I’ve hit the big time, 3.5 readers. I have been lampooned by Not Donald J. Trump:
I’ve hit the big time, 3.5 readers. I have been lampooned by Not Donald J. Trump:
Came across this video from CH2.
Made me feel old as I watched several of these shows regularly, Suddenly Susan, Drew Carey and the Fresh Prince in particular.
I swear to God millenials, there was a time when everyone was happy to see him on TV.
Between that and there was a time when Adam Sandler movies were actually funny, I don’t think people believe me.
EAST RANDOMTOWN – In a startling upset, Acting Mayor Bookshelf Q. Battler has lost his bid for election to a full term.
“Oh thank God,” Acting Mayor Battler said. “I so did not want to do this anymore. It took so much time away from the task I enjoy the most – blogging for the joy of 3.5 readers.”
Mr. Battler was made Acting Mayor during the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, during which the previous mayor and a previous acting mayor were devoured by zombies.
Surprisingly, Mr. Battler’s opponent, Leo McKoy, famous in town because he alleges that in the 1990s he delivered a sandwich to James Van Der Beek, also lost the race.
“What a load of crap,” candidate McKoy said during his interview as Random Bar, East Randomtown’s most popular drinking establishment. “Good job, suck town. You all really screwed the pooch by not voting for yours truly. Barkeep, another shot.”
It was a very heated campaign. Mr. Battler alleged that Mr. McKoy was not the actual McKoy but was, in fact, a robot and that the real McKoy was devoured by zombies last year.”
“He’s definitely not the real McKoy,” Mr. Battler said. “Huh. That’s catchy. Kind of wish I’d thought of it before the election ended. Oh well.”
In contrast to Mr. Battler’s allegations, Mr. McKoy claimed that Mr. Battler’s blog sucked donkey butt and that it should be banned because it has caused aliens, zombies, the yeti and other assorted rabble to invade the town.
“Bookshelf Q. Battler is the worst thing to happen to East Randomtown since we parted ways with West Randomtown,” Mr. McKoy said.
Meanwhile, the international fuzzy war criminal known simply as, “The Yeti” won a total of 50 write-in votes.
“GRRR!” The Yeti said. “I should run everything and also eat everyone because they are delicious!”
Shocking all the experts was Harvey Smotchenbocker, who won the race with a write-in campaign of his own. In fact, Mr. Smotchenbocker beat Mr. Battler by two votes.
“I forgot to vote and my dear sweet soulmate Video Game Rack Fighter was too busy playing Car Thief Mayhem to make it to the polls,” Mr. Battler explained. “In fact, she’s been playing the same game for twenty-eight hours with no sleep. What a trooper.”
Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers may remember May0r-Elect Smotchenbocker as the Olympian who represented the United States and East Randomtown in the Rio Olympic Games this summer in the 10K Flatulence competition.
“I enjoyed my time on the professional flatulence circuit, but flatulence is a young man’s game,” Mr. Smotchenbocker said. “It’s time for me to hang up my ass and give back to this town that has given me so little even though I am a class act and I pretend like it has given me so much anyway.”
Asked for his agenda, Mr. Smotchenbocker said he would focus on such initiatives as preserving the environment, clean drinking water, law and order, promoting business and economic opportunities, improving the quality of education and investing in infrastructure.
Mr. Battler and Mr. McKoy, bitter rivals to the end, were united in their disgust of Mayor-Elect Smotchenbocker’s agenda.
“So he’s not going to start a potato bar and build a statue of me delivering a sandwich to James Van Der Beek?” McKoy asked. “Rigged!”
“I agree,” Mr. Battler said. “Smotchenbocker hasn’t even addressed all the leftover zombie carcasses that continue to litter the town.”
When questioned on whether he would support the banishment of the Bookshelf Battle Blog, Mr. Smotchenbocker replied, “I’ve never heard of it. Does anyone read it?”
In other news, Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent Uncle Hardass lost his bid for the presidency to New York Real Estate Mogul/Hair Model Donald J. Trump.
“I concede nothing!” Uncle Hardass said. “I will continue my effort to help Americans find jobs by nagging them incessantly until they find employment just so I will stop yelling at them.”
