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Son of Toilet Gator – Chapter 4


The impromptu lovers collapsed side-by-side, each occupying one seat. They breathed heavily, laughed, then fixed their clothing. Zippers were zipped. Buttons were buttoned. Hair was primped. Make-up was reapplied.
“I despise you, Dirk Smegma.”
“If I had a nickel for every time…”
“Shut up, you insufferable swine.”
Smegma rested his hand on the lady’s knee. “Darling, come now. Can you honestly say I made you do something you didn’t want to do?”
The blonde blushed. “No…but I was fully briefed beforehand on your…skill set. The women you led to their doom can’t say the same. In fact, they can’t say anything because…”
“…they’re dead. Way to beat a dead horse, my dear.”
Bonanza ran a brush through her locks, then grabbed her briefcase. She opened it and pulled out several documents. “Let’s discuss the new protocol.”
Smegma’s elated demeanor disappeared. “The what?”
“A stringent, copious, multi-step process guaranteed to ensure that the next time you seduce a villain’s moll, she’ll be made fully aware of what she’s getting into and will be making an informed decision.”
The lawyer dropped a heavy stack of paper in the agent’s lap.
“What in the…”
“That’s a 78-page legal memorandum,” Bonanza said.
“Because nothing revs the female engine like a 78-page legal memorandum,” Smegma replied.
“This document fully explains your status as a CIA operative, as well as your intention to obtain vital information that is crucial to foiling a mastermind’s ingenious plot to engulf the world in carnage and mayhem.”
“Darling,” Smegma said. “I fear you don’t quite grasp the meaning of the word, ‘undercover.’”
“And you won’t be getting under the covers unless you get the woman you are trying to charm to pants off of to sign these forms in triplicate.”
Smegma accepted another stack of paper. “And what are these?”
“Consent forms,” Bonanza said. “Indicating in no uncertain terms that the villain’s moll in question is being asked to turn over information that will be used to eradicate her betrothed’s criminal organization and that her life will be in danger if she does so.”
“Well,” Smegma said. “Now you’re just taking all the mystery out of it.”
“Further,” Bonanza said. “The woman will be made aware that she may refuse any and all sexual acts at any time and that if she wishes to engage in any sexual acts she will be doing so not under duress but from her own personal choice as a strong, independent woman.”
Smegma raised an eyebrow. “Because if it’s one thing a strong, independent woman needs, it’s a binding legal contract telling her she doesn’t need to let Mr. Winky bounce around inside her hoohah.”
Bonanza dumped another stack of legal work on the spy’s lap. “Your toxic masculinity is abhorrent, Agent Smegma. As a strong, independent woman, I choose to ignore it and carry on. Now then, the disclosure section…”
“The what?”
“You must make a number of disclosures,” Bonanza said. “You must inform the woman if you have any ties to any industry she currently works in, or if you intend to have any ties to any industry she may choose to enter into in the future.”
Smegma shook his head. “Darling, I’m not sure being a villain’s moll counts as an official occupation but no worries, I have no intention of becoming one.”
“To clarify,” Bonanza said. “You must use the questions listed to interview the woman, find out what jobs she has held in the past, determine what professions she has a future interest in, and if you have any sway in these professions, then you must bow out.”
“Can you dumb this down for me, dear?”
Bonanza sighed. “If the woman has ever entertained the notion of becoming a spy in the future, then you must refrain from sexual congress because otherwise she might, on some subconscious level, be submitting to you, not out of her own free will but because of a latent, underlying fear that one day you might use your contacts in the clandestine world to prevent her from getting a job unless she allows you to…”
“Load my sausage into the tuna boat?”
“Be serious,” Bonanza said.
