The Last Driver – Episode 1 – From the Desk of Bookshelf Q. Battler

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…a World Renowned Poindexter, an Epic Nerdventurer, a Reviewer of Pop Cultural Happenings, and a Champion Yeti Fighter


Good day to you, noble reader.

Have you ever felt like the world has passed you by? You’re not sure how it happened. You can’t quite put your finger on when it happened but you have a sneaking suspicion that you’re no longer part of the “in” crowd and never will be again. Your pop cultural references no longer make sense. The beliefs you once steadfastly clung to are considered hokey now. You have a closet full of gadgets that have been rendered obsolete by new technological trends and the only people who are able to join you in quoting lines from your favorite movies have gray hairs popping up all over their heads.

My theoretical “You’re Not Welcome in This World Anymore” greeting card came somewhere in the early 2010s. I’d spent a large chunk of my youth trying to become a writer, only to realize that the old way of doing things (i.e. kiss enough butts until you kiss the right butt) would never get me anywhere, so I gave up and took the most boring job ever, that of an assistant to the assistant to the Vice-President of Corporate Assistance at Beige Corp., the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories. Beige! It’s the color to wear when you don’t want to send any kind of message about yourself whatsoever.

The first decade of the new millennium had come and gone. I was settling into the new normal of early thirties life when all of a sudden every jackass and his Uncle Larry started his own Internet media venture and much to my surprise, many of these endeavors did well. YouTubers, podcasters, bloggers, social media sensations, self-publishers – the gatekeepers had been bypassed thanks to emerging technology and it was no longer necessary for creative people to kiss a whole mess of butts before putting their work out to the masses.

Even though I never physically age and I’m a highly trained fighter of vampires, zombies, werewolves, chupacabras and yes, even ill-tempered hipsters, I find myself struggling to stay afloat in this crazy new age. Do-it-yourself media seems like a young man’s game and while it helps to be an allegedly fictional character, this world just doesn’t make sense to a man who was born when that peanut slinging doofus Jimmy Carter was president. Sometimes you just can’t get over the malaise, no matter how hard you try.

While I no longer recognize the new world we live in, there is some good news and some bad news. The good news is that people who used to never have a voice have one now. People are getting involved in civic matters and expressing their opinions like never before, all thanks to social media.

The bad news? It feels as though as a nation we’ve never been divided more (well, except for that time in the 1860s when Americans actually did divide the country up and shoot at each other). We’re more connected digitally than ever, yet we don’t actually talk to one another as much as we used to.

In the old days (the 1980s and 1990s for me), people would talk out their personal grudges. That didn’t mean people were always kind about it, but at least actual, in-person conversations took place. Today, it has become too easy for people to retreat into their own social media bubbles, to focus only on what they want to hear and to label those who disagree as the vile, evil “other.” This trend is dividing our country, noble reader, and people really need to stop hurling verbal bombs at each other over social media and start hugging it out instead. The line for people who want to hug me starts right outside BQB headquarters in fabulous East Randomtown, USA. Bikini models will always be given first priority to move to the front of the hug line.

Frank Wylder, the hero of the tale you’re about to read, is a much older man than I am, but like me, he doesn’t recognize the world he lives in anymore either. Frank’s issues run deeper than long forgotten pop cultural references and outdated technology, although those developments trouble him. The world of 2050 has been conquered by an intrusive dictatorship. The One World Order has eradicated free will and has taken control over virtually ever last personal decision that people used to make on their own. Some folks who would normally pop a brain gasket while trying to make a major life decision find a government managed existence to have a calm, soothing effect. Others, like Frank, miss living in an era where a man could grab life with both hands and ride it into the clouds, or occasionally fall off and crash.

Globalism. Nationalism. We’ve been hearing about these movements a lot on the news lately. Globalists think it isn’t fair that some countries get all the goodies while others go without. Nationalists argue that if Country A is being managed well, then it deserves to keep its goodies and shouldn’t have to give them to Country B which, lets face it, is probably run by an egotistical, self-appointed dictator wearing a ridiculous hat and a uniform with a thousand unearned medals pinned to it who spends all of his nation’s wealth on solid gold toilet seats and hookers, then complains that Country A is the reason why his people are poor. The Globalists might have a point about promoting international cooperation. The Nationalists might have a point that one country’s success doesn’t automatically mean another country’s failure. If only these foes could get together in a room, hold hands, and sing a rousing rendition of Kumbaya.

