Tag Archives: celebrities

Aug 09 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

The Anything Goes Club.  Armand wasn’t kidding.

I’d never seen such a disgusting display in all my life.

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“How is it possible that I’ve been scraping the fungus off of LA’s seedy underbelly for years and this is the first I’ve heard of this place?”

“We hide ourselves well, sir,”  Armand said.  “We cater to all manner of, interests, and our more famous clients appreciate our…discretion.”

Indeed, there were a number of celebrities in our midst.  Lucky for them, I was new to this time period and while I recognized many of them from seeing them in passing on Ms. Tsang’s television, I didn’t know any of them by name.

I was fairly certain one of the gals slathering herself up in the jello fighting pit was the same skirt who pointed to prizes and smiled on Ms. Tsang’s favorite game show.

And that guy who was tripping out and dancing on the pool table? He looked a lot like the actor who plays the father on that sitcom Ms. Tsang always watches.

You know.  The one where the wife and kids do everything right and never make a mistake and they all have to suffer through the constant incompetence of the family’s idiotic paternal figure?

Yeah.  I know.  That describes every sitcom so it’s hard to narrow it down.

Ms. Donnelly was a bit more hip than I was.

“Is that NAME REDACTED playing the banjo in his underwear?”

“Sure is,”  the bartender said.  “That son of a bitch sure can wail.”.

“Ms. Donnelly, I wonder if we might move this along?”

“Of course,”  she said as she turned to Armand.  “I was told it would be possible to meet with Informant Zero?”

Armand’s beady eyes lit up.

“Informant Zero?”  the butler asked.

“Yes, Informant Zero,”  Delilah repeated.

Armand looked at the bar keep.

“Informant Zero.”

The barkeep nodded and rang a loud dinner bell.

He then shouted, “INFORMANT ZERO!”

Across the room, there was a DJ wearing a furry gorilla costume, though he didn’t wear the mask.

Abruptly, he shut his turntables down, cutting off the music entirely.

“INFORMANT ZERO!” the DJ announced through his microphone.

All of a sudden, in a room full of sickos, Delilah and I were the ones being stared at.

A man with a ripped six-pac road over on one of those two wheeled Segways.  He wore a cowboy hat and a pair of leather pants.

Segway.  What an interesting machine.  I wanted one myself.

“Who seeks Informant Zero?”  the cowboy asked.

“These two seek Informant Zero,”  Armand answered.

I recognized the cowboy from somewhere else, but couldn’t put a finger on it.  In a room full of twisted behavior, a man who was just pretending to be a Southerner didn’t seem so bad.

The cowboy chewed on a toothpick for a bit, giving us the once over.  Then he had a question.

“What is the slope of the rope?”

It was a test.  I was stumped, but when Ms. Donnelly reached for her cheat sheet, I realized her contact must have prepared her for this.

She raised a finger in the air and read from the paper ever so triumphantly:

“It is equally proportionate to the angle of the dangle!”

I love it when Delilah gets tricked into talking dirty.

The cowboy looked at Armand.  Our butler nodded.  The cowboy wheeled away toward the back of the room.

“This way.”

We followed but he was going fast on that thing.  It was hard to keep up.

Suddenly, I noticed the cowboy was weirder than I had originally surmised.  From behind, I noticed he wasn’t wearing leather pants at all.

He was wearing assless chaps.

“What have I seen you in, buster?”  I asked.

“Nothing,”  the cowpoke said, keeping his face forward, refusing to look at me.

“You in show biz?”

“That’s none of your biz.”

“I do believe he’s NAME REDACTED,”  Ms. Donnelly whispered to me.

“THE GUY THAT PLAYS ROLE IN SUPERHERO MOVIE REDACTED?!”

Oops.  I was less than discrete.

The cowpoke wheeled around and leered at us.

“You know,” he said.  “You non-famous people have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under.”

“I’m sorry pal,”  I said.  “Forget it.”

“No,” the cowboy said as he scooted his scooter so he could get in my face.  He leaned over the handlebars and I found myself leaning backward just to give him some room.

“Sure.  You all look at me on the big screen in my costume and think, ‘Now there’s a guy with a great life.  But you don’t know what’s involved to keep my career going.”

He leaned back and got out of my personal space.

“Everyday I wake up at 5 am.  I run for miles, do sit ups, crunches, squats, pecs, lats, delts.  I work out until dusk and ALL I ever get to eat is a bag of baby spinach and three almonds.”

Delilah hanged back, realizing we were in for it for awhile.  I’d unleashed a monster and was now doubling as his impromptu therapist.

“That’s actually in my contract!  My lawyer and the studio banged out a deal that specifically states I can only eat three almonds a day or risk losing everything.”

Delilah couldn’t resist.

“You should have hired me, Mr. REDACTED.  I’d of gotten you five.”

“Whatever,” the cowboy replied.  “All I’m saying is when I work as hard as I do and provide as much joy to the world as I do, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for me to be allowed to hang out in a private club during my free time and dress up like a cowboy while a pair Czechoslovakian dwarves slather me with cottage cheese and read me the collective works of Ayn Rand.”

I repeated the phrase that I found myself saying a lot in response to this new world.

“What the?!”

“Oh,”  the cowboy said as his face turned red.  “What are you, one of those uptight right wing jerk-holes who thinks that everyone who suffers from Curdoslovakiandwarvishrandism should be swept under the rug and denied their basic civil rights?!”

I had no idea how to respond to that.

“Well guess what, pal?!  I’m here!  I love it when small people from Eastern Europe smear me with spoiled dairy products while they read me tales of an alternative dystopian future, SO GET USED TO IT!”

“OK buster, take it easy.”