“It’s difficult to take any of this seriously,” Smegma said. “You really think a woman who is in the mood will want to stop to read any of this?”
“That’s not the agency’s problem,” Bonanza replied.
“It will be when the world explodes because I wasn’t able to get the intel I required because I was too busy…” Smegma examined one of the documents. “Where the hell would I even find a notary in the field?”
“Again,” Bonanza said. “Your problem.”
Smegma flipped through a few pages. “She has to give her consent before three impartial witnesses?”
“Don’t forget the videotaped expression of consent,” Bonanza said. “That’s key.”
The agent gasped as he read on. “I have to hook her up to a lie detector?!”
“You never know,” Smegma said. “When she says yes on the outside, she might be saying no on the inside.”
“Something that strong, independent women do?” Smegma asked.
“All the time,” Bonanza said. “Moving on, you’ll need to consult with Madame Olga.”
“Madame who?”
Bonanza pulled a tablet computer out of her briefcase. She punched a few buttons and within seconds, she was videoconferencing with an old gypsy woman with a scarf on her head who was gazing into a glowing crystal ball.
“This is a joke,” Smegma said. “Isn’t it?”
“Ohhhh,” the old woman said in a Romanian accent. “The spirit realm is nothing to joke about. Feast your eyes onto the wonders of my crystal ball as the beings who exist on a higher plane prognosticate your fortune.”
Smegma stared at Bonanza. “Explain.”
“’Yes’ isn’t good enough anymore,” Bonanza said.
“It isn’t?” Smegma asked.
“Not at all,” Bonanza replied. “Suppose you were to get a villain’s moll to read and sign all of the forms I have provided and still agree to sexual intercourse.”
“That will never happen but I’ll concede so we can move this along,” Smegma said.
“Consent provided can’t just be for today,” Bonanza said. “It must be for all time.”
“You’ve lost me,” Smegma said.
“Just because a woman agrees to have sex with you today doesn’t mean she won’t regret the decision later on in life,” Bonanza said.
“Are you kidding?”
“Not at all,” Bonanza said. “At any point in the future, even if it is as far away as fifty years or more, if a woman you had sex with presently regrets the decision at some point into perpetuity, then you have retroactively raped her.”
Smegma looked down at his crotch. “You’ll be the death of me in this strange, new world. I’d cut you off and feed you to a hungry tiger if I didn’t love you so much.”
“Madame Olga has consulted with the CIA on many cases,” Bonanza said. “She’s helped us locate missing persons, dead bodies, lost weapons of mass destruction. Her psychic powers are unparalleled.”
The agent looked at the tablet. “Madame Olga, will Attorney Bonanza always be glad I slipped it to her?”
The old woman swirled her hands over her crystal ball. A bizarre wind blew her long, gray hair to and fro. The ball glew brighter and brighter. “Yes!” the old woman said. “Yes, the spirits speak to me in a single, unified voice…they say… they say….”
Bonanza and Smegma waited breathlessly for the answer. “What do they say?” the pair asked in unison.
The ball dimmed. The old woman’s hair fell down over her shoulders. She shrugged her shoulders. “Meh. No worries until 2060.”
Smegma breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew. Thank God. Wait! What happens after 2060?”
The old woman cackled. “Let’s just say you’ll need a good lawyer in 2061! Hee, hee, hee!”
Poof! The fortune teller disappeared amidst a cloud of smoke. Bonanza shut the tablet off.
“Well,” Smegma said. “At least we’ll both be alive in 40 years,” Smegma said.
Bonanza averted her eyes and looked away.
“What?” Smegma asked.
“I…I can’t believe it.”
The attorney slapped the spy across the face, leaving a firm red mark on his cheek.
“Ow!” Smegma said as he rubbed the mark. “What was that for!”
Bonanza broke out into tears. “Retroactive rapist!”
Smegma was aghast. “But…I….didn’t…no…you don’t really believe…I would never!”
The lady stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I suppose it’s fine for the next four decades but after that, oh…I don’t want to look at you right now.”
Bonanza stormed down the aisle.
“Where are you going?” Smegma asked.
“Anywhere you aren’t!”


