Tag Archives: alien jones

Ask the Alien – 5/15/16 – Genre Mashing with Dakota Kemp

By: Alien Jones, Intergalactic Correspondent

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“Hmm yes. Hot steampunk chicks with big cannons. I dig it.”

Greetings Earth Losers.

The Esteemed Brainy One here.  The intergalactic trade war over irregular pants continues, but alas, I have done all I can. I have since moved on to Dromodo, where the beings are fighting over the right to marry.

I have heard you humans have been squabbling over that right yourselves (i.e. who should and shouldn’t be allowed to marry) but the Dromodons have a different kind of fight going on.

None of them want to get married ever again.  The government wants to hitch everyone up in forced marital bliss whereas the Dromodons just want to chill out and let their freak flags fly.

That’s what they call their genitals. “Freak flags.”  Very disgusting. Just take my word for it. You don’t want me posting any pictures of that nonsense.

Anyway, I just received this transmission from Earth writer, Dakota Kemp:

Should storytellers cross genre boundary lines? Or should authors like Bookshelf Q. Battler and I be considered clinically insane for their penchant of smooshing together wildly disparate genres?

For example, I’m mashing together the steampunk and sword-and-sorcery genres in my novel, Ironheart: The Primal Deception just as BQB does with westerns and zombie dystopia in How the West Was Zombed.

Are BQB and I unrecognized geniuses or delusional losers?

Hmmm.  Like Charlie Sheen on a Friday night, that question is loaded.

Perhaps I’ll start by taking a look at your latest novel, which I’m told just hit Amazon’s virtual shelves on May 12:

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Well, you’ve got all the trappings of a good novel here. A serious looking man with a derby. Old warrior who looks like he’s up to something. Hot chick with a big ass weapon.

I like it.  And really, the whole secret to good writing is that you, the author, like it.  And it appears to me that you do.

People try so hard to put books into boxes and slap labels on them.

The big question is “Are you having a good time while you write it?”

If you’re having fun, then it will show in your writing.

Everyone is different.  Some people are old ladies who love to write cozy mysteries in which their precocious kitty cats solve crimes.

Others are lonely housewives who unleash their pent up angst with steamy erotica.

Some people are like Bookshelf Q. Battler who beats himself up a lot over past mistakes and then inevitably writes stories about characters who goofed something up big time and are forever trying to make amends for it in some way.

The general advice I have heard from authors is that you try to “write for market” i.e. slap together a book that fits a cookie cutter cutout of every other book that is doing well, it probably will not do well if your heart and soul isn’t reflected in that book.

In other words, just write what you love to write about. If you love certain genres, and you enjoy mashing them up together, then by all means do so.

Think about it.

Do you want to eat a store bought cake that’s one in a hundred that was dumped off the back of a delivery truck yesterday?

Or do you want to eat a cake that was made with love by a little old lady baker who gets up at four a.m. every day?

The corporate clowns at your local chain grocery store don’t care about your taste buds or the art of cake making, but the little old lady who has studied baking her entire life certainly cares.

And perhaps that little old lady has a few tricks up her sleeve.  Maybe she adds a pinch of cinnamon or a dash of nutmeg to her cakes to really make your taste buds sing. Corporate clowns will never do that. They’ll just bust out their calculators, crunch the numbers, and decide they can still sell cakes without the added expense of nutmeg.

You sir, are clearly a nerd (no offense as nerds are held up with more reverence these days) who loves the steampunk and sword-and-sorcery genres.

You took your time, put in the work, built your own world and then birthed it into this one.

Are you insane and/or delusional?  No. If you enjoyed writing your book, it will show and once the word gets out, you’ll have way more readers than BQB’s paltry 3.5.

Dakota, there’s an old commercial for Reese’s peanut butter cups in which various humans complain in jest to one another, “You got chocolate in my peanut butter. No, you got peanut butter in my chocolate!”

Once upon a time companies just made chocolate. Then Mr. Reese shoved some peanut butter up a chocolate candy’s butt and people have enjoyed getting that much more obese ever since.

You’ll never know what people will like until you try.  Mr. Reese loved chocolate and peanut butter.  They’re better together, and I’m willing to bet that steampunk and sword-and-sorcery fantasy will mix just as well.

