Just when you thought it was safe to drop a deuce…
Just when you thought it was safe to drop a deuce…
Hey 3.5 readers. Your old pal BQB here.
You know, this March will mark the third year anniversary of this fine blog, and though I love you all, I must admit that in all of this time I have been sitting back and wondering when one of you readers would get off your shiftless, lazy hides and record a video testimonial of my greatness.
Seeing no such incoming video testimonials, I turned to Fiverr and found this delightful spokesperson, who was happy to educate the masses of my astounding brilliance.
In conclusion, this was the best five dollars I have ever spent and had I known it was possible to get women to say nice things about me by paying them I would have started doing it a long time ago.
Thank you, spokesperson. That was an awesome testimonial. In all humility, I truly deserved all of those wonderful compliments.
Meanwhile, this was my first time using Fiverr and I recommend it. There are all sorts of talented folks waiting there to help you do awesome things with your website, blog, business, etc. so check out Fiverr.com
And finally, my spokesperson did such a fantastic job that I’ll give her a plug. If you have a gig you’d like to throw her way, you can check out Stayingvintage on Fiverr.com
After the show, a tired, sweaty, worn-out Countess Cucamonga walked through a backstage hallway. She was flanked on each side by her burly, bald-headed, sunglass sporting security goons. Meanwhile, her dutiful manager Irving, a spindly little twerp stuffed in a designer suit, heaped praise on his client.
“Outstanding performance, Countess,” Irving said. “Positively outstanding. Butt Peace is climbing the charts even faster than Buttstravaganza ever did.”
“What fabulous news, darling,” the Countess replied.
“I think we’re going to see a dramatic decline in violent outbreaks across the world thanks to your song,” Irving said.
“Yes, well, I do what I can darling,” the Countess said. “I really do.”
Irving craned his neck to see that his client was being followed down the hall by Natalie Brock. Struggling to keep up behind the affiliate reporter was Walter, her hefty, huffing and puffing cameraman.
“Goddamn it, Walter,” Natalie said. “Hurry up. We’re going to lose her.”
“I’m union,” Walter groaned. “I don’t care.”
“Countess!” Natalie shouted. “Countess!”
The entourage came to a halt. The two goons formed a human wall.
“Countess,” Natalie said. “Natalie Brock for NN1’s Miami affiliate. Can we get a few words?”
“This is a secure area, ma’am,” the first goon said.
“We need to ask you to leave,” the second goon added.
Natalie struggled to look around the goons but they blocked her at every turn.
“Irving!” Natalie yelled. “Irving! I know you’re back there.”
Natalie and Irving resorted to having a conversation between the goon wall.
“Natalie, this entire floor has been blocked off for the Countess’ safety,” Irving said. “I could have you arrested and carted off to Guantanamo Bay on celebrity harassment charges.”
The intrepid reporter belted out her question. “What would you say to critics who believe that Butt Peace is just an example of the Countess recycling her same old tired buttsploitation songs into a faux humanitarian package?”
“The Countess does not have to answer such outrageous accusations!” Irving said. “Get out or be thrown out!”
“No,” the Countess said as she pushed her way through the goons to Natalie’s side. “I want to speak. ‘Faux,’ you say?”
Natalie held her microphone up to the Countess’ mouth. “Yes, some say that you really don’t care about world peace, that this song is just your way of scamming the public into thinking you care about the world while still raking in the dough from perverted men who love to pretend that you are singing directly to them about your butt, as well as women who wished they had the kind of butt that would motivate perverted men to give up all of their many. Is your interest in world peace fake?”
“I assure your there’s nothing fake about it, darling,” the Countess said. “What is war other than a conflict over limited resources and why do men fight over limited resources in the first place? I submit that men go to war in order to prove themselves worthy of women with fabulous butts. All I’m trying to say to those angry men is that they should abandon their violent ways, for whenever they feel like committing mass genocide in order to placate their feelings of sexual inadequacy, they should just put on one of my butt songs instead. My butt doesn’t just belong to me, it belongs to the world, and as long as everyone has a chance to stare at it, there’s no reason for us not to come together in the spirit of peace and harmony.”
Natalie blinked. “That was actually the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” the Countess said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
The Countess and her contingent pressed forward down the hall.
“Tell me you got that, Walter,” Natalie said.