“You have no idea how I’ve suffered because of an affliction I can’t control!  It’s not my fault, you know!”

Delilah’s intervention was welcome.

“Pardon us,”  Delilah said to NAME REDACTED.  

She pulled me away and confronted me.

“Mr. Hatcher, you’ve committed a very serious social faux pas.”

“I have?”

“Yes.  You mocked his condition.”

“Condition?”  I asked.  “That’s a real thing?”

“Every thing is considered a real thing now,”  Delilah said.  “No matter what bizarre fetish a person has, society expects you to listen politely and nod as the individual explains to you why this nontraditional interest is the cause of all problems in his or her life.”

“So I can’t just tell him to man up and knock that shit off?”

“Certainly not,”  Delilah said.  “Especially not if you don’t want Mr. Battler to have an anti-Bookshelf Battle campaign launched against him on Twitter demanding that he fire you.”

“This is going to be hard for me,”  I said.  “My generation was too busy fighting a global onslaught of evil to worry about being slathered up with, by, Jesus, I lost track of what this guy has.”

We returned to our guide.

“Sorry fella,”  I said.  “I didn’t know you had it so bad.”

The cowboy nodded and extended his hand.

“That’s big of you to admit you were wrong.”

I looked at his hand, then at Ms. Donnelly.  Her look convinced me I had no choice but to shake it.

The cowboy did a 180 degree turn and led on.  I wiped my hand on my trench coat.  Was that rude?  Sorry.  I didn’t know where his hand had been.

Probably on a Czechoslovakian dwarf.

For legal purposes, Delilah tells me I have to say there’s nothing wrong with that.

Copyright (c) 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 26 2015
5 Comments
Movie Reviews

Movie Review – Southpaw (2015) – Special Guest Reviewer – Jake Hatcher

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: A special treat for you, 3.5 readers.  If you’re following Pop Culture Mysteries, then you know that the Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye, Jake Hatcher, was once a formidable pugilist.  His fists of fury brought down a number of vicious opponents, not to mention the Third Reich.

Thus, I decided to take a powder for this review and allow “The Jersey Jabber” to take over.

Jake Hatcher, Guest Movie Reviewer

Jake Hatcher, Guest Movie Reviewer

Another Saturday night and no dame to while away the hours with.  I was lonelier than an injured dog with one of those safety cones around its neck that renders it unable to lick itself.

To my surprise, I stepped into my office and found an envelope on my desk.  Inside?  A movie ticket for the film Southpaw and the following note:

See a movie on me, Hatcher.  It’s the least I can do for the man who keeps my 3.5 readers entertained with tales of daring-do.

Sincerely,

Bookshelf Q. Battler

Blogger-in-Chief for the Bookshelf Battle Blog

Huh.  Delilah must have dropped it off while I was at the liquor store.

Did I say liquor store?  I meant to say while I was putting in a hard day of sleuthing.

Much appreciated, Mr. Battler.  Though honestly, the least you could have done was pony up the dough for two tickets. Hell, you could have even talked that looker of a lawyer of yours into accompanying me.

Dim lights.  Emotional flick.  Perfect atmosphere to sneak in a little smooch-a-roo but oh well.  Who am I kidding?  I’ve got a better shot at stealing the Queen of England’s crown jewels than I do at stealing a kiss from the delicious dish Delilah K. Donnelly.

You know, 3.5 readers, in my day films were only shown for a limited time.  If you missed it, it was tough titty said the kitty. Thus, if some turkey gobbled up the action that you missed, you’d allow him to give you an earful and you’d thank him for it, because by and large, word of mouth was the only way you’d find out about the story you missed.

Things are different today.  Miss a film in the theater?  Just watch it on your television.  Or your phone.  Or those damn i-Whatevers.  Big phones basically.  Watch a movie on your toaster, your toothbrush, your refrigerator, your cuisinart.  If it’s a beep boop machine, then you can watch a damn movie on it.

And you can watch it whenever you want too.  On the can, in line at the delicatessen, at the dentist’s office while your teeth are getting drilled, while you’re pretending to give two shits about whatever it is your dumb friend is saying, it doesn’t matter.

Bottomline – I’m supposed to warn you that this review has more SPOILERS than Ms. Donnelly has beauty, so if you haven’t taken it in yet, then take a walk, Jack.

Movieclips Trailers – Southpaw

Mr. Battler, all complaints about your cheapness aside, I do thank you for giving me the chance to watch this movie.  It brought the good old days of my boxing career back to me faster than a Maserati with a brick on the accelerator.

So this fella, Jake Gyllenhaal.  I take it he’s the cock of the walk in Tinsel Town these days.  I’m not light in the loafers or nothin’ but I can tell a handsome man when I see one so I imagine the broads go gaga over this galoot.  Guys like that have their choice of roles so it’s to his credit that he chose this one, since it’s not exactly a glamorous one.

Gyllenhaal plays Billy Hope, an ironic name to be sure because this cat becomes utterly hopeless.

At the start of the picture, Hope has it all.  A mansion the Sultan of Brunei would be happy to call home.  A swimming pool you could sail a battleship through.  More friends than he can shake a stick at.  An adorable daughter and a wife who’s hotter than a bowl full of jalapenos.

(I just have to say that to entertain the 3.5 readers, Ms. Donnelly.  You know she’s got nothin’ on you.)

Have you folks taken a gander at this Rachel McAdams broad?  All I can say is I’ll see your “Hubba Hubba” and raise you an “Awooga!”

That gal is easy on the eyes, let me tell you.  For most of the first part of the movie, she runs around in a skimpy dress that really shows off her dynamic derriere.

Not that I want to pay attention to stuff like that, but I am a private detective.  It’s my job to notice these things.