Sure, there will be plenty of squares who will tell you “don’t do this or that.”

They’ll tell you that genres are a lot like the lyrics to that fine 1994 song Come Out and Play by the Offspring.  “You got to keep ’em separated.”

Except, no you don’t.  Toss all the genres you want in a big bowl, mix them up, pop them in the oven, serve up your dish to the readers and let them decide.

By the way, don’t compare yourself to the lowly BQB. You two are in different leagues.

You sir, got a book to market, whereas BQB just screws around all day and maybe if I’m lucky he’ll write a chapter or two once a week.  He’s not exactly doing his part to stave off the Mighty Potentate’s conquest of Earth.

But you are, and that’s why your name will be added to the protected rolls once the MP rolls into town.

Good luck Dakota and stop by to let us know how your book launch went.

Alien Jones out.

Alien Jones is the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s intergalactic correspondent, graciously lending the power of his brain to answer your questions.

Ask the Alien a question and he may very well plug your book or blog in his answer.  Ask questions in the comments or tweet them to @bookshelfbattle

Together, we can promote self-published material and ween the masses off reality television, a form of entertainment that Alien Jones’ boss, the maniacal alien despot known as “The Mighty Potentate” despises so much that he’s plotting an invasion of Earth just to stop it.

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Alien Jones Checks In

Greetings Earth Losers.

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The Esteemed Brainy One plays Candy Crush on his Space Phone

The Esteemed Brainy One here, blogging from Kemphos 91, where an uprising has occurred due to a lack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Yes, that’s right. You’d be surprised in the vastness of space, that such seemingly trivial things are capable of generating interplanetary conflicts but here we are.

Keep in mind that the Kemphans require a constant supply of peanuts or else they break out into spontaneous song and dance numbers, which sounds like fun, but then they do it for days until finally their heads explode.

I’ve seen it happen. It isn’t pretty. It’s like being front row at a Gallagher performance.

Kemphos 1-90 really needs to fork over some of their peanut reserves to 91 but until then, I have to do my best to keep the peace.

Apologies for not writing more this year, Earth losers, but I just haven’t had the time. Disorder has been breaking out all over the cosmos this year. It’s very unsavory.

In the meantime, please assist me with my mission to launch BQB’s writing career. The sooner BQB is an established writer, the sooner the Mighty Potentate will get off my back.

Did I say get off my back? I meant to say until the Mighty Potenate can be pleased by another one of his genius plans coming to fruition.

All hail the Mighty Potentate.

Here’s where you can find Bookshelf Q. Battler on the inter webs.

LIKE BQB ON FACEBOOK

FOLLOW BQB ON TWITTER 

PUT BQB IN YOUR GOOGLE PLUS CIRCLES, BECAUSE YES, GOOGLE PLUS IS STILL A THING. I KNOW, RIGHT? WHO KNEW?

AND READ BQB’S STORIES ON WATTPAD – HE IS @bookshelfbattle

Humans, I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but your likes and follows will help keep the Mighty Potentate’s plans to conquer the Earth at bay.

Technically, I’m not allowed to criticize the Mighty Potentate, but let’s just say that he literally solves all political problems by vaporizing his opponents.

Not exactly a boon for democracy, but it does make for fun prime time debate viewing.

Thank you 3.5 Earth losers.  I’ll be back sometime this summer to answer your questions, so keep them coming.

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Character Profile – Alien Jones

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REAL NAME: H’awa’lekquar Zalazalazalazalazaladimmadimaballa Koveenomix Tromphilogate Scriblero 17.5 Twanny Twim Twally Bolorolax Bek ZsaZsaGabor Heeka heeka heeka heeka AWOLLAGAX!

NAME HE LETS YOU USE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T PRONOUNCE THAT SHIT: Alien Jones

OFFICIAL TITLE: The Esteemed Brainy One

NICKNAMES: AJ (used by Bookshelf Q. Battler and friends around the turn of the second millennium.  Jonesy (used by the bounty hunter he will work with towards the end of the second millennium.)

BIOGRAPHY: After proving his bravery on the battle field, in outer space exploration, and in multiple scientific disciplines, Alien Jones was appointed to the Mighty Potentate’s advisory board, better known as “The Council of Esteemed Ones.”  Though the Mighty Potentate has the final say in all matters, they provided the Potent One with the information he requires to make a decision.