“Uh huh,” the grumpy cameraman replied.
The entourage reached the Countess’ private dressing room.
“Countess,” Irving said. “We’ve got to talk about your stop in New York. The choreographer was thinking about switching things up a bit, maybe adding at least seventy-percent twerking. Our focus groups can’t get enough of it.”
The Countess’ stomach gurgled. “Ugh. Not now, darling. I think all that twerking shook something loose. Ta ta.”
The pop star entered her dressing room and slammed the door. Her goons took up their positions.
“Wow,” Irving said as he squeezed the first goon’s arm. “That’s solid. You guys must work out. You work out?”
“Ergh,” the first goon replied.
“Do some curls, work on your biceps?” Irving asked. “Triceps? Lats? Delts? Quads. Yeah, I like to lift myself. I’ve got these little red dumbbells that I…”
“Ergh,” the first goon said.
“OK,” Irving said as he lightly slapped the first goon’s arm. “Good talk.”
As the manager walked down the hallway, he spotted Natalie going over her notes.
“You ever pull a stunt like that and you’ll never work in broadcasting again, capiche?”
“Oh, don’t you ‘capiche’ me, Irving,” Natalie said. “Besides, this is a win for you. For once in her life, your girl didn’t sound like a total moron.”
Irving’s face turned red. “That’s the image we’re going for and if you ever publicly imply that she is anything but a total moron I will sue you for slander!”
Meanwhile, the stoic goons were unable to maintain their rugged facades as loud fart noises emanated from inside their client’s dressing room. “Pbbbht…pbbhht…pbbbhhhhttt!”
“Huh huh,” the first goon chuckled.
“Must have been that chimichanga,” the second goon said.
Back down the hallway, the manager continued to lock horns with the reporter.
“I want that recording erased,” Natalie said.
“Not happening,” Natalie said. “She gave a statement voluntarily and it’s going on air.”
Walter stared at the back of his camera, slapped it a few times, then scratched his head. “Hey, Natalie…”
“I am her agent,” Irving said. “All press inquiries must go through me. That statement was unauthorized.”
“She authorized it herself,” Natalie said.
“Hey Natalie,” Walter repeated.
“Fine,” Irving said. “You want to go tit for tat on this? Mano y mano? Tit for tat? You want to bring down the god of thunder to make it rain all over you?”
“Knock it off, Irv,” Natalie said.
“Let’s get nuts,” Irving said. “I’m not afraid to go to court over this. I love going to court. I live for litigation. You call your Jews, I’ll call my Jews.”
“That’s racist and offensive,” Natalie said.
“That’s not racist to say that Jews are good lawyers,” Irving said. “Do you know how long it takes to go to law school?”
Walter interrupted again. “Natalie…”
Natalie snapped. “What?!”
“I didn’t get the thing where the girl with the big butt was talking,” Walter said.
Irving grinned. Natalie clenched her fists. “Are you kidding me?”
“Yeah,” Walter said as he stared at his camera. “I mixed up the buttons. There’s so many of them, you know.”
“Damn it, Walter,” Natalie said. “You know, I try my best to be nice to everyone. I try not to be one of those catty news bitches who thinks their shit doesn’t stink and they have a God given right to shit all over everyone, but damn it Walter, a monkey could do your job. A literal, honest to go, chimpanzee could work that camera and save the station a lot of money.”
“Take it up with my union,” Walter replied.
Irving laughed and laughed.
“Oh, blow it out your ass, Irv,” Natalie said.
Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a loud rumbling sound, followed by the noises of porcelain and drywall being smashed and bashed. Then there were screams. High pitched, blood curdling, female screams.
“What’s going on?” Irving asked.
The first goon tried the door knob, but it was locked. The second goon threw his weight against the door again and again until finally, he broke it open.
“Stay back!” the first goon shouted to everyone in the hallway. He drew his sidearm and followed the second goon into the room. Irving ignored the command and entered.
Natalie wagged her finger in Walter’s face. “Look at me Walter. You’re going to turn that camera on and you’re going to record every single thing that happens and if I find out that you didn’t, I’m going to drop kick you in the balls until you can’t father children anymore.”
“I’m filing a grievance,” Walter said.
“There,” Natalie said as she pointed to a red button on the camera. “That’s the record button. Push that one, then don’t push anything else. Got it?”
