Then you should become one of my 3.5 readers…

They say that confessions are good for the soul. If that’s true, then I might as well get some things off my chest.
This could get embarrassing. Good thing this website only has 3.5 readers
Confession #1 – Overeating
I eat too much. There, I said it.
Everyone’s addicted to something. Some people have drugs. Some people have sex. Some people have alcohol. Some people have sex while they’re taking drugs and drinking alcohol.
Me? I’m chasing that pizza dragon. Sometimes on my way home from a hard day’s work at Beige Corp, I’ll stop off at East Randomtown House of Pizza and pick up an extra large pie with extra cheese, extra pepperoni, extra bacon, and extra pizza. Yup. That’s when they put another pizza on top of your pizza.
Then I go home, strip down to my underpants, and from there it becomes like a scene from a bad drug movie. Like you know when there’s a character on drugs and they do a close up of the spoon as the heroin is melted over a fire and then loaded up into a needle and so on?
(Don’t do that shit, by the way kids. I’m serious.)
Anyway, that’s me, but with pizza. In my mind, I can actually here that eerie 1960s drug ballad “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane.
It’s almost like I’m trapped in a scene in an addiction movie. Just imagine me in my underpants, covered with pizza sauce, sticking another piece down my cake hole while I know I shouldn’t.
Then that song plays. “One piece of pill makes you stronger and one pill makes you small and the ones that Mother gives you, don’t’ do anything at all…Go ask Alice…when she’s ten feet tall.”
I could rewrite the song but it would be something like, “One piece of pizza makes you larger….”
I Can’t Guarantee My Gym Farts Were Not Loud
I used to work out more. I’d put in my earbuds, get a good song on, and then just do the elliptical.
When you’re in the zone, and your body is all loose and limber, well, hell, there was gas and it needed to get it out…so out it got.
I assumed they were silent. I could feel the toots coming out of my pooter but I didn’t hear anything so I figured it was fine. Smell? Yeah, but it’s a gym. The whole place smelled like Red Bull and old man balls.
It was only until years later that I realized the music in my ears may have prevented me from hearing the possible noise in my farts.
I want to be clear. I don’t know for sure that I openly made noisy farts. I just can’t tell you I didn’t with a reasonable degree of certainty due to the loud music in my head phones.
I Don’t Donate that Dollar
You ever go to a store and the cashier asks you if you’d like to donate a dollar to whatever organization that they are collecting for? I never do. I figure all those dollars add up and then what the hell?
I used to say yes because I felt bad. Then I said no but I felt bad. Now I say now and I don’t feel bad.
I am a monster.
Your Confessions
Do you have any funny confessions, 3.5 readers? Share ’em in the comments and BQB will absolve you of your sins.
NOTE: My lawyer says don’t confess to like, an actual crime. Just confess to funny, embarrassing yet legal things. It is legal to eat too much, fart in public, and not donate a dollar, for example.
In case you’re not up to speed on your Bookshelf Battle history, this blog is the best blog ever created about a magic bookshelf caretaker who spends his days toiling away at Beige Corporation, the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories, and his nights at BQB HQ, fighting the forces of evil and writing books to appease the maniacal alien overlord known as the Mighty Potentate.
:::deep breath:::
If you can find a better blog about a magic bookshelf caretaker who spends his days toiling away at Beige Corporation, the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories, and his nights at BQB HQ, fighting the forces of evil and writing books to appease the maniacal alien overlord known as the Mighty Potentate…then you’re welcome to check it out.
Or better yet, allow my spokeswoman to explain what this fine blog is all about:
I know, 3.5 readers. You’ve grown used to finding gold on this amazing blog every day.
But I’m not a machine, you know. Not all of my posts can be winners.
All I can think of to say today is to follow me on twitter – @bookshelfbattle
That’s it. That’s all. Go have a snow cone and do something productive.
It’s a disturbing trend, 3.5 readers. A disturbing trend indeed.
This weekend I saw three elderly hipsters.
Two were a couple. She had this wacky poofy hair style even though half her hair was gone.
He had a leather jacket and a trilby. I mean, WTF? If you’re old then you can wear a fedora because you can be all like, “I was wearing this since it was in style.”
But a trilby? Yeesh. Old ass hipster.
Then I saw an old woman wearing “Juicy Couture” pants. Ugh. I mean yeah it’s juicy I suppose but at that age that’s not the kind of juice I want in my glass.
It’s starting. The aging of people who grew up with hipsterism. They will retain their hipster ways forever.
Oh, 3.5 readers. What would I do without you?
Thank you for being my 3.5 readers. Enjoy your day.
Apparently people are searching the inter webs a lot for info about the MOAB. So, sorry to be a shameless self-promoter but hey, in this game, you got to do what you got to do.
MOAB! MOAB! Mother of all bombs! Information about MOAB! My blog is so terrible that I think it might be the mother of all bombs…
Hey 3.5 readers.
So I wrote a joke about the Mother of All Bombs. Tasteless? Sorry. Did you come here on accident while you were looking for Masterpiece Theater or something?
Here goes:
“Today the U.S. military announced that they dropped the largest non-nuclear bomb on terrorists in Afghanistan. Sources say the terrorists will be digging copies of Pootie Tang out of the desert for years.”
Bah ha ha! Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel, any of you late night talk show hosts, feel free to use that one but just be sure to credit me, BQB. I’m here all week, folks. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses.
Writing is too hard. I am too old and fat to be bothered with it anymore. I have decided to lie down in the street and wait for the Yeti to eat me, for he too is fat.
I leave this blog to my dear Video Game Rack Fighter. I advise her to sell it for 3.5 dollars to 3.5 Japanese businessmen. May they have more luck with this site, perhaps by turning it into an online advertising forum for Japanese fish soap.
VGRF, I know it will be very lonely for you when I am gone. That is why I want you to forego the ridiculous idea that you could ever meet a man better than yours truly and instead, stuff my reconstructed body and pose me on the couch so that you could look longingly at me for the rest of your days.
Take care, 3.5 readers. You guys really blew it by not becoming 3,500.5 readers. I am off to become Yeti chow now and my journey will end as I am passed through the Yeti’s colon.
Sincerely,
BQB, Soon to Be Yeti Poop (Which in Retrospect, Renders My Request to Be Posthumously Stuffed Null and Void)