Each member of the council is an expert in a particular field.  There’s the Esteemed Financial One, who oversees the Rakan Collective’s economy, the Esteemed Medical One, who serves as Surgeon General and then there’s The Esteemed Brainy One, or the being that is so knowledgable that the Mighty Potentate can rely upon him to provide advice on anything.

That position belongs to Alien Jones, and thus he is essentially the second most powerful being in the Known Universe.

Understandably then, the Esteemed Brainy One was none too pleased when he was assigned in 2015 to help BQB advance his writing career.  So important was it to the Mighty Potentate that BQB write a novel so fantastic that it would inspire Earthlings to abandon reality television that he only trusted Alien Jones with this sensitive mission.

Internally, Jones disagrees with this mission and views it as beneath him. Often, he views BQB wasting time eating cookies and dancing in his underpants when he should be writing, leading him to question the Mighty Potentate’s claim that BQB is indeed the chosen one.

But he keeps a lid on his doubts because, as we all know, questioning the Mightiest of Potentates is a good way to get vaporized.

Jones has a lot on his plate.  In addition to serving as the Esteemed Brainy One and as BQB’s advisor, he’s also a diplomat, explorer, and military operative, leaving him with many responsibilities to juggle.

On top of all that, he’s the author of “Ask the Alien,” a semi-regular column in which he uses his esteemed brain to answer any and all questions posed by BQB’s 3.5 readers.

If you have a question for Alien Jones, leave it in the comments on this site or tweet them to @bookshelfbattle

At this time, Jones has many supernatural powers, such as mind reading and the ability to cast force fields.  However,  the Mighty Potentate has foreseen that Jones will, at one point in the distant future, anger him so greatly that he will strip the Esteemed Brainy One of these powers, leaving him to earn his keep as a pilot for a down and out bounty hunter.

But that’s not something we early second millennium folks have to worry about.

 

 

 

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Reblogged

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This morning I reblogged all 13 chapters of Undesiredverse: Wanted, along with little captions as to what’s going on.

I hope you’ll check them out and give me some feedback – good, bad, or indifferent, it’s all welcome.

There’s a tendency for posts to get buried in blogs, so if you want to read this in a stable place, it also has a home on Wattpad.  If you’re one of my 3.5 Wattpad readers, please take a look, vote, comment etc.

Thank you nerds.  Stay nerdy.  And please comment, even if your comment is “you suck and should hang your head in shame for darkening the Internet with your stupidity.”

Thanks Uncle Hardass.  You know how to get to the point.

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Let’s Talk About Undesiredverse – BQB’s Space Opera Serial

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BQB here.  Let’s talk, nerds.

ABOUT THE UNDESIREDVERSE

The year is 2999.  Roman Voss, a bounty hunter with an addiction.  Alien Jones, a pilot who’d once achieved greatness as second in command of the Known Universe’s greatest democracy, now stripped of his powers and looking for redemption.

Caught in the middle is a mysterious and very confused woman.

Jones’ old boss, the Mighty Potentate, presides over the Rakan Collective, a group of pro-democracy, pro-science, pro-education peace loving aliens who despise war, though they have amassed an unbeatable army to protect what they have from the “undesirables,” the residents of Milky Way, Andromeda, and all points in between, the area referred to by His Potentosity as “garbage planets” or simply, “the Undesiredverse.”

Cast out of paradise and deemed unworthy of the Rakan Collective, Undesiredverseans fight amongst themselves pointlessly, aimlessly and yes, sometimes even hilariously.  The religious zealots of Vendros, for example, have been slaughtering each over for a thousand years of a translation error in their holy book that leads the color of the shirt warn by their holy being in question.

But then again, not all of the baddies are funny.  The underworld organization known as the Cabal has a hand in every aspect of life, from business to politics, though they are so secretive they do not even acknowledge their own existence.

Meanwhile, many years ago, the Tollusks, a violent, warmongering species, decided to reform their ways and seek peace and prosperity.  The Tarazni Clan quickly formed, seized the planet’s nuclear arsenal, took flight, bombed their own planet to smithereens to punish “the infidels” on the way out and have been conquering planets ever since.