Anyway, you don’t need to listen to me flap my yapper all night, so let me give you the straight skinny.

Hope’s world comes crashing down when Miguel Escobar, a rival for the heavyweight belt, makes an inappropriate comment about Mrs. Hope.  The champ gets madder than a box full of boll weevils, a fist fight ensues, and both fighters’ entourages join in the melee.

A gun is drawn and fired, Mrs. Hope takes a bullet and croaks like a frog on a log and yours truly is left to suffer without McAdams’ keister to gawk at for another hour and a half.

Again, I was just doing my job.

Luckily, there was plenty of other action to make up for the lack of McAdam’s marvelous mangoes.  I won’t rat out the details but the whole mess causes Hope a whole heap of financial and legal problems, see? He loses his house, his money, his kid and hits rock bottom, a place this gumshoe knows only too well.

It’s up to down and out trainer Tick Wills (Forest Whitaker) to give Hope some hope and bring him back from the brink of self-destruction.

Curtis “50-Cent” Jackson plays Hope’s conniving manager Jordan, a real slick type who drops Hope like a bad penny when the going gets tough.

As if there wasn’t enough irony in this film, 50-Cent is the fella that springs the bad news to Hope that he’s got less cash than a check-out register at a discount dime store.  Word on the street is that 50, or “Fiddy” as I hear folks call him, just filed for bankruptcy and his nickname has become more than apt.

Can anyone explain to me what a rapper is?  I woke up a year ago after a 59-year nap and like a kangaroo with a sewn up pouch, I’m confused.  All I can gather is they talk fast in rhyme to a beat.  It’s like being a real smooth Lord Byron I suppose.

Whatever rapping is, the film is accompanied by a soundtrack that rap aficionados will want to check out.  Fiddy is featured on the album, and another fella called Eminem offers up a diddy called, Phenomenal.

It’s catchy.  You should listen to it.  I hummed it for awhile after I got home until Ms. Tsang kicked me out of her kitchen because she couldn’t stand to listen to me anymore.

Can’t say as I blame her.  Sometimes I’m not the best company.  Just ask the three ex-Mrs. Hatchers.

I tip my fedora to Gyllenhaal.  The key to great acting is to transform into someone the audience doesn’t recognize, and Jake does that here.

(Try not to get confused, 3.5 readers.  The star’s name is Jake, but my name is also Jake.  Two Jakes, no waiting.)

Hope is a mumbling, bumbling fella, a punch drunk palooka who’s taken one too many smashes to the cranium.  He’s a powder keg full of rage and ready to see the slightest provocation as the match needed to set him off.  Gyllenhaal plays him to a tee.

Acting isn’t an easy gig.  When I first arrived in LaLaLand, I gave the old thespian routine a go and was laughed at by the entertainment industry power brokers like I was a clown in a pair of polka dot pants.

I try not to think about that though.  Sometimes when you fail, all that really happens is you come that much closer to figuring out what you’re good at.

Me?  I have two skills:

1)  Sleuthing.

2)  Punching dangerous desperados in the face.

Word has it Mr. Battler will even help me regale you 3.5 readers with the tale of how I became so good at the latter.  All I’ll say for now is I wish I’d never allowed that scumbag Mugsy McGillicuddy to force me to take a dive.  It cost me my chance at fame and fortune but even worse, my sweet, sweet Peaches.

If you want my recommendation, this film is worth your time.  It’s a gut wrenching story of loss and redemption.  The moral of the tale?  Appreciate what you’ve got and don’t stoop to the bad guy’s level or else you’ll lose it in an instant.  Sometimes the bigger man is the one who walks away.

Mr. Gyllenhaal, keep at it.  I think this acting thing of yours is going to work out for you.  And again, just because I pointed out that you’re a man of dapper visage doesn’t make me some kind of switch hitter for the Oakland Athletics.

Finally, I’d just like to say if my courtship of Ms. Donnelly doesn’t work out, you’re welcome to stop by Tsang’s Hong Kong Palace and eat my special egg roll, Ms. McAdams.

That’s not some kind of inappropriate innuendo.  Ms. Tsang shared her recipe with me and I make a mean plate of those delicious appetizers.  We could share a meal and shoot the bull was all I was trying to say.

Is it hot in here or is it just me?  Must be this damn trench coat I’m wearing in July.

Jake Hatcher is a hardboiled film noir style detective who fell asleep in 1955, woke up in 2014, and was recruited in June of this year by Bookshelf Battle Blog Lead Counsel Delilah K. Donnelly to solve 100 Pop Culture Mysteries.

If you have a question about movies, music, TV, books, or other forms of entertainment, drop a dime to Bookshelf Q. Battler by tweeting @bookshelfbattle and he’ll put Hatcher on the case.

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Jul 05 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Hatcher’s Next Case

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Welcome to July on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, where it’s going to be Pop Culture Mysteries all month long.

Next up – Hatcher takes a break from pop culture and solves a modern day mystery in 2015.  A stick-up gone bad leaves a liquor store owner pushing up daisies.  Will our resident gumshoe crack the case?

Tomorrow on Pop Culture Mysteries: The Wrong Guy.

Got a Pop Culture Mystery?  Tweet your questions about movies, music, TV, books, celebrities and entertainment to @bookshelfbattle and he’ll dispatch his attorney, Ms. Donnelly to deliver your inquiry to Detective Jake Hatcher.

Copyright (c) 2015 – Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 19 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries!!!

A brand new episode of Pop Culture Mysteries starts tomorrow…

“Hmm…my powers of deduction lead me to believe this dame croaked from boredom. Probably didn’t read enough of the Bookshelf Battle Blog, see?”

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Blog Private Eye, has agreed to solve 100 pop culture mysteries and submit his findings right here on bookshelfbattle.com

Need to refresh your memory?  Better check out the previous episodes, see?