            I don’t know. Like Frank, I want no part of this hullabaloo. Both sides can duke it out, but if we all don’t start throwing more hugs and less fists, I fear the world of 2050 as described in this serial will become a reality. Ergo, the next time you feel frustrated by a person with an opposing viewpoint, offer a hug instead of an insult and you never know, you might just find yourself with a new friend instead of a despised enemy.

Better yet, go for a drive in a fast car. I love fast cars, 3.5 readers. I love fast cars and conspiracy theories (Biggie and Tupac invented time machines that allowed them to shoot each other) and this serial is a marriage between my two great loves. I wank it whenever there’s a new Fast and Furious movie. What have they made, like 10,000 of those suckers now? Hell, they can make 20,000 more and I’ll still be in the theater gobbling up popcorn and watching those things.

Moreover, I spank it whenever I hear an interesting yet completely unfounded idea about how some tragic event took place (can we ever be sure that an alien dressed like Elvis was not on the grassy knoll?)

Intense car chases and head scratching power plays. All the big time Hollywood moguls really need to stop sexually harassing young starlets for five minutes and offer me a butt load of credits for this dazzling spectacle. Get in on the action before some creative, forward thinking power player snatches this bad boy up. Come on, Hollywood executives. Why coerce actresses into touching your thingy when we can all get so rich off this story that the babes will be lining up to touch our thingies voluntarily?

What do you think about self-driving cars, noble reader? In the early stage of this emerging technology, it’s looking this new form of transportation might change our lives for the better. Sure, we’ll miss being behind the wheel on a nice country drive but you know what we won’t miss – being locked up in traffic for three hours because some dummy got into an accident and mangled himself beyond all recognition. Further, as a chronic late person, I would not mind if my car were to form itself around me while I’m sleeping and begin transporting me to work while I catch up an extra snooze.

Admittedly, I have some pessimistic tendencies. While everyone is looking forward to the day when their car says in a computerized voice, “Relax, I got this!” I’m concerned about the potential for the government to use these contraptions to further the nanny state. Look reader, I don’t want to alarm you, but as we speak, there has got to be at least fifty technicians gathered around in a circle in the basement of a CIA black site, pleasuring themselves in a round robin circle jerk to all the photos you have been posting of your most embarrassing exploits on social media. If that’s the case, then how could any government pass up on the chance to mine the memory banks of self-driving cars for information on where their occupants have been traveling to, who they were with and who they were visiting?

Plus, I just know some health nut will demand that scales be put into the seats of self-driving cars and if the occupant weights too much, his car will tell him he’s too fat to swing by a fast food joint drive-thru. Honestly, that would be a good thing for a lard bucket like yours truly, but I’m willing to eat myself into oblivion if that’s what it takes to preserve free will. Just because I’m exercising my free will in a way that requires me to wear extra strength stretch pants doesn’t mean you all should have to suffer.

OK, enough about me. Let’s get this party started. Tweet, your thoughts about self-driving cars, human operated cars, Biggie and Tupac’s time traveling abilities, government conspiracies and most importantly, the epic serial about to unfold before your very eyes to me @bookshelfbattle. Share more in-depth thoughts on Facebook, where I’m @bookshelfqbattler or stop by my blog,

I’m working as fast as I can on Episode Two, noble reader, but I’m just one man. I have a day job to work, ungrateful relatives to take care of, pets to walk, plants to water, cows to milk, pig stalls to muck out, haystacks to bale, karaoke bars to visit, vampires to stake, zombies to put out of their misery, werewolves to gun down with silver bullets and chupacabras to put on goat free diets. I’ll find more time to work on this tale if you keep the encouragement coming.

Better yet, tell a friend about this serial so I could, you know, make some extra dough, or actually, any dough. I heard a rumor once that some writers make money. I’d love to find out if that is true.

What? You don’t have a friend? Try making one. It all begins with a hug.

(Get a notorized permission slip before obtaining the hug.)