In fact, Earth is their latest acquisition.  There is an Earth government.  The One World Order began when countries decided to cease their petty squabbles in light of the discovery of new alien threats.  Alas, anyone who’d of put up resistance to the Tarazni’s Clan’s rule has been either killed, marginalized, ostracized, or paid off.  The One World Order that remains is accused by the people of being a government of “collaborators” and “rubber stampers.”

Sourcemind is the first villain that we are introduced to in the story.  He is a highly evolved artificial intelligence who was constructed by the humans of Omcoros to oversee automation of all of their world’s systems.  Big mistake, as that led to Sourcemind taking control.  From his mainframe on the world he’s conquered, he can assimilate any machine that comes in contact with him (or any machine that comes into contact with a machine he’s assimilated.

AND SO IT BEGINS…

Sourcemind, the Cabal, the Tarazni Clan, the One World Order and other degenerates want the woman in Voss and Jones’ care.  These three become the most wanted beings in the Undesiredverse and our story becomes a manic dash to safety.

Only the bad guys know why they want the mystery woman.  Voss, Jones, and even the woman herself are in the dark.

WHY IS BQB WRITING THIS?

All too often, I stop and start a story.  This blog helps me get things finished.  Last month, I finished a project.  #31ZombieAuthors.  It took a lot of work, but because I promised 31 people I’d do it, I got it done.

The story essentially involves a trio’s journey for survival as they are hunted by various baddies.  Thus, I basically step into Voss’ shoes and every day, imagine a little bit more about what is happening and what he is up against.

I don’t want to say the story goes in a straight line, but it does.  But there are many bumps on that line our heroes must hurdle.  But because it essentially begins with Point A (the heroes are in jeopardy and ends with Point B (the heroes are safe) I feel I can write a little bit every day and eventually bring our heroes from jeopardy to safety.

QUOTES ABOUT UNDESIREDVERSE: WANTED

BQB said these things about his story because he couldn’t find anyone else who would:

“It’s like Star Wars with a twist of Douglas Adam’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

“Finally, a space opera that can make me laugh, as well as experience mental stress over the fear that characters I’ve grown attached to might be gruesomely murdered at any minute.”

“It doesn’t totally suck.”

BQB NEEDS YOUR HELP

You, the 3.5 readers, are watching me write a first draft.  There will be errors in writing, plot, grammar, style, even story.  I’ve already identified several.

If you see something that leaves you scratching your head, don’t keep quiet about it.  Let me know.  You have all been drafted into being my 3.5 beta readers.

I won’t consider you rude for pointing out a faux pas.  I’d appreciate it.  You won’t be kicked out of the 3.5 readers club.  I can’t afford to lose any more readers as it is.  You might point out something that I intentionally left iffy because I intend it to turn into a big reveal later but that’s ok.  We’re making sausage on this site so I’ll give you a glimpse inside the sausage casing and let you know that a) yes, you pointed out a big goof on my part and thank you or b) I intended that and it’ll be addressed later.

Either way, if you see something off, let me know.

THE FUTURE FOR BQB

My main goal is to get this written, re-written, edited, formatted and published at some point early next year.  I don’t have a date set but as early as possible.  If I get it up on Amazon before June I’ll be happy.

I have not forgotten about Pop Culture Mysteries.  Next year, I hope to launch the Pop Culture Mysteries website which will feature a Season One of Jake’s Mysteries, leading into a Jake novel.

Undesiredverse: Wanted will basically be me teaching myself how to write and self-publish a novel.  Pop Culture Mysteries will up the game a bit and from hereon, I hope to publish two books a year.

That’s assuming life agrees with that plan.  Come on life.  Don’t be a dick.

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 13

Halminotrin. Street name – huff. That stuff will grow hair on your chest and turn it curly, let me tell you. I kept a slab of it in a plastic bag in the glove compartment. I broke off a small pebble, crushed it into the tray of my vape-o-matic inhalator, mixed in some bottled water and presto, put the mask on my face, hit the on button and presto, I was ready to trip balls.

The inhalator chugged away. I sniffed in the goodness. It made me feel light. Airy. Happy even.

“You’re really going to do that now?” Jones asked.

“I can’t think of a better time to do it,” I said, my voice muffled by my apparatus. “I’ve got an edge that needs to be taken off, my friend.”

