Tag Archives: funny

Mar 14 2017
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Things That Really Frost My Ass

Things That Really Frost My Ass – The Beach, Defective Pistachios, Itches In Bad Places

By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hello degenerate 3.5 readers.

Still working on your writing careers I see?  Good for you.  You know, I just wrote a poem.  Let me know what you think:

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Get your ass a job at the salt mines.

Yes, I’m talking to you.

Ah, but we all know you won’t.  That’s ok.  Just keep being a major disappointment to your parents.  I don’t have time to complain about your lack of a work ethic anyway, because I have the following complaints instead:

#1 – The Beach 

Do you know some slack jawed buffoon who, every summer, walks around like a schmuck saying, “I love the beach!”  Well, do the world a favor and slap that idiot about eighty or ninety times in the face with a wet noodle, will ya?

Holy crap sandwich, how I hate the beach.  It’s hot.  It smells.  It’s filled with assholes who are just sitting around like a bunch of fat, bloated iguanas, splayed out under the hot sun burning themselves to a crisp because they think getting tan will somehow make them look better.  I’m sorry, but tanning doesn’t remove ugly.  If you were ugly before, you’ll be ugly after.

Here’s an important quote to remember:

“Well, I thought you were ugly before but now I really want to have sex with you now that you sat out on the beach and got burnt to a crisp all day like a stupid dumbass.”

– Literally No One Ever

And who wants to swim in the open ocean anyway?  Really.  Who wants to put their bare feet down in sand they can’t see.  Sand filled with God only knows what.  Used hypodermic needles.  Pinchy crabs.  Snappy lobsters.  Sea lice.  Sea cucumbers.  Sea horses.  Whale shit.  Narwhal boogers.  Seal urine.  Chopped up pieces of mobsters who turned stool pigeon.  The ocean is one giant, disgusting shit stew and you don’t want to be one of those morons who jumps into it, trust me.

Nothing good ever happened at the beach and nothing ever will.

#2 – Having An Itchy Butt Hole

You ever get a real deep itch, about twenty thousand leagues below the surface of your butt crack?  Damn, those itches get in there deep.  And let’s face it.  There’s no way to get rid of it other than to take out your pointer finger and point it straight up the deepest, darkest part of your nether regions.

The thing I want to know is why is it not socially acceptable to do this in public?  I mean, seriously people, it’s 2017 for crying out loud.  Itches are a normal bodily function and a man ought to be able to scratch himself wherever, and whenever, the mood to scratch strikes.

By the way, I’m no sexist.  Women ought to be allowed to scratch their lady business whenever and wherever they want too.  That’s right.  Your old Uncle Hardass is a virtual Gloria Steinem.

#3 – Defective Pistachios

Kids, I love a good bag of pistachios.  They’re the best food because you work up a sweat eating them, what with having to break them open and throw away the shells and all.  But I hate it when I get a shell that won’t open.  Sometimes the shell completely covers the pistachio and there’s no way to open it.  Or, sometimes there’s like a little tiny opening but I can’t get in there.  (Ahem.  That’s what she said.  I hear you kids like that joke, so there you go.)

I always collect all of the defective pistachios, put them in a plastic cup, then take them back to the store and demand a refund equal to the amount of pistachios I was not able to eat.  I mean, I’m not a greedy son of a bitch.  I don’t want the full cost of the bag.  I did eat most of them, after all.  I just don’t think I should be charged for defective nuts.  This isn’t Communist Russia, after all.  If people have to keep paying for unbreakable nuts then it’s like we lost the war.

#4 – That I Still Have to Buy Batteries and Keep Them Around

I’m old as shit and even I think this is ridiculous.  Why can’t everything, from my TV remote control to that automatic dildo my ex-wife Gertie left behind that I swear I do not use whatsoever, just be plugged into the wall and charged?

Maybe it’s because…

#5 – Charging Cables Are Either Lost or They End Up Tied Up Together Like Spaghetti.

I swear, these technology companies make a mint off the fact that I’m a doddering old bastard who can’t keep track of his charging cords, so I have to constantly buy new ones.  Plus, if I throw them in a drawer in an effort to keep them safe, they end up looking as if a bunch of gnomes snuck into the drawer and tied them all together.  “WTF?” as the whippersnappers say.

CONCLUSION

Those are the five complaints on my mind lately, 3.5 dummies.  If you have anything that frosts your ass, leave it in the comments, or better yet, get a job and stop sponging off the system, you lousy layabouts.

 

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Mar 13 2017
3 Comments
top ten lists

Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Mime

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Ah, mimery.  Truly, the worst of all art forms, ranking even lower than bedazzling.

What is a mime anyway?  A mime is a French clown except without the horn to honk, or the balloon animals or the big red nose.  He’s just quiet and just pretends to do whatever he is doing rather than actually do it, kind of like how I pretend to write a professional blog.

Could you be dating a mime?  From BQB HQ in fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Mime:

#10 – Wins all fights by pretending to be trapped inside an invisible box.  If you demand that he comes out to face you, he just pounds on the air as if it is a barrier.  If you yell at him, he just points to his ear and acts confused, like he can’t hear you.

#9 – Plays on your sympathies by putting his hands up to his eyes and pretending like he’s crying.

#8 – So much white pancake makeup left on the pillow.

#7 – Draws happy and/or sad faces over his face to reflect his mood.

#6 – Broke character once and said something.  Report him to the International Association of Mime Standards.

#5 – You think he goes to work everyday, but he just stands in the middle of the living room, pretending to bang an invisible nail into an invisible board with an invisible hammer.