Son of Toilet Gator – Chapter 3


“Smegma. Dirk Smegma.”
“No need for an introduction,” Bonanza said. “Your reputation proceeds you.”
“Does it now?”
“It does,” Bonanza said. “And that is why I’m here.”
“To join the mile-high club, darling?” Smegma inquired. “There’s always room for another member.”
“No, Agent Smegma,” Bonanza said as she handed over her card. Smegma inspected the credential. It read: “Cooter Bonanza, Attorney-at-Law. Central Intelligence Agency, Human Resources Division. Langley, VA.”
Smegma crumpled up the card and tossed it over his shoulder, uncaring as to where the rubbish would end up. “A lawyer. How positively dreadful. I was so much happier when I thought you were here. to treat my…head.”
“Comments like that are why I’m here,” Bonanza said. “Sir, in light of the me too movement…”
The agent cleared his throat. “The what now?”
“The me too movement,” Bonanza said. “Agent Smegma, do you go on the Internet regularly?”
“No,” Smegma said. “I’m attractive.”
“Well,” Bonanza said. “I’ll have you know that women the world over are logging on and shouting to the rooftops in great detail the stories of abuse they have suffered at the hands of powerful men.”
“I see,” Smegma said. “Good for them. So, I take it, they are sending these accounts to the police?”
Bonanza clutched a strand of pearls that dangled around her neck. “You cad! Why would you ever expect abused women to discuss the personal details of the crimes against them to the police?”
Smegma sipped his rum and generic cola. “Because the police are in charge of solving crimes. You just answered your own question, darling.”
The attorney’s jaw dropped. “Sir! I demand you cease your horrid mansplaining at once!”
The agent raised his right eyebrow. “I’m sorry, darling, but I’ll stop mansplaining just as soon as you start woman-understanding.”
Bonanza’s face turned red. “Agent Smegma, women who have been abused must be protected by society at all costs and they shouldn’t have to re-live the worst experience of their lives all over again by having to tell the police about it.”
“You’ve got me there,” Smegma said. “We hail from a free country. Ergo, a woman’s business is her own and if she’d rather not speak to the authorities, I sympathize. I barely trust the government I work for so I’m not about to tell others that they should.”
“You’ve missed the point, Cro-Magnon,” Bonanza said.
“Feel free to enlighten me anytime, darling. Over and over again, if possible.”
“When women want to smash the patriarchy by utilizing social media to broadcast the details of the heinous acts perpetrated against them, we must support them,” Bonanza said.
“Darling,” Smegma said. “Let me see if I have this straight. It’s too hard for women to report crimes perpetrated against them to the police which, and I freely admit, has its share of imbeciles but by and large, most police officers are professionals trained how to interact with the victims of crime with the utmost discretion?”
“And yet,” Smegma said. “It’s much easier for women to jump onto Lifebox, grab a virtual bullhorn, and inform any fool with a keyboard about the heinous acts perpetrated against them?”
Bonanza was speechless.
“It’s too hard to tell Officer Jones but telling Lifebox users with silly names like FuckFace69 MeowKittySparkleNuts is a mere walk in the park?”
Smegma waited patiently for an answer, but hearing none, he took another sip of his drink. Bonanza balled her fists, clenched her teeth, and seethed with rage.
“Darling,” Smegma sat in an effort to cut the tension. “We may have different ways of expressing ourselves but when it comes down to it, I doubt we’re very far apart on this issue. I, for one, would gladly snip off the testicles of every man who has so much as thought about committing rape and boil them in hot oil.”
“Good,” Bonanza said. “And on that note, I’ve come to talk to you about…”
Smegma sat up in his seat. “Wait. What in the devil’s name has any of this got to do with me? If you’re implying that I’ve ever engaged in sexual congress without a woman’s consent…”
Bonanza stared coldly at the spy. “But haven’t you?”
“Of course not.”
The attorney repeated the question, leaning into it this time. “But haven’t you?”
“Never!” Smegma held up the palms of his hands and held them out on opposite ends of his head, framing his face. “Darling, have you gotten a good look at me? This puddum is all the consent I’ve ever needed.”
Bonanza scoffed. “My word. They told me you were an unabashed egomaniac, but I never dreamed…”
Smegma cut his inquisitor off. “…that you’d ever meet a man so dashing? So bold? So macho?”
“So deranged,” Bonanza said.
“Attorney Bonanza,” Smegma said. “I’m sorry, but your superiors have sent you on a fool’s errand. Every sexual act I’ve ever engaged in has been purely, one-hundred percent consensual without question.”
“Without question?” Bonananza repeated.