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The Last Driver – Episode 1 – Summary

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In a world where self-driving cars are the norm, the last man to retain his skill behind the wheel has been called upon to ride again.
The year is 2050. Sixty-three year old Frank Wylder is coming to terms with a felling that all seniors eventually experience, namely the realization that the world has passed him by. Everything he knew in his youth is gone and all that has replaced it doesn’t appear to be going anywhere.
The rub? This isn’t just any ordinary late life crisis. The governments of every last nation on Earth have succumbed to the brutally efficient bureaucracy dubbed, “The One World Order.” A cunning dictatorship that makes George Orwell’s worst nightmares look like mere child’s play, the Order has achieved the unthinkable – the eradication of free will. People no longer decide what they want to do with their lives. Instead, the Order controls every last detail of an individual’s existence, from the job he holds, to the speech he’s allowed to use, the food he eats, even the person he marries. Big Brother isn’t just watching anymore. He’s getting involved.
In fact, the Order has been running people’s lives for so long that one the elderly remember what the world was like when a man had a say about what he did and didn’t do. Frank recalls his choices – a youth spent as a hotshot getaway driver for an organized crime family’s heist ring, followed by a middle age spent as a professional chauffeur (and occasional problem solver) for Hollywood’s most glamorous (and utterly scandalous) movie stars.
Those glory days are long gone now. As Frank’s health issues mount, he feels decrepitude closing in. He finds some solace in maintaining “Veronica” – his classic muscle car, a cherry red 1969 American Made Sidewinder that he once used to transport many a villain from a bank job to a safe house in no time flat. Meanwhile, his thirteen-year old granddaughter, Hannah, gives Frank a reason to go on, though her constant questions about how things used to be on Earth make Frank realize this is a world he just doesn’t belong in anymore.
Naturally, the One World Order is not without an enemy. The band of rebels known as the Nationalist Front seeks to annihilate the worldwide regime and return power back to individual countries. The methods of this group are severe, so terrifying in nature that at times, spectators are left to wonder whether the ones challenging power are any better than those currently holding it.
One such spectator is Frank, who’d prefer to be left alone to drink the six and only six beers that the Order will allow a Class 7 citizen like him to pour down his gullet. Sure, he’ll glance at the coverage of the ongoing fracas on the state approved tele-web, but he has no interest in any cause other than self (and granddaughter) preservation. He’s content to stay out of the fray and on the sidelines. After all, staying put at home is the best way to avoid incurring a heft fine from the Order’s ever present, absurdly nosey Civil Society Monitor Drones.
Alas, when the Nationalist Front learns that Frank was once a badass with his foot on the gas, the old man is offered a deal he can’t refuse – be the wheelman on a series of operations designed to strike at the heart of the One World Order’s ability to rule effectively.
Technology is central to the lives of the masses and the One World Order controls all of it. From X-Pads that only show state approved content, to search engines that have wiped out any trace of world history, the Order is able to keep tabs on its billions of charges 24/7.
Self-Driving cars, once thought to be the saving grace of the modern commuter, are exploited by the global dictatorship. Sure, these marvels of engineering have cut down on travel times, allowed people to sleep and work on their way to their places of business, and have dropped the worldwide traffic accident rate to zero. However, the Order is able to pursue its surveillance objectives by tracking where people are going and who they are seeing, while maintaining the ultimate nanny state. That’s right. Each self-driving car is embedded with an artificial intelligence that will not, under any circumstances, allow the occupant one of these vehicles to stop for a greasy drive-thru hamburger if his BMI is not at optimal levels. Smoking, drinking, cheating on a spouse, nights of depraved debauchery – all things of the past as cars are now considered to be mobile adult babysitting machines instead of the transportation devices they once were.
Is free will all it’s cracked up to be? Is it a God given right that inspires man to dream big and soar to new heights, or is it an illusion, a source of a burning yet destructive desire to kick others down in a mad scramble to fight over precious, limited resources? The Nationalists have chosen option A, the Globalists argue for option B. Frank doesn’t care. He just wants his granddaughter back.
For a regime that assumed it had thought of everything, the insertion of Frank into the mayhem is a variable that was never anticipated. Self-driving cars are efficient – perhaps too efficient. They’re programmed to reach their assigned destinations in a prompt manner at a reasonable rate of speed. They follow all traffic laws, patiently yield to pedestrians, and avoid collisions.
In short, these automated four-wheel wonders are no match for an old drunk with a lead foot and nothing left to loose. Readers will delight as Frank zooms, vrooms, crashes and bashes his way to victory – if such a premise even exists. After all, as bad as life is under the One World Order, will the world be any better if it is carved back up into petty, constantly bickering nations again?
Bookshelf Q. Battler, a world renowned poindexter, an epic nerdventurer, a reviewer of pop cultural happenings and a champion yeti fighter is the geek behind this gearhead fest. Dubbing “The Last Driver” as the demon spawn produced from a hot night of steamy lovemaking between the “Fast and Furious” franchise and George Orwell’s 1984, BQB is hard at work on this ongoing serial. At this time, the world’s greatest dweeb can only promise that he will do everything within his power to release a new episode every six months. Readers who want their fix sooner are asked to send constructive (or destructive but only if its funny) criticism BQB’s way. His Twitter handle is @bookshelfbattle and he can be found on Facebook with @bookshelfqbattler. Don’t forget to check out for updates on the future of “The Last Driver’s” epic first season.