Reporting live from East Randomtown, 3.5 readers.
Results thus far:
Uncle Hardass is expected to defeat Trump and Clinton in the surprise upset of the year.
The East Randomtown Mayor’s Race is too close to call but I will keep you updated.
Dear 3.5 readers,
This long campaign has come to an end.
Go vote, then give someone who voted other than the way you voted a hug.
If you’re a Republican, hug a Democrat.
If you’re a Democrat, hug a Republican.
If you’re a Gary Johnson supporter, finish your weed then hug a Republican and a Democrat.
Everyone hug…but obviously in these difficult times, be sure to get the huggee’s written notarized signed in triplicate permission before you do the hugging.
Never lose sight of what is truly important – helping me in any way you can to make this blog go viral so that I can get super rich and fill BQB HQ with lots of supermodels.
Oh and also democracy. Gotta love democracy.
3.5 readers while everyone is telling their stories I figured I would finally tell mine.
Hillary Clinton touched my hiney.
The year was 1998. Smashing Pumpkins were all the rage and neon clothing was in.
Why was it ever out? A question for another day.
There I was, wearing my multicolored 8 ball jacket, walking down the street, minding my own business.
I’d been listening to Bell Biv Devoe on my CD Walkman for hours and felt it was time to switch things up to Salt N Pepa.
Alas, I dropped my CD holder. The CDs scattered everywhere.
And then, as I bent over to pick up my CDs, I felt it – the First Lady’s hand all over my firm, supple buttocks.
“Mmm yummy!” the former FLOTUS said. “Mama likey!”
“Oh my God!” I cried. “First Lady of the United States Hillary Clinton! Did you just touch my derrière?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that I touched the alleged hiney in question,” Hillary said. “And youse better not talk to no one about it if you know what’s good for you, see?”
Hillary, who sounded like a 1930s gangster, ran off into the night and left me with my shame.
I dropped to my knees and shouted to the stars, “Why God? Why? Why have you sentenced me to a lifetime of agony due to having my ass touched by the most powerful woman in the world? Could this day get any worse?”
And so I laid there in the street for awhile until a limo pulled up and a man stepped out.
The suit. The hair.
“What’s this whack job doing in the middle of the road?” the Donald said. “I’m Donald J. Trump and I’m on my way to a very important business meeting which I assure you will be very classy and very fantastic. No one holds a better business meeting than I do, OK? I hold them better than they do in China, that’s for sure.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry Mr Trump. I was just a bit hysterical because Hillary Clinton just touched my ass.”
“The Hillary Clinton?” Donald asked. “She and her husband are good friends of mine. Excellent friends. I cut checks to them all the time. I’m sure we’ll be friends forever and speaking of Friends, that show is still on the air because it’s the 90s. Ross will never get with Rachel, that much I can tell you. Ross is a loser. He really is. Very low energy.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” I said.
But before I could, I felt the smallest hand ever on my rump.
“This does absolutely nothing for me, just so you know,” Trump said. “Worst hiney I’ve ever touched, ok? You really need to start working out big league.”
I walked away but remained very sad and depressed for the rest of my life. In fact at the time I was about to become the world’s first guitar playing astronaut but the mental pain was so much I had to settle for starting a blog with only 3.5 readers.
Also, my attorney advises me to say this is all just a joke, not true, and never happened.
Look, I’m just going to say it.
All that tension at the second presidential debate was because Trump and Hillary are in love.
Hillary is tired of Bill running around on her and wants a man with gravity defying hair.
Trump yearns to get all up in that sweet ass pantsuit.
They’re fighting over this and that but really its all just to mask the fact that they want to bone.
Could be speculation but I don’t know.
And further, I don’t even want to speculate what it would sound like.
You know what? I won’t speculate about it because it would decrease the dignity of this fine blog.
TRUMP: Oh yeah…oh yeah…this YUGE! Thanks to me, Donald J. Trump, your bed is going to experience the highest ratings it has ever seen. You’re welcome.
HILLARY: Oh Donald! Hit that delete key, my chia headed stallion! Hit that delete key hard!
TRUMP: This is so classy. Really, its so fantastic. We’re gonna go at it big league!