“You couldn’t just do some jumping jacks?”

I pulled the mask up, just a bit off my mouth so I can speak more clearly. I mocked my pilot, talking in a high pitched, girlish tone, which really isn’t fair, as Jonesy actually speaks in a deep, bass filled baritone, not unlock Barry White, the classical musician from the late Twentieth Century. You should listen to him sometime. You can download ten thousand songs dating back from 1900-2300 for the low, low price of fifty credits.

“‘You couldn’t just do some jumping jacks?’ God, you’re like a tiny green version of my mother.”

“Whatever,” Jones said. “That mask, you think its a cool look for you?”

“Maybe,” I said as I let it drop back on my face, which muffled my voice again. “What’s it to you?”

“You look like a space fighter pilot with sleep apnea,” Jones quipped.

A middle finger was the only response I could muster as I reclined the front passenger’s seat and closed my eyes. I needed a nap.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Our new friend was crying.

We both looked back to the jump seat, where she sat, coiled up into a ball, her face buried in her knees as she rocked back and forth.

“She’s fine,” I said as I popped the mask upwards, letting it rest on my head, the huff vapor making a warm spot on my forehead.

“She’s not fine,” Jones replied. “Go talk to her.”

“Me?” I asked. “Didn’t you used to be a diplomat?”

“I used to be a lot of things,” Jones said. “But right now she needs someone who looks like she does. Another human.”

“That’s speciesist!” I said. “Something you accuse ME of all the time!”

“It’s not speciesist,” Jones said. “It’s just common sense.”

I switched the inhalator off and removed my mask entirely.

“Fine,” I said as I walked over to the woman. “Jesus Christ, I have to do everything around here. Hello ma’am.”

She didn’t budge.

“Ma’am?” I asked as I poked her. She looked up at me and recoiled defensively.

I put both hands up. “Whoa,” I said. “It’s ok. What’s your name?”

She cocked her head and looked at me with the same expression a puppy uses when its confused by what a human just said.

I repeated myself. For some reason, I thought saying it louder would help. “YOUR NAME?”

“My name?” she asked.

“Yes, your name.”

She pointed at me. “Your name.”

“No, your name,” I said.

“Your name,” she repeated.
I slapped my warm forehead.

“Jonesy, she must be a mongo or something,” I said.

“Nah,” Jones said. “She’d be drooling all over the place if she were a mongo.”

The mongos. Humans who were subjected to illegal mind control experiments from 2745- 2801. They and their offspring have been bringing down humanity’s collective test scores ever since.

I checked her for drool. I didn’t see any.

“Let’s try this again,” I said. I put my hand on my chest. “MY NAME IS ROMAN.”

“Your name is Roman,” the woman repeated.

“Right,” I said. “There’s no flies on you, kiddo.”

“There’s no flies on me, kiddo,”  she repeated.  She had a very sweet voice.

I pointed at the pilot. “The little green man is Jonesy.”

Jones swiveled around in his chair, waved a three fingered hand and said a polite, “Hello.”

The woman perked up a bit. She stopped crying.

“The little green man is Jonesy,” she said between sniffles.

“Good,” I said. I pointed my finger at her. “And your name is…”

She got excited, smiled and clapped her hands. She pointed her finger at me and emitted a big, loud, triumphant, “YOUR NAME!”

Whoever she was, she stared at me with a pair of baby blues with all the enthusiasm of a game show contestant who was certain she’d just won a big prize by figuring out a complex puzzle.

Jones laughed. I hanged my head in defeat. “Oh for the love of…”

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 11

Hyperion Bay. Malostet’s most picturesque tourist spot. Fireworks erupted in bursts every color of the rainbow overhead as I popped open the hatch. I climbed up onto the roof of the rickety old ship, watching my footing carefully.

Sourcemind soared across the city skyline. His hostage remained passed out over Ninety-Five’s shoulder, secured only by a metal hand. My pilot kept pace, staying a safe distance behind.

“What the hell is this thing?” I asked Jones through my Sen Pen relay as I stared at a metal bolt with a flat, round disc at the end. It was attached to a long length of cable that ran down the hatch and into the ship.

“An amantonov magnet,” Jones answered. “Strongest in the Known Universe.”

