…so watch it, you nerds. I have to get my money’s worth:
…so watch it, you nerds. I have to get my money’s worth:
Once again, someone who may or may not be a real medical doctor (I’m leaning towards not) reminds you of the dangerous medical symptoms that come with being bitten on the butt by a toilet gator:
A new chapter of Toilet Gator and it isn’t even Sunday. Enjoy!
Hey 3.5 readers.
Bookshelf Q. Battler here. As you know, I am a civic minded humanitarian. In fact, after writing two chapters of my upcoming novel, Toilet Gator, I became so concerned about the serious medical conditions that could result from being bitten on the butt by a toilet gator that I secured the services of an esteemed doctor to warn the public in this very important public service announcement:
Hmm. Come to think of it, I didn’t check her medical credentials or anything, but this seems hella legit.
By the way, if you want to read the first two rough draft chapters of toilet gator, you can do so by clicking here.
And thank you to this wonderful doctor for caring enough to warn the public about the dangerous effects of toilet gator butt bites. If you want to hire Dr. Lisa Marie to make a video for you, check her out on Fiverr.
Curse you, Fiverr. You’ve become my new addiction.
Hello 3.5 readers.
Many of you may be unaware of this, but in my spare time, I dabble in the fine arts of proctology and have even been named an Amateur Proctologist by a noted correspondence school.
Does your butt hurt? If it does, you’ve got to get on that. A hurt butt left to chance is a disaster, not only for you but for anyone unlucky enough to be standing within your blast radius when it goes off.
Note that I’m talking about “hurt butts” and not “butt hurt.” Butt hurt is when you experience emotional pain so deep that you end up feeling it in your butt.
I’m talking about actual hurting butts. From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the top ten reasons why your butt might be hurting:
#10 – Alien Probes
Alien Jones informs me that this experimental method of human butt research has been banned, but there are aliens who have been known to go rogue all over human butts. If your butt hurts, it may be because aliens snuck into your room and inserted all kinds of devices filled with bells, lights and whistles.
If you think it is possible that you have been probed by aliens, I would suggest that you set up surveillance cameras. If, in the morning, your butt hurts, check the footage to see if any aliens were in your room. Note that some aliens have Predator style cloaking devices, so you will have to look at the footage closely for the tell tale shimmer.
#9 – Wrong Toilet Paper
Take a look at your supermarket’s butt wipe aisle and you’ll find a smorgasbord of toilet paper. Butts are like Goldilocks – sometimes they’ll find a paper to be too soft or too hard. Your butt needs to keep looking until it finds the paper that is just right. If you are using coarse sandpaper on your butt, you’re doing it wrong.
#8 – Parasites
I told you not to drink that rain puddle water and/or to not make out with your dog but you just didn’t listen, did you? Report to your doctor for immediate tapeworm removal. Don’t look at me. I’m just an amateur.
#7 – Getting Your Butt Kicked
Did you hit on someone else’s girlfriend? Did you stick your nose some place where it didn’t belong? Did you insult someone? Then problem solved. That giant shoe that connected with your butt is the reason why your butt hurts. Put some ice on your butt and learn some manners.
#6 – Wiping Revisited
You might be doing it wrong. Maybe you have the right toilet paper but the wrong technique. Your butt is very sensitive so you must gently caress your butt as if you are touching it with the wings of an angel. Don’t just stick a wad of toilet paper up your butt and go all jackhammer style. That’s a good way to end up with a bad case of roids.
#5 – Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death
Totally happened to me. If you shoot a lightning bolt out of your butt, you will destroy your toilet, your life, and your butt. Beware breakfast foods that have absorbed lightning, hurricanes, tornadoes or other catastrophic weather events.
#4 – Olympic Flatulence Competitions
Pictured above is East Randomtown Mayor Harvey Smotchenbocker. Though he is a world class athlete who is able to shoot fire out of his butt, he has undergone years of training, thus allowing him to flex his butt muscles so as to shoot fire out of his butt without causing himself any damage. I advise you to leave such flatulence theatrics to the professionals and to not try this at home.
#3 – Ingrown Butt Hairs
It happens. Sometimes a butt hair grows rogue and causes all kinds of damage. My best advice is to find a trustworthy friend who is willing to do you a solid and keep your butt hair trimmed.
#2 – Brazilian Wax
Ah, the Brazilians. They have given us so much. Restaurants where they serve meat on swords AND super clean nether region waxing. It’ll hurt today, but your butt will be totally smooth tomorrow…or the next day…or the day after that…whenever the swelling goes down.
#1 – Botched Colonoscopies
You don’t get to eat for a day before, you’ve got to take all kinds of laxatives or do whatever your doctor instructs you. Then a giant camera attached to what can only be described as a leather octopus tentacle is shoved up your butt. Done just right, it won’t hurt at all. However, if your butt doctor just jams it up there and wiggles it around like he’s beating a bowl full of cake batter, then it will probably hurt. Luckily, butt doctors go to school to practice their butt inspection techniques to avoid this problem.
I’m just an amateur so don’t take my advice. If your butt hurts, seek the wise counsel of a professional butt doctor. Women, you never know what’s going in your butts and the men staring at them can only tell you what’s going on outside of your pants. Men, you’ve got those prostrates so get them checked before the Big C sets up shop.
A good butt doctor can save your life and keep you being one of my 3.5 readers for many years to come.