“Absolutely without question,” Smegma answered. “My dear, I did not ask to be one of the most absurdly handsome men to ever walk the face of the planet, but unlike the small percentage of men who look like, I didn’t squander my gift. I didn’t become a gigolo to lonely old women or work my way into the sleazy underbelly of the gay porno industry or even, god help me, become a politician. No, instead what God gave me to save my country more times than I care to remember.”
“Is that right?” Bonanza asked.
“It is,” Smegma said. “You shouldn’t be here to chastise me. If anything, you should be here to give me a medal.”
The blonde opened her brief case and pulled out a thick file folder. “Agent Smegma, have you ever heard of the term, ‘informed consent?’”
Smegma stared blankly at his inquisitor. “The who now in the what now?”
“Informed consent,” Bonanza said. “It’s when an individual is made fully aware of every last possible consequence of the action they’re being asked to engage in so as to ensure that the decision made is genuine.”
“I don’t follow,” Smegma said.
Bonanza pulled her martini glass out of the cupholder in her seat. “If I offered this to you, would you drink it?”
“And if I told you up front there was poison in the glass, would you still consume it?”
“If I were to allow you to assume that the drink was fine, only to tell you after you swallow it that it had been poisoned, would you feel betrayed?”
“Yes, but…”
Smegma fell back into his seat. “Oh…shitballs.”
“Shitballs, indeed, Agent Smegma.”
The agent pondered the quandary for a bit before he offered a defense. “Wait. Darling, I’m in the business of obtaining information, the type of data that can be used to stop evildoers from committing the most vile acts possible against God and country.”
“I’m aware,” Bonanza said.
“I take it you’ve been read in on my greatest accomplishments?”
“I have.”
“Then,” Smegma said. “You know that I’ve kept the East Coast from being nuked twice, the West Coast from being nuked thrice, the Midwest from being burned to a crisp via a massive magnifying glass that was constructed on the surface of the moon…”
Bonanza waved her hand, trying to get the agent to stop. “Agent Smegma…”
“I foiled a Cambodian plot to kidnap sixteen sitting U.S. Senators and replace them with robotic facsimiles. I stopped a helicopter full of explosives from crashing into Mount Rushmore. I have diffused 1,049 bombs, extricated 329 damsels in distress from imminent peril, disarmed three separate weather controlling machines and one earthquake causing machine…”
“Agent Smegma…”
“Abroad,” Smegma said. “I snatched the British Prime Minister from the jaws of a hungry lion, prevented a war between France and Spain, stopped a chemical weapons attack that would have wiped out all of Brazil, and don’t even get me started on the Canadians. Oh, they pretend their so polite, but do you have any idea what they tried to do?”
Bonanza nodded in the affirmative. “I do, but…”
“That thing with the hijacked tanker full of jet fuel and the homing pigeons and the secret army of eunuch assassins and the boxes of autographed Anne Murray photos?”
“Everyone is aware of that,” Bonanza said. “But what I want to know is do you have any idea how many women you have taken advantage of throughout the course of your career?”
Without skipping a beat, Smegma offered an instant reply. “1,387.”
The attorney’s eyes widened. She flipped through her notes. “You…what? How…but…really? I don’t think anyone at the CIA realized it was that high.”
“I don’t report every little tryst, darling,” Smegma said. “If I did, I’d do nothing but paperwork. But rest assured I never seduced a villain’s moll unless it was an absolute last resort, that there was no other way to get the information I required to save lives.”
“And before your so-called seductions, you never informed them that you were an intelligence operative seeking to bring down the evil organizations operated by their vile boyfriends?”
Smegma doubled over in laughter. “I’m sorry,” he said as he wiped away a tear. “It’s just that, surely you know as well as the next woman that the quickest way to dry up a vagina is to mire a woman in nerd bullshit.”
The look on Bonanza’s face indicated that she did not find Smegma’s antics humorous in any way, whatsoever.
Smegma straightened up his face and made an attempt to be serious. “Darling, you’re a healthy, young woman, you must know that…”
“We’re not here to talk about me, Agent Smegma,” Bonanza said. “We’re here to talk about how you lie to women to get into their pants, how you put them into danger to get what you want and how the agency won’t tolerate it another day longer.”
“Lie is such a strong word, my dear,” Smegma said.
“What would you call it?”
The agent considered the question. “Fantasy fulfillment.”
Bonanza sipped her martini. “Oh, brother.”
“The women I’m dealing with in the field, Attorney Bonanza, are what you might call, for lack of a better term, professional hot chicks,” Smegma said. “They exist all over the world. They’re a dime a dozen. I’m talking about women who put all of their time, money and effort into their looks. Some use their beauty to reach the zenith of their profession. I’m sure you didn’t make it in the legal sector based on long nights with your nose stuck in law books alone.”