Frank used to be better than this. In the earlier half of the Twenty-First Century, he was a bad ass baller who knew an adrenaline rush that could only be achieved during a high speed chase with a backseat full of bank robbers and a squadron of cop cars on his tail. Veronica, his beloved classic muscle car, never failed to perform, while his fixer, Bernie, never hesitated to exterminate loose ends with extreme prejudice.
But that time is gone and his good mood is over, not just as a result of his advanced age but also because the One World Order, in its efforts to regulate success, has determined that the lower classes should never know too much joy.
Frank is content to wallow away his golden years on the couch, watching state approved television and drinking the six and only six beers per week the global dictatorship will allow him to have until his old pal Bernie pesters him into taking Veronica on one last joyride. What starts with a vow to not take Veronica more than a mile away from home turns into a drunken high speed chase involving very confused self-driving cop cars and a team of flamethrower wielding shock troops with itchy trigger fingers.
Region A Traffic Enforcer Vaughn, one of the Order’s most ambitious officers, is not amused by Frank’s antics. Meanwhile, a frenemy from Frank’s past takes notice of the old man’s past, while the National Front angles to take charge of Frank’s limited future. Ultimately, the safety of Frank’s granddaughter, Hannah, hangs in the balance.
Will Frank give up and lie down on the couch and drink more beer? Will he don his leather jacket and mirrored shades for another ride? Will he ever punch one of those pesky, tattle tale drones out of the air? Answers to all these questions and more await BQB’s precious readers in the first episode of “The Last Driver.”

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Daily Discussion with BQB – New Twitter and It Still Doesn’t Have an Edit Function

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

If you’re on the Tweet-a-mo-bob, (follow me @bookshelfbattle) you might have noticed that they changed things around a lot.

Yet, they still didn’t bring one desperately needed feature – the ability to edit a Tweet.

As it stands right now, if you write a tweet with a mistake in it, your only option is to delete it and rewrite the whole thing.  You really should be able to just hit an edit button, change the erroneous word, and then save it.

It’s been eleven years, Twitter.  Make this happen.

What other changes would you like to see happen on Twitter?

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Thank You Anita Lovett and Associates

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here again.

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The year was 2015.  My arch-nemesis, the International War Criminal/Incredibly Boring Snow Monster known as “The Yeti” scaled the walls of BQB HQ, infiltrated my security systems and took me hostage, vowing to only release me if I obtained a higher number of Twitter followers.

I don’t remember why the Yeti wanted me to get more Twitter followers.  He’s a yeti.  His brain is 95% hair.  Stop trying to make sense out of anything a yeti does.

At any rate, I put out a call for help, asking people to follow me @bookshelfbattle in order to release me from the Yeti’s vile clutches.

The only person to respond?  Anita Lovett of Anita Lovett and Associates.

That’s right.  The rest of you did literally nothing, nothing at all, and were completely content to allow your favorite blog host to remain a yeti captive until the end of time.

Anita, on the other hand, showed the requisite amount of concern that any human should show upon learning that another human has become a yeti captive and she tweeted a call for her followers to follow me.