I loaded it into my harpoon gun. I always travel with one. You never know when you might spot a wild kamaratox dragon. Their hides fetch a decent price and their heads make excellent trophies. I keep one on the wall in my living room and its served me well as a magnificent conversation starter.

“What am I supposed to do? Hang a stick figure drawing on his ass?!”

“That cable’s attached to our main battery,” Jones explained. “Get it on him and I’ll fry his circuits.”

“And that’ll wipe Sourcemind out?”

“What?” Alien Jones asked, as if somehow that was a dumb question. “No. Ninety-five will be rendered a useless pile of scrap. Sourcemind will still remain in his mainframe back on Omcoros.”

“Whatever poindexter,” I scoffed. “Just keep your distance, I don’t want him to…”

Too late. He noticed us, stopped, turned, and delivered a barrage of missiles out of his chest.

“GRAB SOMETHING NOW!” Jones screamed as he took evasive maneuvers. Unfortunately for me, my sidekick’s warning was too little, too late. The ship went up and I fell back…back…back until I grabbed the corner fin with both hands..

“WORST…FLIER…EVER!!!” I shouted.

“YOU ‘AINT SEEN NOTHIN’ YET!” Jones said as he brought the ship down in a nose dive followed by a spiral, each missile exploding just inches from the hull.

The harpoon gun, precariously attached only by a cable plugged into the ship’s many battery, flapped in the breeze. I reached my right hand and after several tries, finally grabbed it.

The head clank himself hailed me on my Sen Pen.

“What the f%$k are you doing, Voss? We had a deal.”

“I didn’t know the ‘thing’ you wanted from Izok was a woman,” I replied. “What do you want her for anyway? You don’t even have a…”

Bullets from Ninety-five’s twin machine guns sprayed the ship.

“I’ve lost all respect for you, Voss!” Sourcemind said as he flew Ninety-five right up to me. “You’d give up your life for a pretty face? I’ll never understand organics.”

Jones leveled out and took us straight. Sourcemind retracted the gun that had replaced his hand and switched it back to the circular saw. He immediately went to work on the fin I was clinging to. Sparks flew as he cut it away.

“You’ll make a lovely splatter on Gnozzi Street,” Sourcemind taunted. “Here’s hoping its painful!”

With my free hand, I raised the harpoon gun and took aim.

“Jonesy,” I whispered. “Get ready…on one.”

“Loud and clear, good buddy,” Jones said.

“3…

“You have no idea what you’re messing with here,” Sourcemind said. “No idea at all! When will you pathetic organics realize understand that your day has past and its the machines’ time now? When will you comprehend that we are just as real and cognizant as you?”

“2…”

His tone got louder. Angrier.

“WHEN WILL YOU REALIZE THE I AM THE TRUE RULER OF ALL THAT IS AND ALL THAT WILL EVER BE?!

“1….NOW!!!!”

I fired. The harpoon launched the magnet right into Ninety-five’s chest. Sourcemind chuckled.

“What are you going to do? Hang a stick figure drawing on me?”

The engines backfired and rocked the ship, making it harder for me to hold on. Thousands of volts surged through the cable, knocking Sourcemind’s vessel off its feet. Ninety-five shook uncontrollably but maintained a grip on the woman.

The ship dove downward.

“Jones!!!”

“There’s no power going to the ship!” my pilot said. “We’re diving until the assimilator resets!”

“You could of told me!”

Jones righted the ship again, gliding straightforward. I took advantage of a distracted Sourcemind to pull myself up to my feet.

“I…I…I…I…”

“What?” I asked as I stomped my foot down on Nintey-Five’s face. “What are you going to do?”

“I’M GOING TO FIND YOU!!! I’M….I’M…I’M GOING TO….GOING TO…”

He kept repeating himself. The surge was working. The ship moved faster.

“Engines are back,” Jones said.

“I’M GOING TO FIND YOU AND KILL YOU VOSS, FIND YOU AND KILL YOU VOSS…FIND FUH FUH FIND AND KILL KA KA KILL YOU VA VA VA VA VOSS!!!!”

Slowly, the robot lifted itself back on its feet. That sharp circular saw spinned round and round as he swung it over my head.

“HIT HIM AGAIN!” I shouted.

“Hitting him again,” Jones confirmed.

