Tag Archives: animals

Sixteen Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Sixteen weeks.  Wow.  Time goes by so quickly.

I suppose “Toilet Gator Sundays” is a misnomer at this point.  At first, I pledged that I would only work on Toilet Gator on Sundays in order to give me enough time to finish Zom Fu.

At some point, I began cracking myself up that I just keep speeding through Toilet Gator.  Zom Fu is mostly done.  It just needs an ending.

My plan at this point is to finish the Toilet Gator first draft, then finish the Zom Fu first draft.  Then rewrite both books, get them off to an editor.  I’d like to say they will both be out by the end of this year but if it goes into next year, then so be it.

I have come to accept that writing is a long game.  I don’t like it, but I accept it.

toilet-gator-book-1

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 86

presentation01

The gang assembled in a study room at the Sitwell Community College library. Professor Elliot Lambert launched into an impromptu class on toilet dwelling animals.

“You see,” Professor Lambert said. “The average speed for an alligator is approximately ten miles per hour. However, the alligator we are dealing with is not average whatsoever. Given his length and muscle mass, I’m willing to wager our reptilian friend can move at speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour if he really pushes himself.”

“Hell,” Rusty said. “I’m surprised he didn’t get me then. I don’t run that fast.”

“An athletic human running at a vigorous pace can reach twenty miles per hour,” Professor Lambert said. “But tell me, was the alligator doing anything else while he was pursuing you?”

“He stopped to snap his jaws at us,” Rusty said. “And roar. He roared a lot.”

“Well there you go,” the professor said. “Multi-tasking slows this beastie down.”

The Professor drew a rough outline of the state of Florida on a whiteboard. “Remind me, Agent Walker. The first murder where Countess Cucamonga took her final curtain call, so to speak, that happened at what time?”

“Witnesses put it a little after 9 p.m.,” Sharon replied.

Professor Lambert put a dot right around where Miami would be. “And the death of Herbert Hogan?”

“Around 10 p.m.,” Sharon said.

The Professor put a dot on Boca Raton. “And when did Mr. Becker leave us so soon?”

“After 11 p.m.,” Sharon said.

The Professor connected the dots. “All and all, a one hundred and thirty mile trek, completed in three hours.”

“Doesn’t sound so impossible,” Rusty said.

“Not if you have a lead foot,” Sharon said. “And if you’re lucky enough to not encounter any traffic, which never happens in the greater Miami area on a Friday night.”

“And if you don’t have to stop at three separate locations, sneak through security, murder three separate people and then leave undetected,” Cole added.

“A human never could have done this,” Sharon said. “We’ve had our heads up our asses the entire time.”

Professor Lambert said. “Do not be too hard on yourself, Agent Walker. When it comes to the unknown dangers of the animal world, humans have had their heads up their asses for quite some time now.”

“Gordon had theorized that a cult might have been at work,” Sharon said. “Multiple people committing murders in different locations within the same timeframe.”

Rusty stared dreamily off into space. “So much wisdom behind that man’s kind eyes.”

“What?” Rusty asked.

“Nothing,” Rusty answered.

“My new friends,” Professor Lambert said. “I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I have literally spent my entire life studying the impact of aquatic animals who commit toilet murder.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Rusty said.

“You actually kind of look like the type of guy who would be obsessed with toilet animals,” Cole said. “No offense.”

“I stopped taking offense years ago,” Professor Lambert said. “When I realized my research was too important for the future of the human race to ignore. Sure, I could have gotten into a more reasonable line of work but you know what? They scoffed at Columbus until he proved the world was round and I have resigned myself to the sad fact that people will make light of my labors until they realize the cold, hard truth that when they sit their butts down on toilets…their butts are not alone.”

“That video should give you all the vindication you need,” Rusty said. “Say, why didn’t you tell me about all this the day we met?”

“Would you have believed me then?” Professor Lambert asked.

“Nope,” Rusty said. “And no one believed me until the video.”

“Such is the life of a believer in toilet animal related phenomenon,” Professor Lambert said. “Humans are so close-minded that they rarely believe anything that they can’t see with their very eyes. And don’t think for a second that murderous toilet animals don’t take advantage of this lack of faith.”

Maude lit up a smoke.

“Oh, there’s no smoking in here,” Professor Lambert said.

Maude blew smoke in the Professor’s general direction. “And yet, here I am.”

“Well,” the Professor said as he pulled a joint out of his pocket. “If it’s that kind of party.”

The scholar lit up, then caught a glance of Cole’s disapproving eyes. He grew frightened, like he’d just made a big mistake.

“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I’ve been fired.”

The Professor turned to Rusty.

“I quit the force.”

Finally, the Professor turned to Sharon.

“I have bigger problems.”

Convinced no one was about to arrest him, the Professor noted to the group that his habit was strictly medicinal, then took a question from Maude – “How does someone start studying toilet animals? You go bananas or something?”

“A fine question,” Professor Lambert said. “When I was a young boy, my parents were missionaries in South America, working to bring the first sewer system to a very impoverished region. When the project was completed, I was given the honor of taking the first shit.”

“Academy eat your heart out,” Maude said.

“All was going well until I felt the slightest pinch on my bottom…”

“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.

“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.