Walter pushed the red button. “Got it.
Irving’s shocked voice carried out into the hallway. “Jesus H. Fuck!”
Natalie’s eyes lit up with the twisted delight that only a reporter gets upon learning that something has gone awry. She and her cameraman entered the dressing room, where Irving was holding his hand in his hands.
“I don’t get it,” Irving said. “How is that even possible?”
The goons stepped out of the bathroom. The first goon dialed 911. “We need everyone you’ve got down here now…yeah…Sunnyside Arena…I don’t know how to describe it…there’s been a murder…”
Natalie sidestepped the men and poked her head into the bathroom. There, she saw that the toilet had been smashed to smithereens, little pieces of porcelain everywhere. A hole had been ripped open in the floor. The pipe leading to the sewer system had been split apart.
Worse of all, every square inch of the bathroom was covered in blood and guts. Ever so timidly, Natalie walked into the room, being careful not to get any blood on her clothes. She waved for Walter to follow.
The news reporter kneeled down and stared at a blood soaked plastic bag filled with gloppy silicone.
“What is that?” Walter asked.
“Ungh,” Natalie said as she pulled a kleenex out of her pocket and wiped the blood away. In doing so, she revealed some writing.
“Plastilox Buttock Implant – Left – Patent #10999428432”
“I knew that ass was fake,” Natalie said.
Network News One Transcript #1
(Open on Kurt Manley, stereotypically perfect looking news anchor, complete with square jaw, perfect hair and teeth).
KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene reported that the Pope was heard to say, “That’s the last time I’ll go to Tijuana without a passport and a reach around. Coming up in the next hour, the ayatollah has released a series of photos of himself mooning a paper mache version of the president. Also, there’s a new report out in which seventeen out of twenty scientists claim that one of the breakfast cereals in your pantry might cause you to literally vomit out your entire spleen. We’ll tell you which cereal that is after sports and weather. But first, controversial pop star Countess Cucamonga is kicking off her highly anticipated comeback tour tonight. We take you live to Miami, where our local affiliate…Jesus…local affiliate…is that the best we could do?
(Local affiliate reporter Natalie Brock, an average looking brunette, appears on screen. She’s standing on the floor of a packed concert around, surrounded by screaming fans).
NATALIE BROCK: Good evening Kurt. I’m here at the Sunnyside Arena…
KURT MANLEY: Where’s Dan? Hey, Dan, we couldn’t have done better than a local affiliate reporter for this? Yeah…uh huh…sure but I mean, for Christ’s sake man, look at her tits. They’re A cups at best. Barely a handful. Utterly useless.
(Natalie stares blankly at the camera).
KURT MANLEY: Oh right. Take it away Natalie.
NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, I’m coming to you from the Sunnyside Arena in downtown Miami, where fans have turned out in droves for Countess Cucamonga’s first concert since her arrest and subsequent hospitalization for moki fish huffing addiction. For those unaware, moki fish huffing is the latest celebrity addiction to hit Hollywood. An addict will spend upwards of three hundred thousand dollars to illegally important the rare, virtually extinct Japanese moki fish, spoon model airplane glue into the fish’s hind quarters, and then somehow the combination of the glue and fish pheromones creates a potent high that can be achieved by sniffing the glue filled fish’s anus.
KURT MANLEY: Don’t bore me with information I already know for…um…news reporting purposes and only news reporting purposes, Natalie.
NATALIE BROCK: Sorry Kurt. Now, we’ve gotten word from Countess Cucamonga’s press agent that the Countess plans to debut a new song tonight, one that will showcase her range as a performer. According to the statement we’ve received, the Countess is tired of churning out the same old vulgar, sensationalized songs that capitalize on her ample posterior. Her time in rehab has given her perspective and now she wants to give back and do her part to bring about world peace.
KURT MANLEY: Aw, what the hell. I really love those butt songs. Countess Got Back. Cucamonga Crack. Twerk Dat Booty. Stuff Dem Jeans.
NATALIE BROCK: Indeed, Kurt. In fact, the Countess’ most famous single, Max Out My Extra Strength Stretch Pants, went quadruple platinum, but apparently the Countess has become a more civic minded entertainer now.
KURT MANLEY: Isn’t Countess Cucamonga’s posterior insured for three hundred million dollars?