Pop Culture Mysteries:  Enter the Blond

Pop Culture Mysteries:  Case File #001 – Here’s a Story (Question Answered – What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses aka Mike’s first wife and Carol’s first husband?)

Who better to solve a mystery than Jake Hatcher, a hardboiled film noir style detective who fell asleep in his office above an LA Chinese restaurant in 1955, woke up in 2014, and spent a year trying to figure out what happened before Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Attorney, the delicious dish Delilah K. Donnelly, offered him the chance to make 500 smackers?  (That’s a lot of dough in 1955, see?)

Do you have a question about popular culture?  Is there a plot hole in your favorite TV show or movie you’d like explained?  Is there a celebrity meltdown you’d like to know more about?  An entertainment myth you want debunked?

Put Hatcher on the case!

SUBMIT YOUR POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTIONS TO:

TWITTER –  @bookshelfbattle    #popculturemysteries

BQB’s Google Plus Page

Or just drop it in the comments here.

Hell, if you can get past her constant complaining, Liddie Laurent will even explain how you can read Pop Culture Mysteries on Wattpad.

Together, we can help Hatcher solve 100 mysteries and go back to his own time with a big bag of five dollar bills, which he will use to live like a king.

Tomorrow’s Pop Culture Mystery:  Han or Greedo – who shot first?

Man investigating murder victim image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 12 2015
4 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blonde – Parts 1-6

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

Dames.  They’re a dime a dozen until one day one passes by and makes your jaw drop faster than a 1929 stock ticker.

Delilah K. Donnelly. Now that’s one attorney I wouldn’t mind handling my pro bono.

Get your mind out of the gutter, degenerates.  All I’m saying is when it comes to dinero I’m broker than a piñata full of candy at a kids’ birthday party, and I could use the gal’s advice on all the mysteries coming my way.

After all, she’s the one bringing them to me.

My new employer, one Bookshelf Q. Battler, is some kind of whacko who spends all his time thinking about popular culture.  Movies, television, music, books, entertainment – he can’t get enough of it.

But his obsession means he’s full of questions.

Delilah serves as a go-between, an intermediary, if you will.  The nerd thinks up the mysteries, the dame delivers them and who solves them?

Yours truly.

Want to know how this whole arrangement began?  You’re going to have to pop on your spectacles and do some reading, Jack.

Delilah K. Donnelly, In-House Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog

Delilah K. Donnelly, In-House Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog

Part 1 – I return to my office on a dark and stormy night only to find a blonde dame sitting in my deskchair.  She knows so much about me that it makes me uncomfortable.  Hell, the broad even knows everything about my ex-wives.

Part 2 – The gal reads me my whole life’s story. Odd, since I knew it already. It’s almost like she was doing it for the benefit of 3.5 readers. Also, I dish details about a top secret mission I was involved in during World War II.

Part 3 – The blonde introduces herself as Delilah K. Donnelly.  She’s a lawyer, which is too bad, because I’ve never met a member of the bar that didn’t make me clutch my wallet tighter.  Come to think of it, this lawyer makes me want to clutch something else…

Part 4 – Delilah provides me a letter from an odd fella who wants me to work for him.

Part 5 – Cunning counselor that she is, Delilah presents an iron clad contract to me.

Part 6 – Do I sign it?  Feast your peepers and find out.

No blondes were entered during the production of this story.  One did enter a room though, hence the title.  

Do you have a Pop Culture Mystery?  Put Hatcher on the case!  Tweet your questions about movies, television, music, books and entertainment to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 11 2015
8 Comments
BQB and the Meaning of Life

And Now a Word from Our Sponsor (Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death Awareness)

Together, we can find a cure for LITPTD.

Together, we can find a cure for LITPTD.

BEN AFFLECK:  Hello.  I’m acclaimed motion picture star Ben Affleck.  Everything I’ve been in has been great.

Gigli?

Neverheard of it.  Will you people get over it, already?  Look, you’d make any movie if you were dating J. Lo and…nope.  Nevermind. We’re not hear to talk about that.  We’re hear to talk about a horrendous illness that is sweeping across the globe.

LADY GAGA:  Gosh, Ben!  What is it?

BEN AFFLECK:  It’s a physical condition that’s uglier than that dress you’ve got on, Gaga.

JOE NAMATH:  It sounds awful, Ben.

BEN AFFLECK:  It sure does legendary football star Joe Namath.

KERMIT THE FROG:  Hi Ho Ben, why don’t you just tell us what it is already?

BEN AFFLECK:  LITPTD

AL ROKER:  Say what?!

BEN AFFLECK:  LITPTD, or in laymen’s terms, “Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death.”

CROWD OF CELEBRITIES ON STAGE GASPS

IGGY AZALEA:  Crikey, Ben!  What in the deep digeridoo is that?

BEN AFFLECK:  Every year, thousands of people die after eating a toaster pastry infused with a concentrated lightning bolt. It’s not their fault.  Lightning infused toaster pastries are so damn delicious that no mortal is able to resist.  Sadly, what goes in must come out and sure enough, the lightning comes out in a big way.  Too big for the human body to handle…usually while the afflicted individual is sitting on the toilet.

KERMIT THE FROG:  Did you say, “usually?”

BEN AFFLECK:  I did.  Unfortunately, the best case scenario for a LITPTD sufferer is to die whilst on the commode.  Of course, we’ve all seen the news stories about LITPTD afflicted individuals rolling over in the middle of the night and taking out their spouses who happen to be sleeping in bed with them.  Of course, our hearts and prayers go out to those poor folks who were attending a telemarketer convention when one of the attendees inflicted by LITPTD wasn’t able to find a bathroom in time and accidentally took out an entire seminar on how to call people during dinner.