“Neither,” Professor Lambert said. “I jumped off the bowl to find a rather menacing looking snake had crawled up through the pipe and attached itself to my bottom. I passed out immediately, as the snake’s venom was highly poisonous. Luckily, a brave fellow sucked all of the poison out of my backside in time.”

“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.

“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.

“Guys,” Sharon said sternly. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

“Agreed,” Cole said.

Maude threw up her hands. “Well excuse me all over the place!”

The old lady looked at the Professor. “Don’t they teach people how to puff, puff pass at this school?”

The Professor nodded and handed his joint to Maude. She stubbed her cigarette out on the old oak table, completely uncaring about the likelihood that some poor janitor would be called upon to buff out the mark. She then proceeded to suckle the doobie and suckle it good.

“Does she know that smoking isn’t good for a person on oxygen?” Sharon asked Cole.

“She doesn’t give a shit,” Cole said.

“I do not,” Maude said. “And I’m right here.”

“Anyway,” the Professor said. “At that moment, I realized how vulnerable humans are while they sitting on the toilet. Humans have come to assume that their bathroom time is one of the safest times of day. They’re in an enclosed space, they think they are all by themselves but oh no, at any given time, there may be hundreds if not thousands of sewer dwelling animals in their general vicinity, any one of which might crawl up and give an unsuspecting human a nasty surprise indeed.”

“But Professor,” Sharon said. “This is where I’m stuck. How does a great big alligator squeeze its way up through the small pipe that connects a toilet to a sewer?”

“Bone displacement,” the Professor said.

“Excuse me?” Sharon asked.

“Take the average bat,” Professor Lambert said. “It can literally dislocate its bones and smush its body together until it can fit through the tiniest crack in a homeowner’s abode.”

Moses piped up for the first time in this meeting. “That happened to me when I was a young boy once. I’d like to tell you that I reacted bravely but in fact, I hid under my bed until my father caught it and threw it out the front door. For the rest of my childhood, I was convinced he might have contracted vampirism and frankly, I’m still not entirely convinced he didn’t.”

“Your father died five years ago,” Cole said.

“Did he?” Cole asked. “Or did the CIA…”

Cole threw made a stop motion and pointed it at Moses before turning to Professor Lambert. “Continue.”

“Like humans, not every animal within a given species is the same,” Professor Lambert said. “Most fear pain. Most fear death. But some, they are willing to overlook these negative outcomes in order to push their bodies to the limit if it will get them closer to something they desire. Dislocating your bones to the point where you are able to squeeze yourself up a pipe like some kind of backed up ooze has got to be incredibly painful, but they’re willing to do it if will lead them closer to a butt sitting on a toilet they wish to consume.”

“Do all animals have the power to displace their bones?” Sharon asked.

“Not as such, no,” the Professor said. “At this time, I estimate that a small minority of animals have this ability. However, according to Darwinian Theory, these animals may continue to procreate until they dominate the Earth.”

Rusty shuddered. “A world full of killer toilet animals.”

Maude laughed as she puffed on her ganja. “Bullshit! This is so farfetched that if I ever read it in a self-published e-book, I’d give it a one star review and a pithy, passive-aggressive comment.”

“You shouldn’t do things like that, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Self-published e-book writers are the backbone of today’s book industry and they should be treated as such. I’m sorry to digress, but I spent so many time self-publishing my toilet animal studies that I feel the pain of any self-published e-book writer.”

“I’d demand my money back too,” Maude said. “Bone displacing toilet animals. Bitch, please!”

Rusty held out his hand. “Yo, Maude! What happened to puff, puff, pass?”

Maude flipped Rusty the bird. “Get your own supply, Narc!”

“Can we steer this conversation back on topic?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Professor Lambert said. “Many individual animals will often display traits that help them stand out above and beyond their peers. Mr. Yates, you, for example, told me earlier that it seemed as though the alligator in question was communicating with this Buford fellow, that two were locked in a squabble.”

“Sounded that way to me,” Rusty said.

“Sometimes animals will stand out above their peers when it comes to intelligence,” Professor Lambert. “When these animals breed, they added smarter versions of themselves to their species gene pool. The collective IQ of a species grows smarter as a result.”

“Until the entire world is run by damn dirty gators?” Rusty asked.

“It’s not an impossibility,” the Professor said.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “I don’t want to be a slave in a world run by damn dirty gators.”

“Meh,” Maude said. “I still smell bullshit.”

Rusty waved the air away from his face. “I think that’s the dank bud.”

“It’s Mississippi Mud Bud, actually,” Professor Lambert said. “And Madame, I assure you, this is not bullshit. My many years of research have taken me all over the world, where I have encountered toilet piranha, toilet walruses, toilet dolphins…”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember your rant,” Maude said. “Toilet sharks, toilet whales…”

“A toilet whale?!” Sharon asked.

“A killer toilet whale,” Professor Lambert said. “In India. I believe that was the case though I never proved it. I have, however, documented the activities of many toilet animals the world over. My self-published studies are filled with photos of toilet animals engaging in toilet related activities. And, I’m proud to say, they’re often rated with a gentleman’s three star review.”

Maude jerked her hand up and down, pretending to jerk off rather than listen to the professor.