Meanwhile, the rest of you watched TV and ate cheese doodles and did literally nothing while an incredibly boring snow monster just moved into BQB HQ and made himself at home.  Do you guys realize that furry SOB hasn’t even left yet?  That beast has been bogarting my Funions and my TV remote since the Obama administration.

Sadly, you will all bear this shame forever whereas I have asked Alien Jones to put Anita Lovett and Associates on the protected rolls so that they may be spared during the Mighty Potentate’s Earth invasion, which totally shouldn’t happen as I will no doubt put out many novels that will appease the Potent One but just in case, you never know.

Anyway, when I needed an editor for Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Big Book of Writing Prompts (available for free on Amazon through Monday, June 12) I instantly remembered how Anita came to my defense against the Yeti whereas the rest of you 3.5 readers failed me so, so miserably.  Seriously.  There are no words to describe how disappointed I am in all of you to this very day.

But I digress.  I don’t want to get into specifics, but I found Anita’s prices to be reasonable and in my opinion, she put more work in than the compensation she asked for.

Now, caveat, I obviously don’t speak for Anita so I can’t say she’ll do the same for you.  I mean, maybe she just did it for me because I’m so darn likable and charming and while I’m sure you all think you’re all likable and charming, it’s a lot to ask anyone to live up to the great example that I put out to the world on a daily basis.  I really am a bastion of humility.

Anita and Associates edited my book, went over it, making sure all the various grammatical rules were followed and so forth.  She made a number of suggestions about how to improve the content (i.e. the prompts themselves).  She even formatted it into a file so that all I had to do at the end of the process was load it up on Amazon.  That part I especially appreciated it as I am clueless when it comes to taking a written work and getting it ready for e-publishing.

Most importantly, she answered all my questions and I would add, she set deadlines and stuck to them.  If she said something would be done by X date, sure enough, I’d look in my inbox and find it was done by X date.

Will Anita go out of her way to help you like she did for me?  I mean, obviously I can’t guarantee that because I’m awesome and people like me and they like me so much that they tend to do backflips just to make me happy because, again, I’m so likable.

All I can say is that perhaps you should get in on the ground floor, drop her a line and see what she can do for you and your book before she becomes big and famous, forgets the little people, is able to charge zillions of dollars per hour and can’t return your phone calls because she’s too busy hob nobbing with James Patterson and Steven King and so forth.

Oh, and tell her to work on my stuff before your stuff.  I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I think Toilet Gator is really going to take the literary world by storm and I’m going to need her full and undivided attention on it.  I fully intend to hire Anita and her Associates to break out some flowcharts and protractors and engage in some serious mathematical equations just to see if my claims about the ability of a toilet gator to travel to various toilets within a given time frame are accurate.

You scoff but I’m already in talks with Matthew McConaughey and Dame Judi Dench to play the lead roles in the movie version…at least those people I met at the truck stop diner told me they were Matt and Judy.

(Note that’s just a joke and I’m sure she won’t put my stuff before your stuff but rather treats all her clients equally, even though my upcoming book, Toilet Gator, really is the best book ever written in the entire history of writing.)

Don’t forget to follow her on Twitter – @anitalovett

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Is Avocado Toast Keeping Millenials from Becoming Homeowners?


Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

Australian millionaire Tim Gurner, himself a millennial, has been quoted in the media (this Time Magazine article, for example) as, and I’m paraphrasing here, that millennials aren’t becoming homeowners to the extend that previous generations did because they essentially spend their money on crap.  They go out to eat too much, they take too many expensive vacations to Europe, they buy too many lattes and too many pieces of avocado toast.

Personally, I’m aghast that I’m behind the times because I never knew that avocado toast was even a thing.

Regardless, those wacky millennials took to the Twittosphere (where, shameless plug, you can follow me @bookshelfbattle) to mock Gurner, cracking jokes along the lines of who knew that all their problems could be solved by cutting back on avocado toast.

Typical snarky millenials.  Argh, I just want to channel Uncle Hardass and shake my fist at them in an impotent manner while shouting, “Get off my lawn, hippies!”

Or, hipsters, as is the modern parlance.

I do understand the point millennials are making.  The economy took a big hit in 2008 but honestly, it’s been pretty stagnant since 2000.

Meanwhile, a college education has never been more expensive, yet a college degree has never been less relevant as more and more people have degrees and yet they are pitting themselves against each other for fewer and fewer jobs.