KERMIT THE FROG:  Did you say thousands of people suffer from this?  Is LITPD really that common?

BEN AFFLECK:  Yes, Kermit. Right now as we speak, someone is dying on the toilet while trying to push out a lightning bolt that was consumed in the form of a toaster pastry.

NICKI MINAJ:  (Sweetly) Only cherry toaster pastries though, right? (ANGRILY) – BECAUSE TO DIE FROM AN ORANGE TOASTER PASTRY WOULD BE A FRIGHTENING SIGHT!

BEN AFFLECK:  No Nicki.  Lightning can strike any flavor of toaster pastry and make it extra delicious and hard to resist, despite the fact that eating it results in a certain, painful, and exceptionally hilarious death.  Strawberry.  Chocolate.  Vanilla.  No toaster pastry is safe from becoming a vessel of impending doom.

JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE:  What can we do, Ben?

BEN AFFLECK:  What celebrities do best, Justin.  We can raise awareness.

CELEBRITIES GATHER TOGETHER AND BREAK OUT INTO SONG

Cure LITPTD Today

By: A Gaggle of Concerned Celebrities

ALL:

There’s a rumble in my tummy!

I don’t know what to do!

Oh lightning infused toaster pastry!

Why did I eat you?

You looked so delicious.

So I ate the entire thing.

But now out of my backside…

A damn lightning bolt will fling!

Whoa…whoa..whoa…CURE!

CURE LIGHTNING INFUSED TOASTER PASTRY TOILET DEATH!

Won’t you donate today and make this madness go away?

Whoa…whoa…whoa..CURE!

CURE LIGHTNING INFUSED TOASTER PASTRY TOILET DEATH!

Cure it today and make it safe to go to the bathroom again….

ATTORNEY DONNELLY SAYS:  This is just a parody.  Literally, none of the above mentioned celebrities participated in a telethon/music video to raise awareness for Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death.  None of them said any of these horrible things.

BQB:  Because they didn’t care?

ATTORNEY DONNELLY:  Because there isn’t such an affliction!

BQB:  Could of fooled me!  I’m still sitting on a prescription butt pillow!

Image courtesy of Eggib on openclipart.org.

BQB and the Meaning of Life returns this Saturday.

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Jun 08 2015
4 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case #001 – Here’s a Story – Part 1

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTION:  What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses? (Or, what happened to Mike Brady’s first wife and Carol Brady’s first husband?)

“Son, I’m going to tell you one more time what I want and if I don’t get it, we’re going to have a serious dilemma on our hands.”

The lad on the other side of the counter stared at me blankly, a dumbfounded expression on his face.  We both spoke English, but it felt like we were from different planets.

“I want…a cup…of coffee.  Black.  No sugar.  No cream.”

If there's two things Jake Hatcher hates, it's Commies and Fancy Coffees.

If there’s two things Jake Hatcher hates, it’s commies and fancy coffees.

Immediately, the kid started in with the fancy mumbo jumbo.

“Do you want a half-caf, quarter-caf, decaf, or slim caf?”

I slapped my forehead and looked around.  The line behind me looked like it stretched all the way back to China.

“Buddy,”  I said.  “I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me.  Just pick one of those.  Any one.” 

“Mega size, king size, or ginormo size?”

“I don’t know,”  I said.  “Smallest size you got.  I just need a little jolt, kid.”

“Vanilla shot, butter shot, raspberry shot or do you want the mango starlight swirl with optional honey berry jasmine?”

Instinctively, I reached under my trench coat and gripped the handle of my old service revolver.  Betsy, I called her.  Old Bets and I shot over a thousand Nazis together in World War II and I never went outside without wearing wearing her in a shoulder holster under my trench coat.  I’d developed a bad habit of grabbing my piece whenever I was annoyed.  (No pun intended).  That’s what happens when you live life on a razor’s edge.

It dawned on me the coffee shop worker was just a boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen, and although I was decapitating scum sucking agents of the Third Reich two at a time when I was only a little older than he was, I decided to give him a pass. 

After all, it wasn’t his fault that he was born at a time when the world was being flushed down the toilet like yesterday’s dinner.

“Take the pot of coffee behind you and pour some into a cup,”  I said.  “Then don’t do anything else to it. Just hand it to me.”

The kid acted like I’d just asked him to paint the Mona Lisa and decorate the Sistine Chapel for extra measure.  He did as I asked and handed me my coffee.

“That’ll be three-seventy five.”

One more surprise.  This strange new world was full of them.

“For a cup of coffee?!  Jumpin’ Jesus H. Christ on a Pogo Stick! Son, what kind of film flam operation are you running here?”

“I’ve got it.”

There she was, sauntering up behind me like a beautiful dream made reality, Ms. Delilah K. Donnelly, Attorney for my newfound employer, the reclusive Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler.  She wore a slinky black dress and of course, her strand of glistening pearls.  She retrieved a plastic card out of her clutch and handed it to the lad.

“Debit or credit?”  he asked.

“Debit,” my colleague replied.

“Electronic money,”  Delilah explained.  “Takes the price of the coffee right out of my bank account.”

A dame buying me my morning joe.  The indignity of it all.

“Yeah,”  I said.  “We had credit cards in my day, ma’am.  Only tycoons, industrialists, homosexuals, communists and fellas named Lance used them though.  And back then we just had those click clack things that made an imprint of the card on carbon paper.  Personally, I’ve always believed a man should never buy something he can’t dole out the cash for.”

“Then you won’t be buying much these days, Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said as the boy returned her card and handed me my coffee.