“You scoff, Madame,” the Professor said. “But I’ll have you know that alligators are the masters of toilet murder. They, above all other aquatic creatures, have utilized sewer systems all over the world to take down their enemies though I must admit, I have never encountered a toilet gator as intelligent, organized and vindictive as the one you are all describing.”

“Professor,” Sharon said. “You’ve explained how a toilet gator can sneak through a pipe, but how does it become big again so that it can…”

“Eat the victim?” the Professor asked. “Simple. It reconstitutes itself within the small space, grows too large for its surroundings and bursts out of it, just in time to catch the unsuspecting toilet user in its jaws. A pity really. The toilet user never truly grasps what is going on until it’s too late.”

“Then it shrinks and escapes down the pipe, the same way it came?” Cole asked.

“Precisely,” Professor Lambert said.

“Leaving police none the wiser,” Cole said.

“I can tell you I have spoken with authorities all over the world who were left baffled by this phenomenon,” the Professor said. “Many as skeptical as Miss Fuller here, if not more so.”

“You got any more of this?” Maude asked as she held up the joint.

“Not for free,” Professor Lambert said.

“Bah,” Maude said. “Lousy cheapskate.”

“This is literally the perfect crime,” Sharon said.

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said.

“Professor,” Sharon said. “I have to say, the way the academic world has treated you is a shame. I mean, here you are, conducting pioneering research in an incomprehensible yet apparently very real field and yet here you are, stuck lecturing at a community college when you should be teaching at Princeton or Yale or…”
“Oh,” Professor Lambert said with a chuckle. “You think I was tossed to the bottom of academia for researching toilet animals?”

“You weren’t?” Sharon asked.

“Of course not,” Professor Lambert said. “All of my research into the world of toilet animals was sponsored by several big name universities. Institutions of higher learning are often willing to jack up tuitions in order to fund all sorts of silly, navel gazing research. Why, I have a colleague who was given full funding to study the mating habits of East Peruvian tree mold spores.”

“Tree mold spores have mating habits?” Rusty asked.

“My good man,” Professor Lambert said. “Put a few tree mold spores under a microscope, dim the lights, play a little 1970s disco music and you’ll swear you’re staring at a scene straight of Studio 64.”

“Sorry I asked,” Rusty said.

“They why are you teaching here of all places?” Sharon asked.

“Justin Bieber,” Professor Lambert said.

“Justin Bieber?” Sharon asked.

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said. “I am a big Belieber. I know, it’s odd, a man of my intellect and age, to be a fan of such a frivolous young man but what can I say? The lad can carry a beat.”

“He sure can,” Rusty said before he caught himself. “So I’ve heard.”

“In the early days of Lifebox, I wrote a post about how I quite enjoyed Justin’s Beauty and a Beat video,” Professor Lambert said. “The elegance, the choreography, the pageantry, all made to look like it was spontaneous footage of a pool party. Oh how I loved it and watched it over and over. Alas, I didn’t quite understand the far reach and permanent nature of social media at the time and became an instant laughing stock. Only this and one other college would have me after that.”

“Which one?” Sharon asked.

“Arizona State,” Professor Lambert said.

Sharon shuddered. “Yeesh. You picked right.”

The door to the study room swung open. Natalie Brock and Walter walked into the room. “Professor Lambert, they said at the front desk that I could…”

Natalie looked around the room. “Oh, hello everyone.”

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Point/Counterpoint – BQB vs. A Smelly Raccoon – Should Smelly Raccoons Be Allowed to Knock Over BQB’s Trash Cans?

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

A new feature on this awesome blog.  Point/Counterpoint.  Various esteemed pundits will take each other one regarding the important issues of the day.

First up, I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, debate a smelly raccoon on whether or not he should be allowed to knock over my trash cans and feed on the disgusting insides.

Care to weigh in?  Let me know who you think won the debate in the comments.

raccoon-2183755__480

POINT – The Smelly Raccoon – BQB’s Trash is Delicious

COUNTERPOINT – BQB – I Do Not Have Time to Clean Up After Trash Rodents

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Point – Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Trash is Delicious

By: A Smelly Raccoon, Special Guest Columnist

raccoon-2183755__480

Hello 3.5 readers.  A smelly raccoon here, and I for one would like to thank Bookshelf Q. Battler for providing me the opportunity to debate the very important issue of whether or not that nerd deserves to have his trash cans knocked over.

The answer is an unmitigated yes.  Yes, he does.  BQB pretends like he’s so important.  “Oh look at me.  I’m a magic bookshelf caretaker.  Oh I work at Beige Corporation.  Oh I’m saving the world from the Mighty Potentate through my writing.”

Please.  I’ve looked in his window.  The man spends three hours a night drawing faces around his belly button.  The belly button becomes the mouth.  He makes it talk.  It’s gross and I know gross.  I’m a smelly raccoon.

Trash!  It’s like gold to a smelly raccoon and while Bookshelf Q. Battler whines, “Oh woe is me, I have to clean up so much trash!” the truth is that it is very little effort for him versus something that provides a tremendous amount of happiness for me and my smelly raccoon friends.