I grabbed an antenna, the closest thing I could get my hands on, and braced myself. The engines backfired again and the ship went down once more. My body flew through the air as I held on.

Ninety-five convulsed wildly as sparks flew out of his chassis. His head caught fire, blew up, and both robot and hostage tumbled into the night.

“Umm…Jones?”

“Yeah?”

“We didn’t have a plan if he took the girl with him, did we?” I asked.

“No,” Jones said. “I’ve been pretty much pulling this out of my non-existent ass as we go along.”

“Shit,” I said.

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Greetings Earth Losers

Hello humans.shutterstock_124337023 copy

Alien Jones, the Esteemed Brainy one here, finally back after a long hiatus spent saving Bookshelf Q. Battler’s hide from the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.

Yes, BQB likes to make himself out as the big hero but surely we all know that nerd would be a processed and expelled zombie turd by now had it not been for yours truly.

Now that I’m back I can get back to the business of answering your questions.

Yes, you, BQB’s 3.5 readers, a reminder that you can consult my genius brain on any and all matters and I’ll answer your questions right here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, along with a plug for your books, blogs, or whatever it is you’re promoting.

So ante up with the gray matter, poindexters, because where else can you ask an alien a question?

Leave your questions in the comments, sent them to BQB on Twitter @bookshelfbattle or while you’re at it, like BQB’s Facebook page and use it to ask me a question, will you?

Also, if you could all try to stop watching reality TV, it would really go a long way to getting the Mighty Potentate to step off my ganderflazer.

Until next time, humans,

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 22 (Part 2)

The door read:

GIRLS’ LOCKER ROOM

The DiStefanos pushed us in and locked the door.

VGRF and I walked in. Blandie, Bernie, and Alien Jones were sitting around on changing benches.

“Aww, BQB,” Bernie said. “All through high school, I dreamed about living inside the girls’ locker room, but not like this, yo!”

Blandie stomped her foot and made her typical mad face.

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

“What did you do, BQB?! What did you do?!”

“Silence, blonde human,” Alien Jones said as he hopped off his bench. “BQB has done nothing wrong. Well, I mean he has done wrong in so many, many other ways. His life is a total mess but in this particular instance, he is blameless.”

“We’ve been set up,” I said. “Alien Jones, can you use your mind reading powers to detect who framed us?”

“It was Hauser,” AJ replied.

We all let out a collective gasp followed by a “WHAAAT?!”

“He’s struck a deal with Morganstern,” Alien Jones said. “The General contacted Hauser and threatened to blow up the rec center and all the survivors in it unless Hauser kills you and offers evidence of having done so.”

“So why doesn’t he just put a bullet in my head and get it over with?” I asked.

“Because you have replaced Hauser as East Randomtown’s favorite son,” Alien Jones explained. “You’ve brought a modest amount of glory to your burg by setting up a WordPress site that attracts the attention of 3.5 readers. It’s not much, but it’s more than Hauser’s done lately. His thirty-second stint on a 1980’s cop show is old news. Because you’re so loved by the citizenry, Hauser knows he can’t just shoot you. He needs to turn the public against you.”

“By making everyone believe you’re a dirty supply thief,” VGRF said.

“Precisely,”  AJ said.

“So now what?” I asked.

Alien Jones hopped back on a bench.

“We wait.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “We need to bust out of here.”

“There’s no escape,” Alien Jones said. “The DiStefanos are guarding the door.”

“Vaporize their sorry asses with your powers!”

“Hauser is the only rec center resident outside this room who knows I’m an alien,” AJ explained. “Everyone else just thinks I’m a deformed human child. The Mighty Potentate would never approve of me outing myself.”

“Makes no sense,” VGRF said. “You out yourself on the Bookshelf Battle Blog all the time.”

“Only to 3.5 readers,” Alien Jones said. “And for the most part, they usually just assume BQB is pretending to be an alien and that I’m not real. The Mighty Potentate would be tried for violation of Intergalactic Space Law were it to ever come out that he’s interfering with Earthly affairs, namely by sending me to help Bookshelf Q. Battler. His Potentosity would certainly vaporize me on his way out.”

“A trial,” I said as I sat down. “So how bad could that be? We’ll just convince the jury we’re innocent.”