NATALIE BROCK: There has been talk of that in the tabloids but I don’t believe anyone in the Countess’ entourage has ever given official confirmation. However, it is undeniable that Countess Cucamonga has one of the most infamous derrieres in show business.
(The lights dim. The crowd goes silent).
NATALIE BROCK: That’s our cue, Kurt. Let’s listen in as the Countess starts her new life as a world peace advocate.
(Countess Cucamonga, an insanely beautiful woman, flies over the crowd via wires attached to her body. She wears a pink wig and a sparkly gown. Her butt is enormous. She lands on stage. Smoke clouds burst and then dissipate, allowing her backup dancers to appear. The crowd goes wild. The Countess begins to sing a slow song.)
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: War…famine…plague….destruction…death. So much can happen to take away our last breath…
(A giant globe depicting all of the continents is lowered behind the Countess. It spins slowly).
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: Poverty…catastrophe…so much can come between you and me…
(Natalie appears on screen and whispers).
NATALIE BROCK: Looks like she really has turned over a new leaf, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: Move your stupid head, Natalie. I’m trying to scope out the Countess’ turd cutter.
NATALIE BROCK: Sorry.
KURT MANLEY: Aww, who can see it through that long gown anyway.
(The Countess returns to screen).
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: I’m here to tell you there’s a way that all this mayhem can cease. There is a road to international peace. The road is here, it is so clear, and the road to world peace runs through…
(The globe explodes, shooting confetti all over the crowd. A giant butt takes the globe’s place. The Countess rips off her dress, leaving her with nothing but a skimpy bikini and highly revealing panties printed with various world countries. Lights flash, the crowd cheers as the song picks up tempo…)
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: …my butt!
(The Countess points her butt at the audience and twerks up a storm).
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: Butt peace! It’s what the world needs now. Butt peace! You’ll drop your jaw and say, “Wow!” Butt peace! Drop your guns, stare at these buns. No time for war when your eyes are sore from staring at…
(The Countess slaps her right cheek).
COUNTESS CUCAMONGA: …my butt.
(Natalie Brock appears on screen).
NATALIE BROCK: Well, there you have it, Kurt. I’ve just received word that ‘Hashtag Butt Peace’ is trending on Lifebox and Butt Peace can be purchased through whichever music site you prefer to throw your money away on. There are also seven hundred online petitions demanding that Countess Cucamonga be named an official UN ambassador, thus allowing her to spread her message of butt related peace throughout the world.
(Kurt Manley appears on stage, grooving in his seat).
KURT MANLEY: Aw, yeah. Butt peace, baby! Woo! The Countess has done it again.
(Kurt stops dancing and ruffles through a stack of papers).
KURT MANLEY: That’ll do it for Natalie Brock, our Miami affiliate reporter and card carrying member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Keep your TV locked on Network News One because in the next hour, we’re going to asking Congressman Hutchins why he supports HR4900, better known as the “Turn Every American’s Life into a Big Pile of Shit” Bill. But first, are there traces of rat poison in your toothpaste? Find out after this commercial break.
From the Desk of Bookshelf Q. Battler
Dear Noble Reader,
Your butt. Yes, I want to talk about your butt, for your butt is the most important part of your body. If you’ve got a great one, people tend to stare at it. If you’ve got a flat one, you’ll need to put a pillow under it. If you’ve got an itchy one, you’ll need to scratch it. Sooner or later, some annoying problem is going to crawl up your butt the wrong way and don’t even get me started if you work in a stressful environment filled with backstabbing, duplicitous coworkers. In that case, you’d better cover your butt.
Speaking of covering your butt, do you know where your heiney is the least protected? The toilet. That’s right. The toilet. You go to work, you make sure you do the right thing so the boss doesn’t theoretically bite off a piece of your butt as he fires you. On your way home, you look over your shoulder to ensure that no one is trying to kick your butt. Alas, when you drop your trousers and take a seat in order to make a cheek squeak, your butt is left completely defenseless as it sits upon the porcelain throne.
“But BQB,” you will surely say. “What could possibly go wrong while I’m sitting on the toilet?”
I’m sorry. I know you are my beloved noble reader, but that’s a stupid question. Really. Pull your head out of your butt and get in the game here.