Sure, you humans think we raccoons are dirty trash rodents but in reality, we’re all about recycling, going green, and using the junk that you throw away to fill our bellies.  You call that trash can full of old coffee filters, used toilet paper, used condoms, moldy spaghetti, moldy Chinese take-out, six day old pizza and last year’s tuna noodle casserole you finally pulled out of the back of your fridge, all sprinkled with the little broken pieces of that vase your broke, swept up and threw away…A DELICIOUS FEAST!

You don’t want it?  We do.  That’s good eating for us raccoons and you should be ashamed of yourself for complaining.  We are your guests, uninvited or not, and all we are asking is for the sustenance you discarded.

Could we be neater?  Maybe…but it’s night and we have no opposable thumbs, so back off, loser, and enjoy cleaning up after us.

Also, don’t do that thing where you put the rock on top of your can.  We’ll just knock the whole thing over.  Talk about a mess.

Tagged , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 37

presentation01

“God damn it!” the Chief shouted as he got off his radio. “Animal control is twenty minutes out!”

“Shit,” Cole said. “She doesn’t have that kind of time.”

Wade grabbed the Chief by his collar. “Chief! Man, you gotta save my little girl, man!”

“Get off me, scumbag!” Together, the Chief and Rusty slammed the perp on the hood of a patrol car and cuffed him.

“Jesus,” Rusty said. “You believe this guy, Cole? Cole?”

Cole was too busy cocking a shotgun he’d just pulled from the trunk of his cruiser. Steely-eyed and determined, he marched toward the shack’s front door.

“Cole!” the Chief shouted. “You can’t go after that dog all by yourself!”

Cole ignored the Chief.

“Get your ass back here!” the Chief shouted. “That’s an order!”

Cole paid no attention. Rusty grabbed his longtime friend by the shoulder. Cole shook him off.

“Cole!” Rusty said. “You seriously doing this?”

“No choice,” Cole said.

“Did you see that thing?” Rusty asked. “It looked like Godzilla fucked Cujo and had a baby.”

Cole kicked opened the door to the shack, then looked at Rusty. “Come or stay, but I’m going in.”

Rusty drew his weapon. “Alright! Fuck it! Damn it Cole, you got some big ass balls.”

The duo stepped into the kitchen. Old Mongo could be heard growling loudly in the other room. He started barking his head off.

“And I have some tiny balls,” Rusty said as he walked out of the shack. “You’re on your own, Cole-train.”

Cole shook his head. “Figures.”

Old Mongo moved. Cole could hear his big paws tromping all over. He entered the living room with his shotgun pointed out in front of him. Around twenty little plastic bags filled with cocaine sat next to a scale on the table. Neither dog nor girl were anywhere to be found.
“Hey pig!” Wade shouted from the outside. “You do your job yet and rescue my little girl? My tax dollars pay your salary, you know!”

Cole could hear the Chief’s voice too. “Like you pay any taxes. Shut up before I pistol whip the piss out of you, Wade.”

And Rusty’s voice entered the mix. He was on his radio. “Yeah. Gonna need an ambulance. Hell, you’re gonna wanna get the coroner over here. My dumb ass partner’s gonna get his ass ate.”

“Fuck you, Rusty,” Cole mumbled under his breath.

Cole turned a corner and found a stairway. Carefully, he put his foot on the first step. It creaked. The sound traveled, causing Old Mongo, who had already made it upstairs, to bark incessantly.

Cole tried it again. He moved slowly, gently, trying his best not to make a sound. He reached the top of the stairs and found Wade’s bedroom. Empty beer cans littered the floor. Hundreds of risqué photos ripped out of nudey magazines were taped up all over the walls.

“Classy,” Wade muttered.

Outside, the shouting match between Wade and the Chief continued.

“What the hell is wrong with your dog?” the Chief asked. “That doesn’t look like any kind of dog I’ve ever seen.”

“I dunno,” Wade answered. “He’s been real ornery and mean lately, ever since I started feeding him PCP.”

“PCP?” the Chief asked. “The hell would you do a fool thing like that for?”

“I dunno!” Wade shouted. “He’s a guard dog, aint he?! He needs to be alert to guard shit, don’t he?”

“You asshole,” the Chief said.

“Just another day in the life of Sitwell,” Rusty said.

“Shut up, Rusty,” he Chief said.

“Shutting up, sir,” Rusty replied.

Cole stepped into Molly’s room. Old Mongo was pacing about, staring at the bed and snarling. Molly’s little eyes peeked out from underneath the bed and looked up at Cole. Cole looked at the girl and put a finger up to his mouth as if to say, “Shh!”

Now was Cole’s chance. He aimed the shotgun at the dog, hoping to catch him from behind. Blam! The dog was down. Cole walked toward the dog’s body with his shotgun still drawn.

“Grrrrrr…..”

Old Mongo was up and angrier than ever. He charged at Cole, biting into his right leg. Reflexively, Cole put his second and last shot right into the ceiling, then dropped the shotgun.

Cole scrambled on his hands and knees toward the hallway as the dog continued to chomp into his right leg. With his left leg, Cole kicked the dog in the head, buying him enough time to stand up. Blood rushed out of his bite wounds and all over Wade’s pre-stained carpeting. The pain was unbearable, but Cole still managed to move.

Once Old Mongo was out of the room, Molly sprang out from under her bed and shut her door. Out in the hall, Cole drew his sidearm. He pointed it at the dog and got off one shot. Old Mongo flinched, like he’d just been bitten by a fly.

