And there’s a tie! Yes, each team has an equal amount of points.

Now, I’m no mathematical genius but I’d say that’s a problem.  Really, just on a statistical basis, a team with the most points is most likely to win and the team with the least amount of points is most likely to lose.  If I were a professional football player, I’d definitely want to be on the team that scores the most points.

We can see on the clock that there isn’t much time left so it all amounts to this one kick…and…the kicker is going to kick the ball and OH MY GOD!  THE KICKER KICKED THE BALL AND SCORED THE WINNING POINT!

What a game.  Half of the country is thrilled that the team closest to their geographic region has won.  It makes them feel like they did something by sitting on their fat asses for three hours instead of doing something productive like getting on the damn stair master or looking for a job.

Alas, the other half of the country is depressed that the team closest to their geographic team has lost.  They’ll blame it all on that one player who should have tried a little harder to score some more points.

What’s wrong with that guy?  Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to score points?

This has been BQB, reporting live from the Super Bowl.  Now stay tuned for an incredibly shitty show with beautiful people who pretend like their lives are horrible and tell jokes that aren’t funny and no one on the show is relatable to the average bloated ugly American slob.

It’ll be off the air in three months, but someone at the network really believed in it so he/she put it on after the Super Bowl in a desperate effort to ram it down everyone’s throats.

Enjoy!

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Have A Nice Day 3.5 Readers

All I really have to say today.

Squatty Potty Pooping Unicorn Commercial

Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God.

Please drop what you are doing and watch this commercial for the Squatty Potty.

The argument is that humans, like cavemen, weren’t meant to poop in toilets but meant to squat wherever they are outside to poop.  Squatting opens your uh, well, you know…opens it up more so the poop comes out better.

A unicorn pooping rainbow sherbet explains the concept without you know, showing disgusting poop.

I don’t know.  This is commercial is hilarious.  Hysterical.  I can’t stop laughing.

By the way, has anyone out there ever used one? Does it work?  I kinda want one now.

P.S. reports are going around that this one hilarious video increased the Squatty Potty company’s sales by 600 percent.  I know I’ve heard ads for it on Howard Stern but in my head I always envisioned it as some like rigged up contraption I’d have to get into just to poop.  This commercial illustrates that its just basically a little stool (to help you make stool) and tucks away neatly when you’re done.

 

 

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BQB Plays Powerball

Dearest 3.5 Readers,

I’ve caved to the excitement and purchased some Powerball tickets.

And you know what? I’m actually feeling pretty good about my chances.

Why?

BQB’s KARMA BALANCING THEORY

Your life is and/or will be 50% bullshit and 50% great.  Most people experience the bullshit and greatness and separate, equal doses so as to not get too bogged down with depression or glee, depending on whether the shit or the greatness came most recently.

My life, on the other hand, has been totally shit so far so really, the only way I can see for karma to balance my existence out with the greatness I’m due is to hand me a billion dollar plus lotto win.

BUT BQB, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH YOUR STICKY CASH?

A great question, 3.5 readers.  Here’s a breakdown:

THE PLAYBOY MANSION – It’s for sale and I’m going to make it my new BQB HQ.  Now, Hef requires the new owner give him a life estate, meaning that Hef gets to live there until he croaks.

Listen, I would actually DEMAND that Hef keep living there. He’s the one the Playboy bunnies are showing up for, right?

Wait.  This just in. Video Game Rack Fighter will not allow me to have wild, outrageous naked celebrity hot chick parties in the Playboy Mansion Grotto.

You know VGRF…seriously…what a party pooper.  Oh well, gotta keep my better half happy.  I’ll still buy it but apparently all the bunnies will be required to wear turtlenecks and burkas.

PRESIDENT BATTLER – Yes, I will run for president because I too wish to be a wealthy person so rich that I feel no inhibitions and am able to shoot my mouth off and speak freely.  Only, I’ll try to do it a lot nicer.

Also, I will make it a law that whatever movies, songs, digital stuff you buy on one device made by one company be transferable to another company’s device. This is America, dammit, and when I was a kid I never had to ask Sony’s permission to put a Sony videotape into a Daewoo VCR.

PURCHASE EAST RANDOMTOWN – Yep.  And I’ll kick all the losers out, so it will end up empty.  What?  I’m still the mayor and all those people are constituents and I should be careful what I say because I haven’t won yet?

I was talking about other losers.  Not you, East Randomtownsfolk.  You losers are great.