“You’d be wrong,” Bonanza said.
“So, you say,” Smegma said. “Though something tells me that your superior looks didn’t hurt your career prospects. And while some attractive women climb those ladders and put cracks in the proverbial glass ceiling, others simply seek to land a man. A rich man. A wealthy, obscenely powerful man.”
Bonanza stammered. “That’s…that’s not…that never happens and…”
Smegma glared at the blonde until she relented. “OK, I suppose that happens.”
“Trophies,” Smegma said. “But do you think a trophy can ever be truly happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could it be?” Smegma asked. “It sits there on a shelf, occasionally admired by the man who won it. It looks nice and pretty but it is never allowed to excel or achieve, to live and love, to have a mind of its own.”
The blonde frowned. “How awful.”
Smegma stood up and made his way to the bar. He refreshed his drink, pouring equal parts run and generic cola into his glass, followed by a scoop of ice. “When I come along, these women are so thrilled to have a man as absurdly good looking as they are who is willing to listen to all of their hopes, dreams, and fears that they can’t help but spill the treacherous secrets of their boyfriends along the way. May I?”
Bonanza looked at the hunk’s outstretched arm and realized he was offering to fix her another drink. “Please,” she replied.
Smegma took the glass and went to work. He poured in some gin, added vermouth, swirled the concoction about and added an olive on a toothpick. He then returned to his seat and handed the lady her booze.
“Much obliged,” Bonanza said.
“Don’t mention it,” Smegma said.
“Despite your archaic embrace of outdated patriarchal norms, it’s nice to see you don’t view the practice of fixing a drink as quote unquote ‘woman’s work,’ Agent Smegma,” Bonanza said.
“Not at all,” the agent replied. “What kind of a man would I be if I saw you sitting there, exhausted by a career that no doubt comes with all sorts of trials and tribulations and I didn’t offer my assistance?”
“That’s charming,” Bonanza said. “But if we could get back to…”
Smegma interrupted the lady. “What troubles you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s no need to apologize, my dear,” Smegma said. “You live a difficult life. I can see it in your eyes. The burdens you must carry as a lawyer for a governmental organization that’s constantly getting itself into one international jam after another. Please, lay some of that weight on me.”
Bonanza and Smegma locked eyes. They leaned forward, pursed their lips, and drew closer and closer until the lady pushed the man back.
“Ugh!” Bonanza cried. “You animal! I can’t believe you thought that would work on me!”
“It did.”
Bonanza comported herself. “It did not.”
“It almost did,” Smegma said as he held his thumb and pointer finger together. “Just a little bit.”
“Enough!” Bonanza said. “Agent Smegma, you cannot, under any circumstances, bilk women into falling in love with you without telling them that you’re a spy.”
Smegma swirled his glass around in his hand. “Honestly darling, on some level, they already know.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“These women,” Smegma said. “These professional trophies…they go from one rich fool to the next and do you think any of these men work out? Take care of their bodies? That they can do even one sit-up? That they’ve done any work to cultivate their intellects or personalities? These men are usually gross boors and by the time these lovely ladies see me, they’re ready to pounce like a cat on a mouse.”
“Because you dupe them into thinking you’re going to whisk them away to a better life,” Bonanza said.
Smegma chuckled. “And now you’re the one who is selling these women short. Darling, these ladies know more about the inequities of life, the utter unfairness of it all, that they are never truly surprised when it turns out I’ve double-crossed them. Oh sure, they feign surprise but deep down, they always knew I was too good to be true, that life is so cold and cruel that a knight in shining armor would never come to them so easily. They all had a little voice telling them that I was up to something and they all chose to ignore it because I offered them the brief escape from the lives of villainous servitude that they so desperately despised.”
“Not to mention that you effectively relieved them of their lives altogether,” Bonanza said. “Seeing as how villains never fail to seek vengeance against those who betray them.”
The agent nodded, matter-of-factly. “It’s all part of the game. They know they’re tempting fate the second they press their lips against mine.”
Bonanza and Smegma leaned in once more. They pursed their lips and this time, the blonde didn’t fight it. She pressed her lips against his and the pair became wild with passion. Arms went everywhere. Tongues danced. Spit was swapped. She ended up in his lap.
For a moment, the make-out session stopped. “Damn you, Dirk Smegma!”
The spy grinned. “If I had a nickel for every time…”

