Bookshelf Battle

PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE

Dead on the can.  Back to life in search of the meaning of life.

Read Parts 1-5 here.

BQB talks to his bookshelf characters.

Read Parts 6-13

BQB leaves on a jet plane to Pango Tango in search of the Great Guru.

Read Part 14

BQB learns he has a ridiculous amount in common with his new female acquaintance.  Also, we learn BQB’s real name.  What a bombshell.  The press have been calling nonstop.  Or is it nonstart?  Oh, and Holmes and Watson are stowaways.

Read Part 15

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I asked in a whisper to the pair of sleuths.

I let them out of the bag and they hopped out onto my tray table.

“I wonder if someone will make this character I’ve worked so hard on become a Pootie Tang fan.” – Thought that never crossed poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s mind

“Mr. Battler,”  Holmes said.  “You’re undertaking a dangerous journey, one that Watson and I had a hand in pushing you on.  We could not in good conscience allow you to go alone.”

The stewardess tapped me on the shoulder.  The detectives froze into position.

“Complimentary beverage sir?”

“Yes,”  I said.  “Generic brand cola please.”

She poured me one and then smiled at my stiff gumshoes.

“Cute toys,”  the stewardess said.  “You should really leave them in the box though.  That’s the only way they’ll appreciate in value.”

“That’s good to know,”  I said, hoping she’d move on.

“My son’s a big toy collector,”  the stewardess continued.  “Never plays with them.  Just keeps them in the boxes.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,”  I said.

“Not really,”  the stewardess said.  “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Can I get one for my neighbor?”  I asked.

“Sure.”  The stewardess poured another generic brand cola and set it on Vicky’s table.  She pushed her cart down the aisle.

Holmes and Watson gasped for air.

“You two didn’t think of that, did you?”  I asked.  “We’re in public, geniuses.  You’re going to be gasping for air every two seconds.”

“Forget that,”  Holmes said.  “Mr. Battler, do you realize you’re screwing the proverbial pooch with your new female friend?”

“Excuse me?”  I asked.

“Ms. Stratenhaus!”  Holmes said.  “You have so much in common with her it is bloody well uncanny!”

“I concur,”  Watson said.

“You both were interested in pie in the sky occupations,”  Holmes said.  “You and your desire to become a writer, her and her love of video game design.  You both sold out your dreams only to find mediocre positions at boring companies.  In fact, you both literally hold the same exact position at your respective places of business!”

“And you both have long, peculiar names,”  Watson said.

“Precisely!”  Holmes said.  “But other than your name, and a brief reference to wanting to be a writer, you have not shared with Ms. Stratenhaus the many similarities you share with her.  Tell her that you too quit your dream for a boring life and you now regret your decision!  Tell her that a woman left you under similar circumstances!  It will bring you both closer together!”

“I can’t do that,”  I said.  “It would be Blandie all over again.”

“Who?”  Watson asked.

“Ms. Bland Life Settler,”  Holmes said.  “Consult your copious notes, Watson.  Doing so will refresh your memory.”

Watson pulled out his notepad and flipped through the pages.

“Ahh yes!”  Watson said.  “The woman who broke Mr. Battler’s heart.”

In case you forgot about BQB’s Ex-Girlfriend, Blandie

“There’s no mystery here,”  Holmes said as he paced about the tray.  “Mr. Battler poured his heart and soul out to Ms.Settler.  He told her about his hopes, his dreams, his fears, his aspirations.  He told her how he wanted to be a writer and rather than be loving and supportive, she turned around and used that fact against him, calling him an idle daydreamer before flying the proverbial coup.”

“She also made many assertions regarding his lack of prowess in the boudoir,”  Watson said as he looked over his notes.

“Read them, Watson,”  Holmes said as he chewed on the end of his pipe.

Total deja-vu.

“No,”  I said.  “We’ve already been through this, dummies.   And put that pipe away.  You know how many laws you’ll break if you smoke on an international flight?”

“Good Lord,”  Holmes said as he tucked his pipe into his cloak.  “This highly regulated police state you live in, Mr. Battler.  It’s like Moriarty won.”

“Get back in the bag,”  I said.  “Vicky will be back any second and you guys can’t hold your breathe that long.”

My charges/pains in the butt complied and scurried into my bag just in time to avoid my new friend’s return.

“Aww!”  Vicky said.  “I love generic brand cola!”

“Me too,” I said. “I think it’s the extra generic-ness.”

“So, Ed!  Tell me, if you don’t like air travel, why are you on a plane?”

“Oh,” I said.  “You know.  Just business.”

“Going somewhere special?”  Vicky asked.

I coughed to clear my throat.

“Pango-Tango,”  I said.

Vicky raised a surprised eyebrow.

“I know,”  I said.  “The war going on there.  All over the news.  Kind of a stupid place to visit I guess.”

“No,”  Vicky said.  “Not at all!  I’m going there too!”

I didn’t even bother to ask, “Seriously?” 

I just nodded.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”  Vicky asked.

“I promise,”  I said.

“Pinky swear,”  Vicky said.

We locked pinky fingers.

“Because you know you’ll rot in eternal hellfire and damnation if you break a pinky swear,”  Vicky said.

I liked her.  She was quirky, like me. 

“So I hear,”  I said.

“I died a few days ago,”  Vicky said.

I couldn’t help myself.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously,”  Vicky replied.  “I…oh, I can’t tell you this story.  It’s so gross.”

“No judgments here,”  I said.

“I’m still surprised this was even scientifically possible,”  Victoria said.  “But I ate a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut.”

Find out how Vicky died after eating a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut on the next episode of BQB and the Meaning of Life!

Sherlock and angry woman images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  (All Rights Reserved).  (With my usual apology to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)