Have you ever thought about what happens to a turd after you flush it? You probably haven’t, you inconsiderate prick. That poop that was once food that nourished you goes down on a pipe, gets transferred through a line going underneath your property, where it travels until it reaches your community’s sewer system. From there, it makes the long journey to your local sewage treatment facility.
In other words, there is a whole freaking subterranean highway lurking below your ass crack and you’ve never even thought about it because you’re all like, “La dee da, look at me, my life is so important that I don’t have to think about what is going on underneath my butt while I’m pooping.”
Snap out of your self-obsessed existence, noble reader, for there is a whole other world full of devastation, death and intrigue going on in the lowly depths beneath your butt. Close your eyes, push with all your might, then wipe and get the hell off of the bowl as fast as you can because just when you thought it was safe to go number two, I present to you, Toilet Gator.
Hey 3.5 readers.
Bookshelf Q. Battler here.
People always ask me, “BQB, is there a way to get rich quick?”
I’m not sure why people ask me this. I have holes in my underpants, for crying out loud, do I look like John D. Rockefeller or something?
Hard work. Patience. Sticking to your goals. These are, in general, the often cited and well respected ways to get rich over a long, long period of time…usually such a long time that by the time you get your hands on that money you’re too old to enjoy it and you end up croaking and leaving it to your spoiled children who, let’s face it, won’t appreciate it.
But, ok. I get it. You want money now. NOW!
So, I’ll level with you. There is a way to get your hands on big time money at a young age, for doing very little work. Zero risk. Ultimate reward.
I’ll share this secret with you now, 3.5 readers.
Wonderful news, 3.5 readers.
My special Valentine’s Day song moved Video Game Rack fighter so much that she took me back, allowed me to return to BQB HQ and has returned my glorious blog to me. Also, she returned custody of you, my 3.5 readers.
Thank you for sticking with us during this tough time. Every couple has their ups and downs, but it’s nothing but up from here on out.
Also, having to spoon with Leo McCoy in the Random Motel for warmth was truly a low point of my life. Please don’t tell anyone. This should be fine as only 3.5 people read this blog.
Hey 3.5 readers. Video Game Rack Fighter here, still angry with BQB for his douche-tastic behavior.
In fact, after being awarded BQB HQ, Bookshelf Battle Dog, 99.99% of BQB’s Beige Corp. paychecks and BQB’s action figure collection in the divorce, it dawns on me that BQB got out of this pretty easy if you ask me.
Therefore, from BQB HQ (technically, VGRF HQ now) in Fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Most Embarrassing Entries in BQB’s Private Journal.
Sidenote: if you get kicked out of your headquarters, be sure to take your private journal with you.
#10 – I Can’t Get Enough of the Ketchup Girls
“Goddamn it. I can’t get enough of the Ketchup Girls. There were like the latina Spice Girls of my generation and they should really come out with more songs. I have no idea what they are saying but they sure know how to make me shake my wonderful, apple shaped heinie.”
#9 – Buffy Fan Fiction is Way Better than Firefly Fan Fiction
“Got into a ten hour long debate on the nerd boards with some loser who thought that writing Firefly fan fiction is better than writing Buffy fan fiction. What an idiot. Everyone knows that my story about how Buffy and Faith get into a fight over me while I convert Willow from lesbianism with my machismo is the best piece of fan fiction ever written.”
#8 – Jaleel White Needs a Comeback
“I’ll never understand why Jaleel White isn’t raking in the Oscars left and right. Sure, he played Urkel on Family Matters but he was so much more talented and versatile than that. I wish Jaleel White would make a thousand movies so I could just watch them all day long.”
#7 – I Don’t Think My 3.5 Readers Really Love Me
“My 3.5 readers seem like they’re just phoning it in these days. I wonder if they are cheating on me and reading other blogs behind my back. Is it me? Am I not pretty enough? Should I try harder? Maybe if I wore skinny jeans. Sigh. I love my 3.5 readers but sometimes I wish I had never started a blog in the first place. It isn’t easy keeping the attention of 3.5 readers.”
#6 – The 2000s Suck
“I miss the 1990s. I really do. I feel like pop culture peaked in 1999 and it’s all been a downward spiral of crap ever since. I wish I could live in an alternative universe where the Spice Girls, Nirvana and Gwen Stefani play on a continuous loop, dressing like a lumberjack is considered fashionable and the news stories are constantly about the latest broad that Bill Clinton boned. This is the last time period I can remember where I felt like the world was a safe place. It was all a downhill shit storm after that.”