Son of Toilet Gator – Chapter 2


With a glass of rum and generic cola in hand, Smegma snoozed high in the sky aboard a private G6 jet, as the view of the ocean below went unnoticed. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, he instinctively stirred when he heard the clicking of a pair of high heels walking down the aisle. The agent opened his eyes and turned around just in time to see a gorgeous blonde in a black pantsuit return to her seat in the back of the plane with a martini in hand.
Smegma wasted no time dialing Kendra.
“Kendra, darling,” Smegma said in a hushed whisper. “It would seem I have picked up a stowaway.”
“Ahh, she’s not simply hopping a free ride, I’m afraid,” Kendra said. “The company thought…well, that you could use some…company.”
“Drat,” Smegma said. “And I so hoped she was here to pay a social call. Headshrinker?””
“No, Dirk,” Kendra said. “There isn’t enough psychoanalysis in the world to reduce your ego to a proper size.”
Smegma pulled a piece of ice out of his glass and cracked it between his teeth. “Bean counter? Here to kvetch about how many cars I’ve wrecked in the field?”
“You only totaled three this time,” Kendra said. “For you, that’s cause for celebration.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense,” Smegma said.
“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” Kendra said. “I’d hate to ruin the surprise. In the meantime, I have to check on Skippy Jr.’s transportation back to the states.”
Dirk rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of…”
“Giving it a name,” Smegma said.
“It’s a living being,” Kendra said.
“It’s a handbag with feet,” Smegma said. “Sooner or later it will meet its maker and you’ll be sorry you got so attached.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I never got too attached to you, Agent Smegma.”
Smegma let out a mischievous grin. “Touche, darling. Touche.”
Click, clack. Click, clack. The blonde sauntered on over to Smegma’s side of the plane and took a seat facing the agent. This gave Smegma a closer look at the lady’s long hair, red lips, and ample cleavage.
“Dirk,” Kendra said. “Try not to…”
Smegma interrupted his handler. “Kendra, darling, I hate to be rude but two very important matters have just come to my attention and I simply must deal with them presently. Ta ta.”
“Might I have a moment of your time?” the woman asked.
“Darling,” Smegma replied. “You may have all the moments of my time. I wasn’t doing anything useful with them anyway.”
The woman retained an icy visage as she held out her hand. “Cooter Bonanza.”
“I bet you are,” Smegma said.
Smegma kissed the hand. “Enchante.”

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Great Musings of the Twenty-First Century – #451-475


#451 – Why do boys get to do all the scouting?  Why isn’t there an organization for Man Scouts?  Look, nothing against boy scouts, but if I ever need some serious scouting to be done, I’m going to call on some grown ass men to do it.

#452 – If European, then I’mmapoopin.’

#453 – There are countless alternative versions of ourselves spread out across an infinite number of competing timelines.  Ergo, it stands to reason that someone, somewhere, found this book funny.

#454 – If the piano man has to sing us a song, does the singer man have to play the piano?

#455 – Who is the idiot choosing to use a sponge over paper towels?  Do you have any idea how many germs collect in sponges?  Yeah, I said it and I don’t care what the sponge industry thinks.