HILLARY: Hold on. I have to take off my pantsuit and then the three other pantsuits underneath my pantsuit. Ugh, wait, I need my walker…
Hmmm. Oh well. It’s a good thing only 3.5 people read this.
Look, that’s just a hypothetical recreation of what a Trump/Hillary rendezvous would sound like.
And who knows? Maybe if they were to get together, maybe the country would benefit.
What say you, 3.5? Are the Donald and Hillary secretly in love?
By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent
Hello degenerate 3.5 readers.
Still working on your writing careers, I see. Insert joke about how you’re all lazy bastards who need to quit writing and get jobs at the salt mines here.
So the presidential election is in full swing and for awhile I thought I might dip a toe into the old wading pool of muck that this contest has become.
Then I said to myself, “No Hardassimo. You’re no spring chicken anymore. The kids want to see fresh faces with new ideas, not some wrinkled up old has been who has lost all hope after year after year of being put down by the man.”
But then I saw who you people are interested in. Donald Trump? Hillary Clinton? Bernie Sanders?
Holy shit. Is this an election or a cocktail party at the Golden Girls condo?
Somebody hit the music. “Thank you for being a friend. Travel round the road and back again….”
Oh sorry. My incompetent nephew Bookshelf Q. Battler informs me that if I sing any more of that song I’ll owe Betty White a hundo.
Anyway, seeing as how Methuselah-esque politicians are in style this year, allow me to announce my candidacy right here on a blog with 3.5 readers, which might make you laugh, but keep in mind that most news website proprietors would sell their kidneys to black market organ traffickers just to get 2.5 readers.
The following is a brief synopsis of my platform. You can like it or leave it, I really don’t give a crap. In fact, you should leave it because you won’t understand any of it because you’re all so stupid.
That’s right. I said it. You’re all incredibly stupid.
Don’t blame yourselves. The public school system has failed you.
You know the Japanese kids get up at 3 a.m., go for a 50 mile jog, practice martial arts and break boards in half with their fists, feet and faces, study math, science, languages, quantum physics and so on and so forth until 2 a.m. the next day. Then they sleep for one hour and do it all over again.
Enough with the “high school is the best time of our lives” bullshit. Listen, if high school was the best time of your life, then you’re a loser.
No one likes high school. High school memories only become moderately interesting when you’re seventy-five years old and suddenly you’d gladly give your entire nut sack away just to be that young kid getting pelted in the back of the head with spitballs all day instead of a decrepit old bastard who has to get up five thousand times a night to pee.
In short, my education system is simple. Beat the Japanese.
Oh, and get a job between 2 and 3 a.m. you lazy bastards. You can sleep when you die.
My plan here is two-fold.
First, all of the poor, shitty countries need a one-hundred percent increase in pornographic access.
Look, I’m sorry, but all of these people are blowing themselves up out of frustration.
Get them some Internet. Get them set up with some movies of some broads with gigantic knockers and you’ll see a 9,000 percent decrease in people being violent because they’ll all be too busy pounding the old flounder.
Why no one else has thought of this I don’t know but few will ever be as smart as I am.
Second, everyone needs to get jobs. When you have jobs, you have money coming in and therefore you don’t want to do shit that will stop the money from coming in (like blow yourself up for example.)
Moreover, when you have a job, you just don’t have enough time to worry about petty bullshit that makes you hate people enough to want to blow them up. “That guy doesn’t believe in the same god as I do. That guy doesn’t read the same holy book as I do…who gives a shit? I have to go to work tomorrow so I can get my ass paid, son.”
Porn. Jobs. Spread both around the world and pretty soon everyone will be joining their sticky hands together to sing a chorus of “kumbaya.”
You. Right there. The dumb ass reading this.
My plan for you is simple.
Get a job!
What? You can’t find a job?
Get any job!
What? You can’t find anything?
Really? Have you tried:
When engaging in business deals with other nations, the two most important questions are, “Do you want this shit?” and “How much you got?”
The key, you see, is to find the countries that will a) want our shit and b) pay as much as or as close to the amount they got as possible.
By the way, I recently heard some news about child labor that is very disturbing.