“Aw shit,” Cole said as the giant dog jumped on him, knocking him down the stairs. The pistol flew right out of Cole’s hands. Man and dog tumbled down the stairwell, attacking one another with all their might.

On the floor below, Cole screamed louder than he ever had before in his life as Old Mongo chowed down on his leg. Cole reached for the utility knife on his belt. He unfolded it, then stabbed the dog repeatedly…over and over again until…blam!

Rusty had entered the shack and put a bullet in the dog’s head. Blam! Blam! It took two more before Old Mongo was finally down.

The Chief entered. He looked down at Cole. His young officer had passed out.

“Jesus,” the Chief said. “His leg’s holding on by a thread.”

The Chief pulled off his shirt and held it over Cole’s leg, desperately trying to hold in the blood.

Rusty clicked the call button on his radio. “Maude! Need an ETA on that ambulance! Stat!

Tagged , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 26

presentation01

The top of Professor Elliot Lambert’s head was bald and oh so shiny, but the sides of his head had yet to get the message. The hair on the back and sides of his head was brown, speckled with gray. He’d grown it down to his shoulders, perhaps out of some misguided belief that this would prove that he actually had hair.

Standing in front of his class at Sitwell Community College, the scholar was engaged in a lecture on the mating habits of the Antarctic penguin. He found it riveting, even though no one else did.

“And so, the male penguin will perform a seductive dance, which culminates in the female to bend over and expel the feathers surrounding her hormonal glands,” Professor Lambert said. “It’s truly an amazing sight to behold. I swear, kids, if you ever get up to Antartica, you must check it out.

The professor couldn’t help but notice that something was off. Normally, his class room was packed to capacity. Although no one on campus had a particular fondness for Animal Biology 101, Professor Lambert was a notoriously easy grader, an educator who would gladly stamp an A on a paper as long as a student regurgitated something halfway legible. Further, the course satisfied a science requirement.

However, on this morning, only three students managed to show up: Connor the Hipster, Kate the Goth Chick and Mackenzie, a girl whose eyes were permanently riveted to her phone.

“Is there something I don’t know about?” the professor asked.

The three students remained silent.

“Big party last night?” Professor Lambert asked. “Everyone back at their dorms, sleeping it off?”

“You don’t know?” Declan asked.

“I don’t know what?” Professor Lambert said. “That’s a ludicrous question, young man. How could I possibly know what I don’t know? The point of asking a question is to determine what one does not know and then to persist in obtaining and answer to what one does not know, thus to facilitate an answer that can added to the mental reservoir of what one knows.”

“Chad Becker died on the toilet last night,” Ann said in her Goth monotone.

“It’s been all over the news,” Mackenzie said as she stared at her phone.

“True,” Connor said. “Although personally, I prefer not to obtain my information from corporate outlets like Network News One as most mainstream channels simply whore themselves out to big business. Instead, I prefer low key, self-sponsored blogs produced by independent owners and operators. In fact, the Bookshelf Battle Blog just reported that Countess Cucamonga may have been an alien from outer space. Now that’s an angle you’ll never hear from the bought and paid for corporate media.”

“The Bookshelf Battle Blog?” Mackenzie asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it,” Conor said. “It only has 3.5 readers.”

The Professor threw up his hands. “Slow down children. Are you telling me that Chad Becker is dead?”

“Deader than disco,” Mackenzie said.

“His soul is the property of Azaglotz, Keeper of the Demon Realm, now,” Kate said.

The professor lowered his head into his hand. “This is terrible. So terrible.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Declan said. “Were you two close?”

The professor lifted his head up and blurted out. “I bought my weed from him!”

Connor and Kate appeared shocked. Mackenzie was too glued to her phone to care.

“Um,” Professor Lambert said. “That is to say, yes, he was one of my favorite students. He took this class seven times.”

The professor picked up a remote control and punched a button. A blank, white screen rolled down in front of the dry erase board. Next, the Network News One channel was projected onto the screen. Kurt Manley was reporting, as usual.

“Witnesses on the scene report that Russian President Anatoly Verashenko pulled out his penis, plopped it down on the podium in front of the entire United Nations General Assembly, and dared the President of the United States to do the same,” Kurt Manley said. “The Russian President openly doubted that President Stugotz would accept the challenging, saying, quote, ‘Everyone knows that in an international dick measuring contest, Russia will win every time!”

Kurt shuffled some papers. A photo of Chad Becker wearing a bra on his head with a beer on his head appeared on screen. Kurt spoke in a voice over. “In our ongoing coverage of the bizarre series of toilet murders that has gripped the state of Florida, we’ve talked a lot about Countess Cucamonga. But what about the other victims? We’ll talk about retired history teacher Hugh Hogan in the next hour, but first, a retrospective on the life of Chad Becker, who, some say may hold a world record for the longest amount of time ever spent in pursuit of a two year degree. We’ll look back on Mr. Becker’s life after this commercial break. Also coming up in the next hour, could this brand of frozen pizza cause you to hallucinate and believe that you are the Second Coming of Ethel Merman? We’ll tell you which brand after sports and weather but first, a word from our sponsors.”