#456 – I need to clone myself so I have someone to talk to.  Another me is the only one who would ever understand me.

#457 – Groupthink is nothing to worry about.  At least, that’s what the members of my “Everyone in My Demographic/Age Range/Sex/Gender/Religion/Occupation Club/Geographic Location/Political Party Club” told me during our recent ice cream social.

#458 – Like a bear, I eat a lot out of concern I may not be able to find good food later.  Unlike a bear, I neglect to do the part where I just sleep through the entire winter and decline to eat anything.  In conclusion, I’m fatter than a bear and not as intelligent.

#459 – When it comes to bodily hygiene, I’m for it.

#460 – I told my doctor he’s a quack, but he called fowl.

#461 – Don’t patronize me unless I start a business.  Then patronize my business.

#462 – Frozen yogurt is just trans-ice cream.  Discuss.

#463 – So much ennui, so little time.

#464 – I didn’t enjoy my tour in Vietnam.  Remind me to fire my travel agent.

#465 – I’m such a Samantha.

#466 – I wish time had stopped forever in 1999.

#467 – I tried once. I didn’t enjoy it.

#468 – I’d like to become a falconer.  Does anyone know where I can find a reasonably priced falcon?

#469 – I don’t even know where to start.  Do you?

#470 – Vacations make me want to take a vacation.

#471 – I’m not made of musings, you know.

#472 – Will there ever be a rap version of Amazing Grace?

#473 – Donuts are neither dough nor nuts.  Discuss.

#474 – The waiting room is next to the doing room.

#475 – A stadium full of puppies would be adorable, but where would one acquire so many puppies?










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Hello 3.5

I haven’t had much to say lately.

Toilet Gator has just begun the editing process.  Meanwhile, I’m working on the sequel, Son of Toilet Gator.

This has kept me busy.

What are you all up to?

What’s up, 3.5 Readers?

I hope all 3.5 of you are doing well.  Have you been keeping your New Year resolutions, or are you screwing your future selves over already?

Daily Discussion with BQB – Ideas to Improve this Fine Blog

Os is it already the best blog ever and thus there is no room to improve?


Daily Discussion with BQB – They Always Die in 3’s

Mean Gene the Wrestling Announcer, Super Dave and the Captain.  The year has barely started.

2019 isn’t screwing around, 3.5 readers.

Top Ten Observations After Watching A Christmas Story (1983)

Hey 3.5 readers. BQB here. Going over my past Christmas posts. Here’s one about what you can take away from “A Christmas Story.”

Bookshelf Battle

Hey 3.5 readers.

I’ve seen this movie a million times since childhood and happened to watch it again recently.  It’s funny how the older your get, the more things you notice.

Thus, without further ado, and I have to do this quick before the Yeti finds out, it’s my Top Ten Observations About A Christmas Story (1983).

#10 – Life is Hard

Yeah, obvious, but still, I notice this more as an adult than I did as a kid.  As a kid I just thought Ralphie’s father was an old grumpy bastard.  Now I know why he’s old and grumpy.  You work all day and then come home to a house where shit breaks every five minutes and you have to spend all your free time fixing it because if you can’t then you have to shell out some of that money you worked so hard for.  No wonder the old…

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Top Ten Christmas Movies

Hey 3.5 readers. BQB here. Reblogging my list of my favorite Christmas movies. What’s your favorite? Did it make the list?

Bookshelf Battle

Ho ho ho 3.5 readers.

Jingle bells, the Yeti smells, BQB is still in captivity.

But that’s ok because I have my ways of getting around the Yeti.

Did you know you can help rid BQB HQ of Yeti rule by following me on Twitter – @bookshelfbattle ?


In the meantime, from BQB HQ, here are the Top Ten Christmas Movies, in no particular order:

10.  Scrooged (1988) – A Christmas Carol has been remade, rebooted, and parodied a ridiculous amount of times.  It makes sense because it follows a classic formula for teaching a main character the error of his ways.  For me, the best and funniest retelling was this Bill Murray comedy from the late 1980s.  Entertainment executive Cross follows in Scrooge’s footsteps by chasing money and working his way to the top of a TV network, only to realize he missed out on the love of…

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