“I have half a mind to report this establishment to the DA,”  I said.  “Three-seventy-five…the nerve.  Rita Hayworth better come sit with me while I drink this and…”

I stopped myself, realizing I was in mixed company.

“…and I’d tell her to take a long walk off a short pier because I’m busy with you, ma’am.”

We found a table.  I pulled the lady’s chair out and held it for her as she parked her keister.  

“That’s sweet,”  Delilah said as she clacked open her briefcase.  She retrieved a file and handed it to me. 

“Your first case.”

I opened up the file.  Notes, records, transcripts and nine photographs – three boys, three girls, a man, a woman, and an old lady in a blue apron.

“I’ll shake a leg and get to work on this right away,”  I said.

“No hurry,”  Delilah replied.  “I’m sure Mr. Battler prefers a thorough investigation over a fast one.”

I pulled a cigar out of my pocket, struck a match and lit it.  Suddenly, everyone in the place came down on me like a ton of bricks.

“Disgusting!”  shouted an old lady behind me.

“Put that out!” 

“You can’t smoke that in here!” 

“Oh my God!!!!”

The complaints bounced at me faster than a kangaroo on a trampoline.

Angry Dames in Trousers - Hatcher hated them as much as commies and fancy coffees

If there’s THREE things Jake Hatcher hates, it’s commies, fancy coffees and angry dames in trousers.

Some dame wearing trousers waltzed on over, a look on her mug like someone had just beaten her with the business end of a Louisville slugger.  I assumed she was the manager or the boss or something.

Lady bosses.  I’m not against the idea.  I’m just not used to seeing it.

“Sir!”  the woman said.  “This is a no smoking establishment!  I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”

I turned to Delilah.

“Did I miss something?”  I asked her.  “Did the Nazis have a comeback while I was asleep?”

“We’d better go,”  Delilah said.

Good old Delilah.  I hated to see her go, but I loved to watch her leave.  Her derriere was like two ripe cantaloupes packed into an airtight sack, swinging left and right to the tune of their own internal metronome.

Outside, we found a bench and took a load off.  I sucked on my stogie.  Delilah pulled a silver cigarette case out of her clutch and popped a smoke into a long black filter.  I struck another match and gave the lady a light.

“Thank you Mr. Hatcher,”  the lady lawyer said.  “Such a perfect gentleman.”

“Pull out a lady’s chair and offer her a light,”  I said.  “Two rules old Ma Hatcher taught me.”

“She taught you well,”  Delilah said.

“Yeah,”  I replied.  “What the hell was that back there?”

Delilah blew out an array of smoke, too troubled to bother with her usual rings.

“You’re in a different day and age, Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said.  “Smoking has been banned in all public establishments.  It’s considered vile and bad for your health.”

“Back in my day if a fella wanted to kill himself it was his funeral.”

“True,”  Delilah said.  “Although modern science tells us smoking negatively affects the health of those around the smoker as well.”

Hatcher was a ten pack a day man.

Hatcher’s a ten pack a day man.

“Hogwash,”  I replied.  “Tell me another whopper why don’t ya.’”

“You can’t argue with scientists, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Buncha no good eggheads if you ask me.”

There we sat and smoked away like a couple of broken chimneys.

“Ms. Donnelly,”  I said.  “If I may be so bold, there’s something about you I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“I don’t think you should be putting your finger anywhere on me,”  Delilah said.  “It’s never a wise idea to mix business with pleasure.”

“I never drop a fudge pile where I get my dough either, sister,”  I replied.  “But that wasn’t what I was getting at.  There’s something about you that’s different from the other dames I see around here.”

Across the street, there was a young woman with short purple hair, a ring in her nose, a pink tank-top that revealed tattoo covered arms, and a pair shorts so tiny they barely covered her posterior.

“Take that painted hussy for instance,”  I said, pointing at the floozy.  “Broads like that are a dime a dozen these days.  You?  You dress, act, and sound like a high falutin’ gal from my time and yet, you know all about this modern era – like how to pay for stuff with electronics and how to use a beep boop machine.”

“Speaking of,”  Delilah said as her phone buzzed like an angry bumblebee looking for a flower to copulate with.  “That’s Mr. Battler.  I’d better call him back.  He wants a legal opinion on the propriety of writing, and I quote, ‘the ending of Dexter sucked big donkey rectum.’”

“Helluva job you’ve got there, counselor,”  I said.  “But I’ll figure you out soon enough.”

“I hope you don’t,”  Delilah said as she stood up and stretched out her hand.  “A girl’s got to have her secrets, you know.”

“Ma Hatcher never taught me about that one,”  I said as I completed the handshake.

And with that, I watched Delilah walk down the street until she was a blip on the horizon. 

After that, I stood there on the sidewalk, puffing away on my stogie and doing my best to ignore all of the free, unsolicited advice.

“Damn dude,”  a local yokel said to me as he passed me by.  “Gotta quit that man, you’re gonna drop dead from cancer.”

“We all gotta go sometime,”  I replied.

Will Hatcher figure out what happened to the Original Brady Bunch Spouses?  Join us next time on Pop Culture Mysteries!

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015  (All Rights Reserved)

Coffee, angry woman and smoking detective photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 07 2015
2 Comments
Movie Reviews

Movie Review – Entourage (2015)

T.  A.  Ari yells at everyone to get his way.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here with a review of Entourage, the movie continuation of HBO’s comedy series that lampoons the Hollywood lifestyle and our obsession with it.

Movie Trailer – Entourage – Warner Brothers – 2015

I have to admit I never really watched the series during its 2004-2011 run.  A toned down version was syndicated for awhile and I’d often leave it running in the background while I did other things, thus giving me a little exposure to the world of this group who left Brooklyn for California in search of fame and fortune.  In general, I knew that Vinny (Adrian Grenier) was the movie star and he never went anywhere without his brother, Johnny/Drama (Kevin Dillion) and buddy/manager Eric (Kevin Connolly) and his other friend/driver Turtle (Jerry Ferrara).