The Network News One announcer came one. “Network News One. The Hottest Blonde Chicks. The biggest titties. Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.”

The professor turned off the television. “Awful. Just awful.”

“Professor,” Kate said. “I don’t mean to be a downer…”

The professor and Connor looked at Kate, surprised she would say such a thing.

“…I mean, no more than usual but…I just don’t think I can concentrate given the fact that some psycho is running around murdering people while they shit.”

“I should be safe,” Connor said. “I have decided to stop using toilets as I have realized that every flush just puts another dollar into the pockets of Big Toilet.”

“Big Toilet?” Kate asked.

“The toilet industry,” Connor said. “They keep us subservient by making us believe that the only way to shit is through a toilet. I checked out a book on how to compost your own shit from the library and I’m going to do that from now on.”

“Wow,” Kate said. “That sounds hella woke. Can I join you?”

“Of course,” Connor said. “Maybe we could even, um…”

“I already told you I’m promised to Azaglotz, dirt beard boy!” Kate said.

Mackenzie yawned. “All I know is I got no sleep last night because my roommate was too afraid to shit in the bathroom after what happened to Chad, so she shit in a coffee can and stunk up the entire room.”

Professor Lambert scratched his long beard. “Hmm…yes. I suppose under the circumstances, it would be appropriate to cancel class.”

All three students jumped up to their feet with eager anticipation.

“Read chapters thirty through thirty-five in your textbooks,” Professor Lambert said. “And don’t forget there is a quiz on the anal cavity of the East Himalayan Snow Leopard next week. Good day, students.”

The students left the room. The professor sat down behind his desk. “How the hell am I supposed to get my Supersonic Chronic now?”

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Top Ten Reasons Why It Would Be Awesome to Have a Pet T-Rex

Ahh, the T-Rex.  The Thunder Lizard.  The King of All Dinosaurs.

Wouldn’t it be awesome to have one as a pet?

Sure would be.

From BQB HQ in East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Reasons Why it Would Be Awesome to Have a Tyrannosaurus Rex as a Pet:

dinosaur-1564323__480

#10 – You Can Feed Your Enemies to Him

Generally, I recommend that you don’t have enemies.  If you consider someone an enemy, just stay away from this person or if possible, make up.

However, if this person comes at you, then I see no reason why he can’t become a T-Rex treat.

Remember the law though.  You can only feed someone to your T-Rex in self-defense.  You can’t just go feeding people to your T-Rex willy nilly.

#9 – He Can Drop Giant T-Rex Poops On Your Enemies’ Lawns

This would be a more acceptable form of revenge though you might be helping your enemies to fertilize their lawns.

#8 – You Can Ride Him Like a Giant Pony

I’d recommend bonding with the T-Rex first though.  Otherwise, he might eat you.  Honestly, he might eat you anyway.  T-Rexes are notorious butt holes like that.

#7 – Solve All Your Rodent Problems

You think a rat is going to come on your property with a T-Rex watchdog?

#6 – Perfect Home Security System

Similar to #7, do you think a burglar is going to come on your property with a T-Rex watchdog?

#4 – Scare Away Bill Collectors, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Salesmen, Solicitors and Unwanted Relatives

See #6 and #7.

#3 – You Can Call Him Rexy

Best name for a pet ever.

#2 – Best Alarm Clock Ever

You’ll never sleep through a 6 AM wake up roar.  Never be late to work again!

#1 – Everyone Will Be Totally Jealous

See reasons #2-10

HONORABLE MENTION:

  • They have tiny arms!
  • They eat lawyers on toilets!
  • They have bad eyesight, so you can flip them off when they are naughty, but just don’t make any sudden movements as they can see movement.  I’m an expert because I saw Jurassic Park.
Tagged , , , , ,

BQB vs. Monsters – The Best Way to Start Your Day is to Punch a Shark in the Face

shark-674867__480

You see a shark.  I see a punchable face.

Hey 3.5 readers.

You all know that I’m a champion yeti fighter, but did you also know that I am an accomplished shark face puncher?

There’s nothing quite like it really.  Very exhilarating.

Every morning I wake up and before I shower or shave or even have a cup of coffee, I leave BQB HQ, swim out into the middle of East Random Lake (East Random Town’s largest body of water) and I punch anywhere between five and seven sharks right in the face.

I’d recommend it, but I can’t, because my attorney advises me not to, you know, because of the 101% virtual certainty that this activity will lead to you being eaten by a shark and being turned into shark poop.

So you know what?  Don’t punch a shark in the face.  Just live vicariously through me, knowing that I’m starting my days by punching many sharks in their respective faces.

Look, I’m putting myself at great personal risk by even telling you this.  Sharks have Internet.  You think they don’t because they’re underwater but they do.  They eat like a hundred people a day so if you do the math, that means they have thousands and thousands of cell phones.

And because the owners of those phones have been turned into shark poop, the sharks are able to use their phones and not pay any Wi-Fi bills until the owners’ plans run out.

I know I only get 3.5 readers but you never know, a shark could see that I am bragging about punching them in their stupid faces and they could get mad and have themselves shipped into big water tanks all the way to BQB HQ for the sole purpose of eating me and turning me into shark poop.

Do you know how hard it would be for me to blog as a BQB shaped piece of poop?