WU TANG CLAN – I will purchase that super expensive one of a kind Wu Tang Clan album, you know, the one in which the Wu Tang Clan has secured a legal right to steal it back through a carefully planned heist as long as they bring Bill Murray along.

I’m not even kidding check out this Billboard article.

REALITY TV – I will pay off reality tv stars to stay home…or at least not go to work…or at least just go shopping and do dumb stuff.  OK, so they can do all the useless crap they do but I’ll pay them to do it OFF camera because the Mighty Potentate hates reality TV.

What will you do if you win Powerball, 3.5 readers?

 

 

 

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San Diego Comic Con 2015

I wish I was there.  If you’ve ever been, give me an earful.  How do you get in?  Getting a ticket or a badge or whatever probably takes a miracle, right?

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A Brief History of the American Revolution

Happy 4th of July, 3.5 readers!

May your day be filled with fireworks, revelry, and delicious barbecued wieners.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here to kick the holiday off in style with a brief history of the American Revolution.

“Tax that tea so that I might purchase more elaborate coats!” – King George III

Frankly, kids these days, what with their addiction to the Interwebs and what not, have no idea how their country got started and it’s high time someone educated them.

HOW IT ALL STARTED

The colonials loved their tea.  All day long, they’d sit around the hearth and say, “‘Ello guvna, I fancy a spot of tea I do!”

They found tea exceptionally delicious and drank that shit morning, noon and night.  The only time when you’d never see a colonial with one tea cup in his hand is when he’d have two tea cups, one in each hand.

The King of England, a foppish nancy boy if there ever was one, hated the colonials and decided to get their goat good.

“I’ll tax the shit of the colonials’ tea!” he declared and tax the shit out of the colonials’ tea he did.

In fact, the original act began as follows:

A PROCLAMATION BY THE KING TO TAX THE SHIT OUT OF THE COLONIALS’ TEA

Be it hereby resolved that:

  • The colonials love their tea.
  • I hate the colonials because I’m the King and I’m a super sized a-hole.
  • That the colonials should have to pay out the wazoo for their hot beverage of choice.

Riots ensued and British tea merchants were placed into cannons and shot into the stratosphere.

Finally, it all culminated in the Boston Tea Party, an event in which colonials dressed like Native Americans and hurled tea crates into the watery depths of Boston Harbor.  So much tea was tossed into the harbor that even today at high tide passersby often are known to remark, “Holy shit this whole place smells like camomile!”

Yes, those colonials were so steadfast in their anti-tax beliefs that they were brazen enough to cause a great financial loss to the King’s tea merchant associates, yet still wanted to preserve the ability to say, “Hey, it wasn’t us!  It was those damn Injuns!” if called on it by the Crown.

The Continental Congress

“I totally bagged more French chicks than Jefferson.” – Ben Franklin

The Continental Congress is one of the oldest political institutions in America.  Among the more relevant points deliberated:

  • Jefferson or Franklin – who gets more French chicks?
  • Should we call ourselves the Independent Republic of Suck it, King!
  • Who will supply our wig powder if trade ties are cut with England?
  • How serious are we about this “all men are created equal” hullabaloo?
  • I mean, we’re just paying lip service to equality right?
  • Should we actually make a list of all the people that should be treated equally or should we just allow subsequent generations to duke that shit out over the next several hundred years?

The Declaration of Independence

Our founding fathers, fed up with the King’s d-baggery, enlisted Thomas Jefferson to pen the Declaration of Independence.  The first draft was nothing more than an engraving of a giant middle finger.  The second draft simply stated, “Suck it, King!”  (“Suck it King” was the unofficial companion slogan to the more well-known “Don’t Tread on Me.”

Here’s the third draft.  It too was inevitably left on the cutting room floor:

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

Be it resolved that:

  • The King has poopy pants.
  • And further, that the King should suck the proverbial “it.”
  • Seriously, we can’t stand that guy.  He smells bad and he taxes our tea so that he can purchase elaborate coats and commission portraits of himself wearing them.
  • All we’re trying to do is drink some reasonably priced tea and chill the F out without damn redcoats being quartered in our houses.