So yeah.  Add to that mix the fact that property values are high and yup…you can’t really blame people who are pissed that they’re living in Mom and Dad’s house well into adulthood for being told all their problems result from that piece of avocado toast…or a latte…or insert your favorite comforting thing you buy that you know you spend too much money on here.

On the other hand, I’m going to side with Gurner.  Life sucks.  You’ve got to make choices.  Save your money.  I’ve always advocated for saving money on this fine blog.  I know it’s hard.  I know times are tough.  I know there will be times like it seems impossible but if you can even save just one dollar out of every paycheck, it’ll grow in time.

OK, you probably have to save more than one dollar.  Save a lot of dollars when you can and save just one when you can’t.

Ultimately, if you’re taking multiple vacations to Europe and throwing your money away on useless gadgets and stuff, then you’re choosing a certain lifestyle.  You have decided to live in the now, the present, to enjoy today.

You have decided to live while the living is good and see the world and do and see and experience awesome things when you are young.

You’re also selling your future old self out because your old self may not have a house to live in when you’re older but you know, your old self will also have nice memories of a fun youth so…it’s up to you.

I can’t really knock anyone for picking that lifestyle.  I’ve had old relatives who worked their entire lives and never went anywhere or did anything and never treated themselves to something extravagant.  They planned to do it in retirement then croaked before retirement came.

So there’s definitely an argument for living in the now and spending it all in the now.

But there’s also an argument for saving that moolah so you can own your own piece of land, a piece of property where you can hang your hat and not get nagged by Mom and Dad about what you’re doing well into adulthood.  And honestly, that’s good for the soul too.

I do agree that in many ways, our political and economic leaders have screwed the big time pooch for awhile now.  The “pay big money for college and college will get you a job that pays big money to you” pyramid scheme is bust.  Less jobs.  Less opportunity.  Less money.  People are less happy.

So it’s up to you what to do with your pennies.  Spend them now and enjoy it now.  Save them now and that will lead to something good later.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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Not All of My Posts Can Be Winners

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.

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The Walking Dead Season 7 Finale

Are you Geekensteins watching it?  Tweet along with me – @bookshelfbattle

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The Walking Dead Recap – Season 7, Episode 15

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB with a Walking Dead recap, so if you haven’t seen it…SPOILER ALERT!

So, I inadvertently broke the Internet with this tweet:

70 retweets and 266 likes as of this writing.  Holy crap, that’s a record for me.  (Still counting too as of last refresh).

That was in response to the trap Sasha laid out for Eugene, by the way.

By the way, does anyone else think that it was a dick move for Rick to hijack all those nice Oceanside ladies?

Was it a dick move for that girl to punch her granny in the face?

Anyway, if you want more gems like this one in your Twitter feed, be sure to follow me @bookshelfbattle


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Twitter Stock Down

Hey 3.5 readers.  Your old pal BQB here.

I’ve been reading stories saying that Twitter stock is down lately.  Apparently the microblogging site isn’t finding as many ways to capitalize and make money as their rival, Facebook.

I tweet more than I Facebook, but I get why Facebook is making more money.  Facebook has more “normals” i.e. people who just sign up and want to keep in touch with friends/ family while Twitter tends to be more losers like me, wannabe writers trying to coax people into checking out my site.

Anyway, I do hope that Twitter bounces back.  I don’t want to see it go the way of Myspace.

Also, shameless plug, I hope you’re follow me on Twitter @bookshelfbattle or click here.

What say you, 3.5?

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BQB Continues to Be a Douche on Twitter

Hey 3.5 readers.  Video Game Rack Fighter here.

So, it seems as though there was an oversight on my part.  I got custody of this blog in the divorce, but I didn’t think about the social media accounts.

Ergo, BQB just went all Trump style on me:

Can you believe it?  Just when I was thinking about giving BQB back his dumb blog and, blech, even considering the possibility of (gag) getting back together with that nerd, he totally douches out on Twitter.

It gets worse:

And then there was this gem:

What a dingus.  Now I will never give his stupid blog back.

Do me a favor and follow BQB @bookshelfbattle on Twitter.  If you see him talking smack about me, let me know.  What a butt face.

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