#5 – Face/Off is the Best Movie Ever Made
“Face/Off was the best movie ever made about two men who trade faces using highly experimental face trading surgery. John Travolta becomes Nicolas Cage and Cage becomes Travolta. Awesome. The only thing I didn’t understand was why did Travolta have the weight put back on when he traded Cage’s face for his own at the end.”
#4 – My Farts Frighten Me
“It was very quiet in BQB HQ. So quiet you could have heard a proverbial pin drop. Suddenly, I farted and the unexpected noise made me leap out of my chair. I thought BQB HQ was under attack by an entire battalion of renegade troops until I finally realized the noise was coming from my butt.”
#3 – Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog is the Best Dog Ever
“Oh Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog, you are the best dog ever. You are my furry friend for life. I wish I could sit with you forever and braid your fur and just let all of the problems of the outside world just float away.”
#2 – The Yeti Isn’t So Bad
“Once in a blue moon, I admit to myself that the Yeti isn’t so bad. He’s an epic butt face and wrong about everything, but he believes he is right and people and/or hairy beings who believe in something, anything at all, are a rarity these days. I just hope he doesn’t find out I said this or else he will think we are friends or something. I don’t want that to happen as I continue to despise yetis and all that yetis stand for.”
#1 – I Want to Create an Army of Super Strong Warrior Women to Protect Me
“Lucy Lawless aka Xena: Warrior Princess. Ronda Rousey. Gina Carano. I want to create an army of super hot MMA/Wrestling/Action Movie babes who will defend BQB HQ by day and then beat me senseless with their incredibly muscular vaginas at night. I think Video Game Rack Fighter would be cool with it. I would put her in charge of this army as I don’t know anyone else who has a more muscular vagina. I mean, she can crack walnuts with that thing. She’s really been going to town on the old kegel exercises lately.”
VGRF’S EDITORIAL NOTE: OK, that last one was sweet, BQB. But it doesn’t matter. You will never get your blog back. It is mine forever.
By: Leo McCoy, the Man Who Once Delivered a Sandwich to James Van Der Beek
Howdy doo, 3.5 readers.
Leo McCoy here with my first column for the Bookshelf Battle Blog. When Video Game Rack Fighter called and asked me to write for her, I immediately responded that I would check my schedule to see if I was busy. Then I admitted I was lying because I haven’t been busy since 1998, on that glorious day when I delivered a sandwich to James Van Der Beek.
Oh how I remember it like it was yesterday. Dawson’s Creek or “The Creek” as we 1990s people called, was the hottest show on the WB, next to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Oh, the WB was once a hot network filled with shows for 1990s era young people.
Although it was owned by Warner Brothers and thus they could have chosen any of the Looney Tunes characters to headline the channel (Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck, for example), they chose that damn racist frog. You know the one. “Hello my baby, hello my mammy, hello my rag time gal.” Sorry, I can’t steal that joke. That joke belongs to Dave Chapelle.
Anyway, I was a duly designated employee of a local delicatessen. Got a call that a fella was looking for a Reuben sandwich, a bag of barbecue potato chips and a Dr. Pepper. Diligent worker that I was, I ran it right over to the Random Motel, the number one spot for tourists to stay while they’re visiting East Randomtown and who should appear at the door but none other than James Van Der Beek himself.
Oh how handsome he was. I’m not saying that in a gay way. Any heterosexual man can surely appreciate the aesthetic features of a good looking man without wanting to touch his bits and pieces although, I can’t lie, the man was famous as all get out so had he asked, I’m not sure I would have been able to deny him. Again, that’s not a gay statement. It’s just a recognition of the power of celebrity.
What a golden haired Adonis he was, standing there with his flowing locks and flannel shirt. Open with a white shirt underneath, as was the style of the day. You weren’t anyone in the 1990s if you didn’t dress like Paul Bunyan.
“I’m sorry sir,” I said. “But are you James Van Der Beek?”
“Maybe,” the man replied. “What’s it to you?”
I then lifted up my shirt and handed the man a pen.
“Mr. Beek, sir,” I said. “I’d be honored if you’d autograph my nipple.”