It would not be easy, let me tell you.

So anyway.  That’s how I start every day, 3.5 readers.

How do you start your days?  (Again, hopefully not by punching sharks.  Leave that to a professional, like yours truly.  This blog and its proprietor will not be held liable if you try to punch and/or do anything with or go anywhere near a damn shark).

But seriously, what normal, non-shark punching related things do you do to start your day?

Tell me all about it in the comments.

Tagged , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #3

presentation01

 

Network News One Transcript #3
KURT MANLEY (In Studio) – …witnesses on the scene report that they’d never seen such a high concentration of fire breathing midgets in one location and they doubt they ever will again. In other news, New York Governor Brian Graysmith was caught with a ridiculous amount of hookers in a hotel suite. Here to discuss the matter further is our own NN1 Hooker Analyst, Sam McCarthy.

(A scummy looking pervert appears on camera. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of sunglasses, as well as a bad toupee).

SAM MCCARTHY: Good to be here, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Sam, you’re one of the world’s most knowledgeable sources when it comes to hookers.

SAM MCCARTHY: Indeed I am, Kurt. Indeed I am. I may or may not have been a customer of various ladies of the evening and I may or may not have learned a thing or two in that time.

KURT MANLEY: Various official reports indicate that Governor Graysmith’s suite at the Swankforth Hotel was filled with a quote unquote ‘ridiculous amount of hookers.’

SAM MCCARTHY: That’s right.

KURT MANLEY: How many hookers is a ‘ridiculous’ amount of hookers?

SAM MCCARTHY: Well, that’s hard to say, Kurt. A ‘ridiculous’ amount of hookers could mean a lot of different things to different people. There are church going folk who would say that even one hooker in a hotel suite is one too many.

KURT MANLEY: What a bunch of prudes.

SAM MCCARTHY: Tell me about it. Now two or three hookers, that’s going to start raising some eyebrows.

KURT MANLEY: Naturally.
SAM MCCARTHY: And even upwards of ten hookers is going to turn the head of even the most experience hooker patron.

KURT MANLEY: Who has that kind of free time?

SAM MCCARTHY: I know, right? Now, in the governor’s case, witnesses disagree on the exact number of hookers involved. No one ever came up with an exact number but what we do know is that there were hookers in the bathroom, hookers in the breakfast nook, hookers on the balcony, hookers in the sitting room, hookers in the bedroom…

KURT MANLEY: My sources indicate there were even hookers in the closet.

SAM MCCARTHY: Exactly. I mean, the place was wall to wall hookers. Hotel staff claim that they couldn’t even get into the room because it was packed to the ceiling with hookers.

KURT MANLEY: That’s a lot of hookers.

SAM MCCARTHY: I mean, I don’t know if there’s any way to know for sure, but if you factor in the square footage of the room combined with the weight and height of the average hooker and I’d wager the Governor had packed his suite with over one thousand hookers.

(Kurt’s jaw drops.)

KURT MANLEY: Now that’s a lot of hookers!

SAM MCCARTHY: Even for me, Kurt. Even for me. I’m all about sampling a broad array of hookers, but a man could kill himself with that many hookers in one sitting. Luckily, the police broke up the hooker party before the governor was able to get in too deep.

KURT MANLEY: Wow. Thank you Sam. Incredibly disturbing news coming out of New York this evening. We take you live to the governor’s mansion, where Governor Graysmith is holding a press conference to address the scandal that has been dubbed, “Ridiculous Amount of Hookers-gate.”

(Cut to a podium where a man in his late fifties takes to the podium. He wears a sharp business suit. His very depressed looking wife stands by his side.)

GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: Hello, members of the esteemed press. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you, to the good people of New York, to my wonderful children, Bob and Nancy, and of course, to my darling wife, Judy, for the ridiculous amount of hookers I hired. Throughout my career as a dedicated public servant, I have done my best to hold myself out as a strong man, a proud man, but at the end of the day, I am also a weak man. I succumbed to temptation and that is what caused me to hire so, so many hookers. I want everyone to rest assured that I will be entering a rehab program for men who are addicted to hiring ridiculous amounts of hookers. I have found Jesus and have had many conversations with him in which he has advised me to stay away from such ridiculous amounts of hookers. I will rededicate myself to my church and to God and to taking each day at a time, making sure I never again hire such a ridiculous, ludicrous, insane amount of hookers. I would like to thank Judy for standing by me throughout this difficult time.

(The reporters flail their hands wildly and demand to have their questions answered.)

GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: No, no. I will not take any questions about the ridiculous amount of hookers I hired at this time. My dear, sweet wife is suffering now because of this humiliating situation and I’d like to remind you all that if you continue to ask questions about it, then you are the ones causing her pain and not me, the one who hired a bafflingly ridiculous number of hookers. Thank you. That is all.

KURT MANLEY: And there you have it. Governor Graysmith is very sorry for all those hookers he hired.

(Kurt sorts through some papers.)