The driving force behind the series was Vince’s agent, Ari Gold (Jeremy Piven) who comically threatened/swore/shouted at everyone to get his way, often stressing out to the point where it affected his marriage with his wife, who we’re only introduced to as Mrs. Ari (Perry Reeves).  Meanwhile, Ari heaps untold amounts of abuse on his assistant, “Gaysian” (gay asian) Lloyd, so much so that one wonders how any of it got on the air as the early 2000’s, though not as politically correct as today, was still a fairly PC time.  Of course, the whole point of the Ari/Lloyd interactions is to display Ari as a jerk, so maybe that’s why it flies.

As I took in the flick, I quickly realized that casually watching the syndicated version of Entourage did not give me the real experience of the show.  After all, editing out Ari’s swears, not to mention the other characters’ depravity, clearly made the show pointless in retrospect.  I enjoyed the movie to the point where I’ll have to check out the unedited series now.

Even so, people who know nothing about the show will ease into the film just fine.  There’s a brief explanation of who all the characters are.  At the start of the film, Vinny’s at the height of his career and wants to direct his next picture.  Ari has moved from agent to head of a major studio.  Kevin remains as Vinny’s trusted manager and the short jokes continue to come at him.  Drama is the running joke of Hollywood, that loser who has a bit part in every movie but can’t catch a break that will bring him to the big time.  Turtle has made a fortune in a tequila company but still drives Vinny anyway.

And Ari?  He’s still yelling, swearing and driving Mrs. Ari up the wall.

The film is basically one extended series episode.  Ari agrees to allow Vinny to direct the futuristic sci-fi flick, Hyde, a movie version of the classic Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hyde tale.  To everyone’s surprise, Vinny actually does a great job, though he does need an extra $5 million as he’s gone over budget.  Alas, the hijinx ensue when the Texas tycoon financing the film (Billy Bob Thornton) sends his dimwitted son Travis (Haley Joel Osment) to check out the film and see if it’s worth dumping more cash into.

Ari and the gang steadfastly defend the movie but Travis, who knows nothing of filmmaking, has tons of ridiculous changes he wants to make, thus giving the audience an insider’s view into some of the behind the scenes nonsense that goes on behind the production of their favorite films.

A party on a yacht with scantily clad models.  Another party at a mansion with scantily clad models.  Fast cars.  Beautiful scenery.  Obscenely good looking people.  Half the film makes you wonder what you did wrong to not find your way into this lifestyle yet the over half, with all the petty squabbling that goes on, leaves you thinking you might not be missing out on all that much.

Hollywood is a place where dreams come true and magic comes alive, but it’s also a place where good looking crybabies are spoiled rotten and insulated from the daily grind that normal people experience.  The series and the movie poke fun at both sides well.

Cameos are abundant with a number of actors, musicians, and sports legends performing walk-ons.  UFC fighter turned action star Ronda Rousey plays Turtle’s love interest, kicking his ass in the octagon in one of the funnier parts of the movie. (Admittedly, as Bookshelf Q. Battler, I’ve always been interested in finding a woman who is hot yet also large and strong enough to defend me from the Yeti and so Ms. Rousey has left me intrigued.)

Is it cinema gold?  No.  But that’s the point as the film makes fun of itself as well as the industry that pumps out the schlock that we’re glued to 24/7.

Will this film appeal to everyone?  Well, let’s just say it’s an acquired taste.  If you have an idolized view of Hollywood or have a tendency to put your favorite actors/actresses on a pedestal, you might want to skip it.  After all, who wants to see how the sausages are made as long as they’re delicious at the end of the day?

STATUS:  Shelf worthy.

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Jun 07 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blonde – Part 6

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES:

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

“Are you sure?” Delilah asked. “I’m not sure you understand that in 2015, five dollars is not considered a lot of money. It doesn’t go as far as it did in the 1950’s.”

I felt my smile muscles get some exercise for the first time in forever.

“Lady,” I said, “I don’t care. I’ll solve one hundred mysteries for this chump, take his five hundred bucks shutterstock_246824179back to 1955 and live like the King of Siam!”

“You could live like the Emperor of the Universe in 1955 with fifty dollars an hour, which is really a more fitting wage for a private investigator today, especially one with your training and skill.”

Delilah slinked back into my chair.

“Oh,” she said. “Please forget I said that. Mr. Battler will be very cross if he learns I spoke ill of him.”

“Ma’am,” I said. “I doubt a fella who wastes his life away watching the boob tube and making with the typey typey on the beep beep bop machines has much money. Does that big galoot even have fifty bucks per case to spend per case?”

“Between you and I, I don’t think so,” Delilah confided in me. “I wasn’t even sure he had five hundred bucks until he put the sum in an escrow account to pay you upon the completion of one hundred pop culture mysteries.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said. “Although, I have to say, I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job.”

“How’s that?” Delilah asked.

“I slept for nearly sixty years,” I said. “How in hell am I going to be able to answer cultural questions for a man of the modern era?”

Delilah slapped her hand down on the desk.

“That’s precisely why you ARE the best man for the job!”

“How do you figure?”

“You’ll come at these mysteries with no preconceived agenda,” Delilah replied. “You won’t have already formed an opinion. You’ll be able to provide Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers with full, detailed, unbiased reports!”

“True enough,” I said as I clanked my shot glass against hers. “And I suppose it will be nice to solve a case without having anyone shooting at me for once.”

“Oh my,” Delilah said. “Now I can’t provide you with any guarantees on that, Mr. Hatcher. Hollywood folk are very sensitive about their art, you know.”