“It’s not that kind of trial,” Alien Jones. “Here, all issues of guilt are decided by…a trial of zombie combat!”

“Aw snap,” Bernie said. “I gots to bust some zombie ass?”

“Did you just say, ‘snap?’” Blandie asked.  “That’s so 1999!”

“OK,” I said. “We can get through this. I’d better call a zombie author for advice and…aw crap!”

Everyone looked at me.

“The space phone!” I shouted. “I left it out there!”

“No worries,” Alien Jones said. “I anticipated the evildoers’ moves and was able to smuggle it…”

“…in your pocket?” I asked.

“…inside of me,” Alien Jones said.

I shook my head.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “How? You don’t have a butt! You have no orifices to speak of!”

“I do have one.”

Alien Jones punched himself in the stomach and then started hacking up a lung. He sounded like a cat stuck on a hairball.

Hack…hack…hack…HACK!!!!

He looks like he's laughing but he's really barfing...up a space phone.

He looks like he’s laughing but he’s really barfing…up a space phone.

SPLAT!

The space phone popped out of the Esteemed Brainy One’s mouth and onto the locker room floor, covered with sticky alien spit.

“You may make your call now.”

“Um…thanks…you know…I think I’m going to pass on this interview,” I said, staring at the messy phone. “You wanna take this one for me, buddy?”

“Humans,” Alien Jones said as he picked up the device. “Such pansies. You’ll wear the same undies for a week but a little intergalactic spittle freaks you out.”

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Ask the Alien: The Esteemed Brainy One Checks BQB’s Pre-Zombie Stats

By:  Alien Jones, Intergalactic Correspondentshutterstock_122655487 copy

Greetings Earth losers.

It’s been awhile since I’ve communicated with with my “Ask the Alien” column.

That’s the column where you, the 3.5 readers, can submit a question to me, a representative of a higher species, and obtain not only the knowledge that will flow forth from my genius brain, but a plug for your book and/or blog as well.

And if you’re one of the few humans on the Internet without a book or a blog to hock, don’t worry, I’ll take your inquiry too.

As you may have heard, my Supreme Overlord, the Mighty Potentate, He Who Makes the Seas Rise, the Stars Shine, and the Breeze Blow and I’m Not Just Saying That Because He’ll Vaporize Me, has assigned me the mission of helping Bookshelf Q. Battler build his fledgling writer career.

Why he didn’t just ask me to teach a chipmunk how to build a nuclear reactor I don’t know.  That would have been easier.

Don’t tell the Mighty Potentate I said that.

Anyway, you 3.5 readers would be doing this alien a solid if you’d help in anyway you can/want to in promoting this blog.

Here’s the State of BQB’s Bookshelf as of Sept. 30, 2015:

WORDPRESS FOLLOWERS: 1,394

TWITTER FOLLOWERS: 6,148 – Follow @bookshelfbattle

GOOGLE + FOLLOWERS:  757 – Follow BQB on Google +

WATTPAD FOLLOWERS – 115 Followers – Follow BQB on Wattpad – His handle is also @bookshelfbattle

FACEBOOK – Likes for BQB’s “Bookshelf Battle” Facebook page are virtually nonexistent, and I personally blame Zuckerberg.  In addition to the Winklevoss twins and that Brazilian kid, you can add a pantsless alien to the list of beings you’ve screwed over, Zuck.

Anyway, let’s push BQB’s Facebook.  Like his page.  If you forget to like it  now, you can always like it later by visiting http://www.facebook.com/bookshelfqbattler

If I make it out of the zombie apocalypse alive, I’ll return with a report on how BQB’s stats have improved as a result of this zombie author interview-a-palooza.

Personally, I’d like to see BQB at 10,000 Twitter Followers, 1,000 Google Plus Followers, and 2,000 WordPress followers by the end of the year.

Mention BQB on your blog, share his links on your favorite time wasting social media site, or tell your friends, if you have any.  Increasing BQB’s stats would certainly get the Mighty Potentate off non-existent butt for awhile.

Don’t tell him I said that either.

Don’t forget authors, I’ll return (if I’m alive) to my regularly scheduled Ask the Alien column in November, so ask away and if it’s an inquiry worthy of my brain, I’ll answer it and promo your book and/or blog.

Esteemed Brainy One out.

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