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
Our hero, Bookshelf Q. Battler, host of a mediocre book blog with a modest sum of 3.5 readers, died on the toilet after eating a toaster pastry infused with a lightning bolt. He woke up in God’s Waiting Room, where William Shakespeare, his spirit guide, advised him that he must return to the land of the living and seek out the meaning of life. Doing so will provide him with a brief, fleeting moment of contentment, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’s the best the never satisfied, endlessly consuming mankind can ever hope for. The waitress sends BQB back to Earth with a kiss…
AND NOW BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE CONTINUES…
Kiss. Nothing. Kiss. Darkness. My head felt light. I felt like I was floating. Another kiss.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Kiss.
Slowly, the darkness gave way to the light. I woke up in a hospital room, attached to various beeping machines. A great big pair of nasty, gross, chapped old lady lips were coming straight at me.
“OH! OH THANK GOD! OH MY LITTLE BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER!” the old woman cried. “I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE ALIVE!”
“Aunt Gertie?” I asked.
Aunt Gertie stood over my bed, wearing her big black horn rimmed glasses and a flower print muumuu dress. Her gray hair was wrapped up in a beehive. She was from the old country, a place where they believed it was acceptable to kiss relatives on the lips. Dirty third world communists.
“I wasn’t sure if anyone would miss me,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” Aunt Gertie asked. “When you didn’t post this morning, your 2.5 regular readers and I were very concerned! I went straight to your place and found you passed out cold on the John!”
“Wow,” I said.
“And between you and me,” Aunt Gertie said. “I’d keep an eye on Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog. You couldn’t have been out for more than a few hours and he was already nibbling on your carcass.”
“I forgot to feed him,” I said. “Yet I made myself a toaster pastry. Now I feel selfish.”
A man in a lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck entered the room.
“Bookshelf Q. Battler!” the man said, reaching over to shake my hand. “Dr. Goetleib here. I see you’ve come out of the coma! It was pretty touch and go there for awhile. The other doctors and I had a pool as to whether or not you’d make it. Looks like I’m out a hundred bucks.”
“My own doctor bet against me?” I asked.
“What can you do?” Dr. Goetleib said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s Obamacare for you.”
“I guess this is the first case of a man dying on the toilet while trying to evacuate a trapped bolt of concentrated lightning he ate in the form of a cherry toaster pastry,” I said.
“Not at all,” Dr. Goetleib replied. “In fact, now that you’re awake, you’d better read this.”
The doctor handed me a pamphlet. I opened it up and read it.
“SO YOU DIED ON THE TOILET WHILE TRYING TO EVACUATE A TRAPPED BOLT OF CONCENTRATED LIGHTNING THAT YOU ATE IN THE FORM OF A CHERRY TOASTER PASTRY?”
Chapter One – How to Resist Lightning Infused Treats
Chapter Two – How Sitting on the Bowl Causes a Ricochet, Sending the Bolt Straight Back Up You Know Where
Chapter Three – Why Next Time You Should Just Relieve Yourself in the Backyard
Chapter Four – Make Sure the Neighbors Aren’t Around First
“Happens more often than you’d think,” Dr. Goetleib said. “I wrote a whole thesis on it.”
“I still don’t feel so good,” I said.
“Of course you don’t,” Dr. Goetleib said. “You just did an imitation of Zeus with the wrong body part, my friend. You’ll need a few days to recover.”
The doctor pointed to a table next to my bed. Sitting on it was a large balloon in the shape of a donut.
“What is that?” I asked.
“That is your hemorrhoid relaxation device,” Dr. Goetleib said. “Or in laymen’s terms, ‘a butt pillow!’”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“You sit on it!” Dr. Goetleib said. “To relax your posterior from the burdensome pain it was caused when you literally crapped lightning!”
“I can’t believe this,” I said.
“Cheer up,” Dr. Goetleib said. “It could be worse. You could be that poor bastard they rolled in here last week. Guy hanged himself after he couldn’t take one more night alone writing Firefly fan fiction.”
“Oh my God,” I said, leaning up in the hospital bed. “Aunt Gertie! My one post a day challenge!”
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Gertie said. “I posted on your blog for you.”
“About waffles?” I asked.
“No,” Gertie said. “About the existential subtext behind predetermined contextual imagery in sixteenth century peasant poetry.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“No dearie,” Gertie replied. “I wrote that you like danishes.”
“Changing it up on the breakfast food posts,” I said. “I like it.”
“Mr. Bookshelf,” Dr. Goetleib asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what experiences, if any, did you incur while you were in the coma?”
“It was the weirdest thing, Doc,” I said. “I was in a 1930’s speakeasy. I was dressed like an old timey gangster. Abe Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Jim Morrison and Cleopatra were playing drinking games. Teddy Roosevelt cheated at cards and Lucille Ball punched him in the face. John Wayne bellied up to the bar at one point. Liberace even played the piano! Then, William Shakespeare explained to me how I needed to find the meaning of life while a beloved female celebrity of my generation who died too soon brought me free drinks and snacks!”
“Wow,” Dr. Goetleib said.
“Does that mean anything, doctor?” Aunt Gertie asked.
“Yup,” Dr. Goetleib said. “Your nephew must have wacked his head pretty hard on the back of the toilet tank before he passed out. Not to bore you with technical terms, but I think he might have gone nutsy cuckoo. We’ll do a psych eval, but he should get back to normal soon. You can take him home this evening. Call me if he’s still babbling about dead historical celebrities in a week.”
I leaned back in the hospital bed and shook my head.
“Well played, God,” I thought. “Well played.”
What is in store for BQB when he returns to the Bookshelf Battle Compound? Find out tomorrow on BQB and the Meaning of Life!
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Old lady and doctor photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.