It's all about the Lincolns.

It’s all about the Lincolns.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a stogie. It was one I kept close to my heart, ready to be smoked on special occasions. I couldn’t think of anything more special than the chance to become a five hundred-aire.

“Don’t worry about me, doll,” I said. “Whatever those showbiz folk fling my way, I’ll catch it and put it up on my mantle.”

“Very well,” Delilah said as she handed me a pen and the contract.

I signed it. Instantly, I felt a strange sensation. A chill took me over and squeezed me to the very depths of my soul. It made me feel nauseous. I doubled over and grabbed my stomach but then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Are you all right?” Delilah asked.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Suppose I’d better lay off the hooch du jour.”

Delilah stood up and extended her hand. I shook it. It was silky smooth, like touching God’s butt cheek.

It’d been awhile since I’d touched any part of a woman. It was nice.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Delilah said in an authoritative, business-like manner.

“Likewise,” I said. “What now?”

“Ahh,” Delilah said. “Well, we’ll need to make some changes around here. Some men will be by your office within the next few days to set you up with equipment you’ll need to research your cases, namely a T194 Alpha Desktop Unit, High Speed Transmission Cable, WI FI uplink, and of course, a top of the line Android cellular phone.”

“Come again?”

“We’re going to set you up with a couple beep bop machines.”

“OK,” I said. “Those things make me more nervous than a cat in a sack on laundry day, but hell, if five hundred big ones are on the line…”

“We’ll be in touch,” Delilah said as she snapped her briefcase shut and sashayed her way out of my life as fast as she’d dropped into it.”

Now that she was out from behind the desk, I was able to observe that her black dress went down to just above the knee, revealing the sweetest, smoothest, sultriest pair of getaway sticks this side of the Rio Grande.

To my dismay, she was using them to get away from me as fast as she could.

And who could blame her? No high society dame was ever going to be caught dead with a bum like me. It was a fact I’d learned to accept a long time ago.

I never learned to like it, only to accept it. Drinking helped with the acceptance process.

In fact, it was time for another.

It would go well with my moo goo gai pan.

This concludes Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blonde!  Join us next time as Jake Hatcher, Private Eye tackles his very first pop culture mystery!!!

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All rights reserved.

Detective and money photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 06 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blonde – Part 5

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES: Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

“Lady,” I said as I threw the letter down on the desk. “Is this some kind of joke?”

A legally binding contract with a reclusive anonymous blogger who claims to own a magical bookshelf? What could possibly go wrong?

A legally binding contract with a reclusive anonymous blogger who claims to own a magic bookshelf? What could possibly go wrong?

“Mr. Battler has a peculiar sense of humor,” Delilah said. “But this issue is not a laughing matter to him. He takes his entertainment very seriously.”

“He names himself after an inanimate object?” I asked.

“It’s a code name,” Delilah replied. “Based on his very sensitive work involving his magic bookshelf. I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to divulge his true identity.”

“Sounds like a real loser if you ask me,” I said. “Listen, if it’s all the same, I’d rather not run around like a schmuck trying to answer all the questions this dim bulb has about television, ok? Please. If you know how to get me back to 1955 then just tell me before I go bananas.”

Delilah opened her briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper and a fountain pen. “That’s all part of the deal, Mr. Hatcher,” she said as she handed me what appeared to be a contract.

TOTALLY LEGALLY BINDING LEGAL CONTRACT

(SERIOUSLY, IF YOU BREAK THIS, A JUDGE WILL THROW A GAVEL AT YOUR HEAD)

DATE: June 1,2015

PARTIES:

Bookshelf Q. Battler, Professional Blogger

Jake Hatcher, Old Timey Style 1950’s Style Private Eye

RE: Pop Culture Mysteries

Mr. Hatcher agrees to solve 100 pop culture mysteries posed to him by Mr. Battler.

These inquiries may be delivered to Mr. Hatcher any time of day or night by Attorney Donnelly.

Mr. Hatcher must be prepared to investigate at a moment’s notice. (Seriously, if some messed bullshit happens on next week’s episode of The Blacklist, Mr. Battler is going to want to know the who, what, where, when, how and why of how said shit went down posthaste).

Mr. Hatcher must file a report with Attorney Donnelly after the completion of every pop culture mystery, providing Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers with full detail of how the caper was solved.

Upon successful completion of each case, Attorney Donnelly is authorized to pay Mr. Hatcher the sum of no less than five, count em, five American dollars.

Upon the completion of one hundred pop culture case files, Mr. Battler will provide Mr. Hatcher with detailed information as to how he fell asleep in 1955 and woke up in 2014. Further, at such time, Mr. Battler will explain to Mr. Hatcher how to return to his original time period.

Additionally, if Mr. Hatcher should choose not to return to 1955, he will have the option to sign-up to take on another one-hundred pop culture mysteries.

However, should Mr. Battler think of some other bullshit to entertain his 3.5 readers with, he reserves the right to tell Mr. Hatcher to go pound sand with a wet rock.

BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER’S SIGNATURE: Bookshelf Q. Battler

JAKE HATCHER’S SIGNATURE:

I looked up from the contract and shook my head.

“Lady,” I said. “Is this fella for real?”

“Yes,” Delilah said. “Five dollars per case, I know. A paltry sum. Perhaps it isn’t my place to say this as I represent Mr. Battler and therefore must remain loyal to him but I did advise him that he should offer you more as I doubt you will be interested in…”

“I’LL TAKE IT!”

Really?  Jake Hatcher, P.I. willing to work for a measly five bucks?  Find out why on the next installment of Pop Culture Mysteries! Pop Culture Mysteries – Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All rights reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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