The American Revolution

As stated in the “Official British War Manual,” the rules for the Royal Army were as follows:

“Surely we shall prevail for our uniforms are the brightest and fanciest!” – Lord Cornwallis, British General

  • All soldiers shall wear extremely bright red coats.  If possible, please draw targets on them, or failing that, simply write the words “Shoot here” over the heart and various vital organ regions.
  • When entering the field of battle, all men must march side by side in a straight line directly towards the source of the enemy gunfire, preferably in as conspicuous a manner as possible.
  • It is required that a drummer boy shall bang constantly on the drum to announce the Royal Army’s arrival.  If a drum is unavailable, shouting, “ATTENTION ENEMY!  BE FOREWARNED THAT WE HAVE ARRIVED!” shall suffice.

Yes, since time immemorial, it had been a longstanding tradition for armies to march straight toward each another, announce, “WE’RE HERE!” and then shoot and hack each other to bits in an orderly fashion.

However, General George Washington, the Revolution’s keen military commander, advised his troops to deviate from typical strategy in two important ways:

1)  Hide behind various trees, bushes, and shrubberies

2)  Wear dark clothing that blends into the outdoor habitat

These changes led to the Redcoats’ having their clocks cleaned.  One battlefield historian took notes on the British Army’s reaction:

REDCOAT #1 – I say!  Their coats are dark in color and difficult to focus our fire upon!  The nerve!

REDCOAT #2 – Quite right, quite right.  And these scallywags aren’t even announcing their presence at all!  Highly unsportsmanlike if you ask me!

The End of the War 

The American Revolution came to an end when George Washington sailed all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, walked right up to the King’s palace and challenged George III to a best two out of three roundhouse kick to the face competition.

This announcement of the competition is located in the Museum of Fake History:

HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

Know all ye that:

GENERAL WASHINGTON, COMMANDER OF THE REVOLUTIONARY ARMY

DOTH CHALLENGE

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, KING GEORGE III

To a Competition of Roundhouse Kicks to the Face.

Each party shall take turns in attempting to land a kick to the opposite party’s face.  A point worthy hit shall only be noted by the judges if the kicker’s boot heel lands squarely in the middle of the kickee’s face.

Cheek or chin hits shall be registered as unacceptable.

Whoever reacheth two out of three kicks to the opposing face shall be declared the victor.

Should King George III win, he shall have the right to rule over the Colonies Across the Ocean and to Tax the Shit Out of their Tea Until the End of Time.

Should General Washington win, the Colonials shall obtain the right to start a new nation, one that they will likely screw up themselves anyway.

Yes, many minstrels and poets have memorialized in written verse the epic bravery displayed by George Washington when he planted not one but two round house kicks to the face of George III, who never landed one on his opponent.

Our hero's face, unkicked and preserved on the quarter as a final

Our hero’s face, unkicked and preserved on the quarter as a final “up your nose with a rubber nose” to those pesky crumpet chewers.

America was set free and a capital city, a state, a monument, and a damn high school every hundred miles or so were named after Washington in honor of his badassery.  His face (unkicked) was even emblazoned on our currency as a reminder to the British that our hero’s mug was left unscathed.

Gen. Washington’s roundhouse kick to the face victory would not be recreated until 2015, when Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Yeti met on the field of battle to resolve their a struggle over control of the Bookshelf Battle Compound.  BQB totally beat that smelly yeti.

Aftermath

Having relieved itself of British oppression, America expanded westward.  Many American leaders stated, “So much land, just ripe for the taking!  Surely no one will notice!”  To wit many Native Americans replied, “Dudes, we can totally hear you.”

Over two hundred and some odd years later, America, though it isn’t without its share of problems, is a land of opportunity, one where freedom of speech is protected, even if you’re a lowly nerd blogger with a pitiful showing of 3.5 readers.

Ironically, a nation that began as the result of a tea tax dispute has levied more taxes than King George ever could have dreamed up.  You’ve got your Federal tax, State tax, property tax, estate tax, excise tax, tax tax (that’s when you get taxed on your tax), sales tax, gas tax, passing gas tax (a surcharge on your discharge, as it were), and last, but not least, a cornucopia of fees that you have to pay whenever you want the clerk at whatever government office you’re visiting to stamp whatever damn form you happen to be filing at the moment.

In a double twist of irony, tea is more reasonably priced than ever, but no one drinks that shit anymore.

In All Seriousness

There isn’t a country I’d rather live in than America.   There are many reasons, but the top one is that I can post this diatribe without fear of reprisal.

(I mean, I could anyway, because it’s not like more than 3.5 people are reading, but still, it’s nice to have freedom of speech as well).

