Tag Archives: animals

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.

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

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

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Point – Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Trash is Delicious

By: A Smelly Raccoon, Special Guest Columnist

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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.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 37

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“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!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 26

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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?”

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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:

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

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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.

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #3

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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.

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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.

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Giraffe Sex Song

Hey 3.5 readers. BQB here.

I was filled with dismay to read on CNN that giraffes are in danger of going extinct.

Giraffes are such wonderful creatures that I felt an immediate need to do something.

So, I made some calls to some of the music business peeps I met in my Funky Hunks days and to my delight, I am now going to turn this post over to Barry Yellowspots, the only giraffe in the world capable of singing 1970s Barry White style love ballads.

Barry, take it away.

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BARRY:

Aww, yeah thank you BQB.

:::Cue 1970s love ballad music:::

Do you readers know what time it is?

ALL FEMALE CHORUS:

What time is it?

BARRY:

It’s time to get freaky!

CHORUS:

Oooh, freaky!

BARRY:

It’s time to get nasty!

CHORUS:

Nasty!

BARRY:

It’s time….for giraffes to fuck!

CHROUS:

Start fuckin’ giraffes!

BARRY:

Girl, I see you across the savannah.

It’s like I’m in heaven and you are my manna.

We’re just a couple of spotted sheep-horse creatures.

And everyone knows our long ass necks are our greatest feature.

CHORUS:

Greatest feature!

BARRY:

We’re living proof that Darwin was right!

Because all those short ass little necked giraffes who couldn’t reach the highest leaves on the tree sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ tonight!

CHORUS:

Dead giraffes don’t fuck!

BARRY:

Now girl, no means no and if that’s your answer I’ll take it.

But if you’ve sworn a vow of chastity, please, oh please won’t you break it?

We’re the closest thing the world has to a unicorn.

And once we’re gone, the world will surely mourn.

CHORUS:

The world will mourn!

BARRY:

So girl, let me turn you on with my manly neck muscle flex.

‘Cuz it’s time for us to have…some hot and sweaty giraffe sex.

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

Whoa, uh oh Giraffe sex!

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

You thought we giraffes were all shit out of luck.

But don’t worry world, cuz we’re totally gonna fuck!

Whoa, uh oh, giraffe sex!

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

Girl, don’t you know this is what the world needs?

CHORUS:

The world needs it!

BARRY:

For all of us giraffes to get together and breed!

CHORUS:

Giraffe breeding!

BARRY:

Now girl, just be cool as I get into position.

For giraffes are endangered and I’m on a reproductive mission.

This ain’t about you or me baby it’s about the world.

And all the baby giraffes we’re about to unfurl.

Whoa, uh oh giraffe sex!

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

Don’t you know it’s the only way?

A bunch of horny ass giraffes must save the day!

CHORUS:

Save the day!

BARRY:

Damn baby, you wouldn’t know it because I got my neck leaned so far backwards it’s in the next county.

But if you could see my face, you’d see me smiling because of all of that sweet lady giraffe booty bounty.

CHORUS:

Giraffe booty bounty!

BARRY:

Don’t even worry about giraffe fellatio.

I’d have to climb up onto a damn tree just to make that a go.

Oh and girl, don’t even get me started on giraffe cunnilingus.

CHORUS:

Giraffe cunnilingus!

BARRY:

That would require an entire football field between us.

CHORUS:

So much between us!

BARRY:

Whoah, uh oh, giraffe sex!

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

Look, I swear this isn’t an elaborate scheme to get all up in that giraffe cooter!

CHORUS:

Giraffe cooter!

BARRY:

Whoa, uh oh, giraffe sex!

CHORUS:

Giraffe sex!

BARRY:

Giraffe extinction is real, just look it up on your giraffe computer!

BQB:  Thank you Barry and thank you 3.5 readers for educating yourselves on the need for giraffes to start fucking.  If you know a giraffe couple, please, I urge you, encourage them to fuck.

Put on a slow jam.  Set the mood lighting.  Pour them some wine and then politely tell them that they shouldn’t wait around for “the perfect giraffe” to come along because, hey, there’s a giraffe right there to fuck.

You know me, 3.5 readers.  I’m all about charity.  I’m against Lightning Infused Toilet Pastry Toilet Death.  I’m a proponent of #OscarSoPretty and now, I’m taking on a new cause…giraffe sex!

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Questions About the Jungle Book Movie

Have you seen the new live-action version, 3.5 readers?

I suppose my question apply to the cartoon version as well.

Someone call an animal expert but wolves and bears are only in forests right?  Are there any jungle bears or jungle wolves?

“BQB this is a movie for dumb kids who don’t these things.”

Oh right. Thank you 3.5 readers.

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