“Get lost, weirdo,” the man replied, before tossing the money he owed, taking the food, and slamming the door in my face.
Sigh. My nipple remained unsigned, but I knew it was him. I don’t blame Mr. Van Der Beek for wanting to lay low. Had word gotten out that the world’s sexiest Dutchman was in town, he would have been swamped with fans and no one wants to sign the nipples of fans when they are hungry for deli food, let me tell you.
Ahh, on that day I knew life would never get any better. I peaked so early that I quit my job at the deli and started waxing the stool of the Random Bar with my ass. Same stool, same ass for nearly twenty years and I don’t regret a single day. I accomplished what I was meant to do early in life and I’ve been waiting for the good Lord to take me ever since.
Now, as all 3.5 of you readers know, I have a rivalry with BQB. People say Battler is the most famous man in East Randomtown because he started a WordPress blog with 3.5 readers.
Oh, whoopee. Anyone can start a blog on WordPress. Sure, even less people get 3.5 people to read their blogs but still, it can be done. Have any of you ever a man that you were ninety-nine percent sure was the infamous James Van Der Beek, star of the most popular show about a teenager just trying to make it in the 1990s as an aspiring filmmaker whilst trying to win the love of the precocious Joey Potter all the while maintaining his friendships with bad Pacy Whitter and town slut Jen Lindley? I think not.
Anyway, I’d like to thank Video Game Rack Fighter for inviting me to be a columnist on this blog. I gotta admit, I’m getting a kick out of the fact that I get to blog on BQB’s blog while BQB is no longer allowed to.
Oh, you may have noticed in the past my last name was spelled, “McKoy.” Yeah, that’s because I always wanted to be a rebel but now that VGRF has promoted me from bit player to featured cast member, I figured I’d switch to the traditional spelling.
Also, I’d like all 3.5 of you to know that even though BQB has been my longtime enemy and I despise him from taking away my position as East Randomtown’s most famous citizen by starting his stupid blog, I am still a Christian and thus I have gladly opened my room at the Random Motel to him for his use.
BQB needs a place to stay as Video Game Rack Fighter has been awarded 99.99% of BQB’s paycheck from Beige Corp. That’s gotta hurt. Luckily, I never married. Marriage never interested me after I got a close look at Mr. Van Der Beek’s angelic face. No, that’s not a gay statement. Can’t a man just appreciate the statuesque features of a living god without being accused of gayness?
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” as Jerry Seinfeld once said. You know, I was ten percent sure that I once delivered a pastrami on rye to Jerry Seinfeld but then it just turned out to be a guy who just said, “What’s the deal” a lot. Oh well. I suppose no one could ever be blessed with meeting James Van Der Beek AND Jerry Seinfeld in one lifetime.
Let me end this column with some questions you no doubt have:
Q: Are you and BQB staying at the same room James Van Der Beek once rented?
A: Yes. On the same day Mr. Der Beek checked out, I sold my house for pennies on the dollar and moved into the same room and have never left since. Also, I have been snaking the bath tub drain for twenty years in search of errant golden locks, the DNA of which might prove to all haters and naysayers that I did, most assuredly, meet James Van Der Beek.
Q: Is BQB a good roommate?
A: No. He cries into his pillow all night over losing his beloved blog to VGRF. Also, he misses VGRF. I offered to dress up like her and dance around to make him feel better. He said that would be gay but frankly, I don’t see how. Ungrateful homophobic bastard if you ask me.
Q. Why do you and BQB spoon?
A. Partially due to the fact that there’s only one bed and it is very small. Partially because the furnace in the Random Motel has been broken for twenty years. Rumor has it that when Mr. Der Beek left, the Random Motel’s owner smashed the furnace to pieces whilst shouting, “This place will never get any hotter now that James Van Der Beek has left!”
Q. Are you sure the owner did that? Kind of sounds like something you would do.
A. No comment.
Q. Where does the yeti sleep?
A. On the floor. He makes for a fine throw rug. Occasionally I put a blonde wig on him and recreate my glory days, or rather, the glorious day when I delivered a sandwich to James Van Der Beek.
Q. Do you have anything else to say?
A. Yes. “I don’t want to wait…for my life to be over…until you realize that I’m more famous in East Randomtown than BQB…” Oh James Van Der Beek, you are a national treasure.