Happy 4th of July,

Bookshelf Q. Battler

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Bookshelfitol

shutterstock_279180302ANNOUNCER:  Life.  It sure can get you down.  There are so many things to worry about and that’s just in your own personal life without even turning on the news to learn about the latest attempts by various wack jobs, fruit loops, psychopaths and yetis who are hellbent on tearing the world asunder.

WOMAN:  Great.  Thanks for reminding me.

ANNOUNCER:  Luckily, there’s a new drug that can help.

WOMAN:  I’m listening…

ANNOUNCER:  Bookshelfitol!

WOMAN:  Bookshelfitol?

ANNOUNCER:  WHAT ARE YOU DEAF?  CLEAN YOUR EARS!  I SAID “BOOKSHELFITOL!”

WOMAN:  What’s that?

ANNOUNCER:  Why, Bookshelfitol is a miracle elixir formulated from a concentrated form of the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  We took all of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s ramblings and squeezed them into a bottle for you to enjoy.

WOMAN:  I don’t think that’s scientifically possible.

ANNOUNCER:  Will you?  Please?  Huh?  OK?

WOMAN:  Sorry.

ANNOUNCER:  Bookshelfitol is the cure for what ails you.  Problems at work?  One sip and your mind will be distracted by Bookshelf Q. Battler’s stories about his time as a member of a boy band, or his magical bookshelf that makes literary characters come alive in small versions of themselves, or his medically prescribed butt pillow.

WOMAN:  I’d rather the problems at work.

ANNOUNCER:  Can we get someone else?

WOMAN:  I mean I’d love to hear about a nerd’s butt pillow!

ANNOUNCER:  Ask your doctor if Bookshelfitol is right for you.

SIDE EFFECTS INCLUDE:

  • Creeping crotch rot
  • Burning sensations
  • Blurred vision
  • Tunnel vision
  • No vision
  • Visions of Bea Arthur eating a pickle while you’re trying to sleep
  • Delusions
  • Delusions of Grandeur
  • Delusions of Ganders (Literally, one test subject thought about nothing but ducks for the rest of his life)
  • Cauliflower ear
  • Carrot nose
  • Rutabaga ears
  • Gout
  • Toe fungus
  • Your hand will totally fall off and then run around the room on its fingers.  Moreover, it will develop its own personality and become part of the family like “Thing” on the Addams Family.
  • Cravings for waffles, cereal, bacon, and breakfast foods covered in guacamole and sauerkraut.

WOMAN:  That sure sounds like a lot of side effects.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE:

  • Partial butt paralysis (You won’t get to decide which part.  It’s a surprise!)
  • Expanded Eye Crusty Syndrome
  • Hair loss
  • Hair discovery
  • Hair return
  • Bone density reduction
  • Hallucinations
  • You’ll become convinced that you once shared a taxi cab with Phyllis Diller and the Harlem Globetrotters and no one will be able to convince you otherwise
  • You’re going to become a frigging Hulk Monster
  • Halitosis
  • Gingivitis
  • Scabies and/or possibly rabies
  • Intensified Flatulence
  • Acne
  • Horseface
  • Webbed feet
  • Tonsilitis

WOMAN:  I’m pretty sure I don’t want to take this…

ALSO…

  • The plague
  • Leprosy
  • Vomiting
  • Nausea
  • Diarrea
  • (All of the last three at the same time, usually when you’re on a date)
  • Your mind will convince you that your sofa has the voice of Morgan Freeman and it’s perfectly acceptable for a piece of furniture to narrate your life in a nostalgic yet authoritative manner
  • In some studies, test subjects became werewolves.  We’re not saying you’re going to become a werewolf but you might want to lock yourself up during the next full moon.

WOMAN:  Someone call my agent.  I want out of this commercial.

LAB TESTS INDICATED:

  • Rabbits who drank it develop the ability to sing like Taylor Swift, with the exception of one who crooned like Sammy Davis Jr.
  • Squirrels who sampled the concoction recited every line from the “Always Be Closing” scene in Glengarry Glen Ross.
  • A test chicken became super intelligent and was elected to the presidency of Paraguay.  Paraguayans claim the country has never been run better.
  • Three chimps had a taste and fought over the rest of the bottle.  A fourth chimp produced a film based on the fight entitled Mad Monkey:  Beyond Bananadome.

ANNOUNCER:  Bookshelfitol!  Now in cherry, coconut and lemon meringue flavors!  Ask your doctor if Bookshelfitol is right for you!

WOMAN:  This is the last time I do a commercial for a blog with 3.5 readers.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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