We don’t have it here in America and I am very disturbed by that.
Seriously. You park your kids’ dumb asses in front of the TV for 18 years then wonder why they grow up to become self-absorbed douchebags who start shooting up the joint the first time someone tells them “no?”
I had my first job thirty seconds out of the womb and the only thing I am ashamed of is that it took me that long.
Put the kids to work assembling smart phones for ten cents an hour while some schmuck beats a drum to make sure they go at a steady pace. I’m telling you, they will grow up to become very productive, high performing, well adjusted adults like yours truly.
Stop stealing shit and get a job. Professional stealer of shit is one of few jobs that will be deemed unacceptable.
These are the broad strokes of my platform thus far and I’ll be revising as the campaign moves forward.
If you forget this column, at least remember:
Paid for by the Committee to Elect Uncle Hardass
Standby for a Transmission from the Mighty Potentate…
…SCANNING….SCANNING…ACQUIRING CONTROL OF THE BOOKSHELF BATTLE BLOG…
Attention pitiful humans, for it is I, the Mightiest of Potentates.
I have taken control of this miserable excuse for a blog to address two points:
1) Bookshelf Q. Battler, the Chosen One, continues to dilly dally in his assignment to produce a novel so well-written that it convinces you all to abandon the most wretched of all human art forms, “reality television.” You must continue to pester him to no end to finish his novel or else Earth will be invaded and turned into an intergalactic drive-thru delicatessen.
2) It has come to my attention that this your country known as the United States of America is choosing its leader.
I have reviewed the candidates:
In short, neither candidate is suitable, and thus, as the ruler of all I survey, I command you to write in “The Mighty Potentate” on your pathetic ballots this November.
I understand you American Humans are a particularly inquisitive bunch, which is a concept I don’t fully grasp as I am not used to having to explain myself.
Just ask any alien under my command:
WHAT A POLITICAL DEBATE LOOKS LIKE IN THE WORLD OF THE MIGHTY POTENTATE:
The Mighty Potentate commands me to do X. Should I:
A) Do X and not be vaporized.
B) Do X and not be vaporized.
C) Refuse to do X and be vaporized (Report to the vaporization chamber immediately if you select this choice.)
But very well. I shall abide by your Earth customs and answer your questions about the issues:
QUESTION #1 Mighty Potentate, if elected president, how would you fix the economy?
QUESTION #2 – What?
All must be useful and productive or be vaporized. Next question, pitiful human.
QUESTION #3 – Free trade has been brought up a great deal in this election. How would you secure the best trade deals to make America competitive in the global market?
Vaporization. Purchase our products at the prices of our choosing or become vapor.
QUESTION #4 – I’m beginning to see a pattern here. The possibility of a war is always a concern for the person who holds the oval office. As President, how would you avoid war?
Vaporization. Stop pitching so many softballs, pitiful human.
QUESTION #5 – Vaporization again?
Indeed. All will hail the Mighty Potentate or be vaporized.
QUESTION # 6 – When you say “vaporize” what exactly do you mean?
I have conquered most of the Universe by perfecting vaporization technology. Through my various vaporization devices, I can turn anyone or anything into a fine mist that quickly dissipates into nothingness.
QUESTION 7 – Right. Moving on. Health care has been in the news lately…
Vaporize the sick. They only slow our operations down.
QUESTION 8 – Do I dare ask about crime?
All will obey the laws of the Mighty Potentate or be vaporized.
QUESTION 9 – Taxes?
Everything belongs to the Mighty Potentate. Render it unto to me or…
QUESTION 10 – Be vaporized. We get it. What about free speech?
All are free to speak praises of the Mighty Potentate. It is mandatory to do so five times an hour or be vaporized.
QUESTION 11 – What if people don’t want to be vaporized?
Then they will be vaporized.
QUESTION 12 – But how can they protest being vaporized if they’ve been vaporized?
There you have it, pitiful humans. I am the Mighty Potentate, the only candidate willing to harness the power of vaporization to solve all your problems.
Vote Potentate. Better yet, Votentate.
Paid for by the Committee to Elect the Mighty Potenate or Be Vaporized