KURT MANLEY: We turn our attention back now on what is shaping up to be one of the most gut wrenching stories in the entire history of humanity. Yes, I’m saying that if you even were to go back as far as the days of Exodus, when God smote all the non-believers with plagues of locusts, pestilence, and even the deaths of their first born children, this story makes that time look like a walk in the park with a lollipop in hand. I’m talking, of course, about the tragic death of Countess Cucamonga, the world’s most beloved pop star, a talented artist whose songs about her ample hindquarters were loved by all and I’m not ashamed to say that they were even loved by this old newsman. We take you live to…

(Kurt presses his finger up against his earpiece and sighs.)

KURT MANLEY: Yeah, I’m sorry viewers. We’re still trying to work a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties into the mix, but in the mean time here’s Natalie Brock…

(Natalie Brock appears on screen. She wears a cheap blonde wig, the kind that could be found at any thrift store. Her bosom appears much larger. Makeup is caked on her face.)

KURT MANLEY: Holy moly! Natalie! You had a growth spurt!

(Natalie is standing in front of the Geriatric Oaks Retirement Home in Boca Raton, Florida. She appears ill at ease and uncomfortable with her new look).

NATALIE: Um, yes. Hello…Kurt. A…

(Natlie closes her eyes, looks up to God for strength, then opens them and faces the camera.)

NATALIE: A Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties here with a new development in the grizzly murder of Countess Cucamonga. I’m here at a retirement home in Boca Raton where authorities have confirmed to me that retired history teacher Herb Hogan has been murdered.

KURT MANLEY: I mean, that’s terrible, but I don’t think anyone really gives a greasy turtle turd about some old ass teacher, Nat…er…Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE: Normally, no. But authorities describe a gruesome scene, very reminiscent of the scene in which Countess Cucamonga’s giant ass struck down in its prime.

(Kurt’s eyes widen.)

KURT MANLEY: Whoa nelly! Now if that isn’t a dilly of a pickle. Feed me, Seymour! Feed me!

NATALIE: I’m here with Mr. Abraham Bromstein, a resident of this facility…

(Camera pans out to reveal Mr. Bromstein, standing next to Natalie in his bathrobe.)

MR. BROMSTEIN: Oy vey, can we move this along young lady? It’s very drafty out here and I’m freezing my genechtagazoink off.

NATALIE: Mr. Bromstein, you saw the scene where Mr. Hogan was murdered, is that correct?

MR. BROMSTEIN: Indeed it is, my dear. I have this nurse, you see, Nurse Sheila. She told me to tell her if the rash on my schmeckel got any worse and wouldn’t you now that as soon as she walked out of my room, it did. Now, I’m no medical doctor, but it was all red and doughy, such that I think I may have caught a male yeast infection. Do you want to see it?

NATALIE: Not at this time, no. Mr. Bromstein, if we could focus on the details of the crime scene…

MR. BROMSTEIN: Suit yourself, shiksa. So I go looking for Nurse Sheila and in the process of doing so, I happen upon Dolores’ Nelson’s room. Old Herb and Dolores were quite an item, you know. Dolores loved to brag about how Herb’s tongue whirled around faster than a high-powered blender blade, if you catch my drift.

NATALIE: I catch it, sir.

MR. BROMSTEIN: Cunnilingus!

NATALIE: I gathered.

MR. BROMSTEIN: Anyway, I find Nurse Sheila in Dolores’ room. I tell her about the worsening condition of my schmekel and she tells me she’s sorry but she’s dealing with a situation. I look around. The floor is all wet. The toilet is broken. And Herb’s been splattered all over the walls.

NATALIE: Which leads you to believe…

MR. BROMSTEIN: That either cunnilingus can cause a man to literally explode, which is what I always told my late wife as an excuse to get out of it whenever she demanded I bring my mouth down south, or…

NATALIE: Or?

(Mr. Bromstein looks directly at the camera.)

MR. BROMSTEIN: There’s a murderer on the loose!!!

NATALIE: There you have it, Kurt. A situation that’s eerily similar to what happened to Countess Cucamonga.

KURT: Eerily similar indeed. You’re looking good, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. You’re a credit to our fine news organization, that’s for sure. This new development begs the question, ‘Is there a serial murderer on the loose?’ We have zero answers on that issue at this time, America. However, we here at NN1 feel it is important to advise everyone to drop whatever they are doing. Stop going to work. Stop going to school. Stop going about your regular business. Board up all your windows and doors and hole yourself up in your living room with a shotgun and a urine bucket. Most importantly, stay tuned to NN1 where we will be providing you with the latest updates as to the likelihood that you will be murdered by the horrific serial killer that we can only assume is very real and will not stop until he has killed everyone, especially you. Yes, you. The one sitting there watching me right now.

(Kurt changes camera angles.)

KURT MANLEY: That’s it for the Countess Cucamonga caper for now. And coming up in the next hour, a disgruntled coffee worker was caught masterbating into every fifth coffee ground can to come off of the assembly line. Could there be a little extra cream in your coffee? We’ll tell you which brand to stay away from after sports and weather. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy these commercial messages.

ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The hottest blonde chicks! The biggest titties! Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.

Tagged , , , , , ,

Photo of an Adorable Guinea Pig

Hey 3.5 readers.

VGRF here.  Will you look at this photo of this adorable guinea pig?  What a cute wittle piggy wiggy!

Now I want to fill BQB HQ with a million guinea pigs.  Also, I want to turn this blog into a cornucopia of cute pet photos.

guinea-pig-449983_1280

Tagged , , , ,