#4 – He got in a fight with invisible muggers once.  He tried to protect himself.  He pretended to put up his dukes, but ended up getting his ass kicked by an invisible foot.

#3 – He’s cheap to feed.  He just sits at the table and pretends to eat an invisible meal with invisible cutlery.

#2 – Acts surprised over everything, usually by opening his eyes and mouth wide.

#1 – You came home early one day and caught him in bed humping the air.  You are now baffled.  I mean, he was humping the air, so there was nothing there, but then again, if he is a mime, and he was pretending to hump an invisible woman, then he was totally cheating on you.  Mimes are such jerks.

 

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Mar 12 2017
1 Comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 4

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“Unggggghhh…”

Chad moaned and groaned as Britney and Paul rolled him over.

“Do you feel any better?” Britney asked.

Chad responded with a deep, baritone belch. “BRAAAAP!”

The music had been cut. No one was dancing anymore. Everyone stood around, staring at the scene that was unfolding before their eyes.

Paul locked his arms underneath Chad’s armpits and helped his pal stand up. “Come on, man. You gotta walk it off.”

Beads of sweat dripped from Chad’s forehead. He looked dizzy. His knees wobbled. It became clear Paul wouldn’t be able to hold the patient by himself, so Britney inserted herself underneath Chad’s right arm, while Paul took the left.

“I love you guys so much,” Chad said in the midst of a stupor. “Really. I don’t say that enough.”

Paul patted Chad on the back. “I love you too, buddy.”

Chad looked to Britney, eagerly waiting for a response.

“Only as friends,” Britney said.

“Aww,” Chad lamented.

“We’re never getting back together, Chad,” Britney said.

“Aww, but baby…”

Chad’s protestations were interrupted by a loud stomach gurgle, followed by an unceremonious hurl all over the dance floor.

“Oh God,” Chad said as he came up for air and wiped chunks of his lunch off of his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “Guess there was an aftershock.”

“Come on,” Britney said. “We need to get you to a…”

Almost as if on cue, a foghorn style gas explosion bursted out of Chad’s rear end. The smell was followed by a terrible sight. Britney’s jaw dropped as she noticed the backside Chad’s once pristine blue jeans had turned a disgusting shade of brown.

“…bathroom!” Britney shouted.

Chad went delirious. His head slumped to one side. He could barely keep his eyes open. “Chaddy wants sleepy.”

“No,” Britney said as she and Paul maneuvered Chad through the packed frat house. “No sleepy for Chad now.”

“Move it!” Chad shouted. “Out of the way, people! We’ve got a sick man, here!”

As the trio approached the bathroom, they found a long line that was at least twenty five people deep.

“Outta the way!” Paul shouted.

A horrendously dressed hipster, complete with an obnoxious fedora, sweater vest, dirt beard and Buddy Holly glasses stood at the back of the line. He flipped when he saw Chad being hurried past everyone who was waiting.

“Hey!” the hipster shouted as he pulled a pair of earbuds out of his ear. “You can’t just cut everyone!”

“Back off, you Justin Timberlake wannabe bitch!” Britney shouted.

“No!” the hipster cried. “I’ve been standing in this line for an hour!”

“Look,” Paul said. “I’ve got a dude that’s blowing up here. Just shut up and listen to your boy band.”

The hipster pushed the pause button on his phone’s music player. “It’s post developmental fifth wave funk with just a dab of East European experimental tribal ska, I’ll have you know.”

Chad burped and farted at the same time. “The Spazenbrau wants out!” Chad shouted. “Oh for the love of God and all things holy, the Spazenbrau wants out!”

“Mother of God!” Paul cried. “It’s coming out of both ends!”

“Why is this line so long?” Britney asked.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but I totes heard a rumor that Jeff Bixby is totally finger banging Sarah Leominster in there,” the hipster said.

Britney rolled her eyes. “Come on. We need to find another bathroom.”

“Hey man,” Paul said to the hipster. “Do you know where the nearest bathroom is?”

The hipster pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. “I do know of many other bathrooms, but I doubt you have ever heard of them.”

“BLEAAAAHHH!” Chad projectile vomited all over the hipster’s face, coating the ultra trendy weirdo with a heaping helping of sticky goo.

The trio took off, but a Goth girl all in black stopped by to offer the hipster a napkin.

“Thanks,” the hipster said as he wiped off his glasses.

“No problem,” the Goth girl replied. “Looks like you got blasted pretty good there.”

“Yeah,” the hipster said. “Say, do you want to get a locally sourced, gluten free, artisanal vegan scone at a co-op owned cafe sometime?”

“I would,” the Goth girl said. “But I am already promised to Azaglotz, Dark Lord of the Sadistic Realm.”

The hipster popped in his ear buds and unpaused his music. “Damn it. The hot ones are always taken.”

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Mar 12 2017
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Toilet Gator

Three Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Welcome back to Toilet Gator Sundays, truly the best feature of any blog out there.  Does the Huffington Post have Toilet Gator Sundays?  I think not.

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Mar 11 2017
3 Comments
Tomfoolery

I Have Fought Many Gremlins

You know, 3.5 readers.  I have fought many monsters in my day.  At some point, I shall have to delve deeper into this subject, for it isn’t often that a monster fighter of my expertise and acumen is willing to talk to the public, even if his public consists of a paltry sum of 3.5 readers.

At any rate, yes, I speak mostly about my archenemy, The Yeti, and also zombies as these foes have given me the most trouble as of late, but in truth, I have fought many gremlins.

Let me tell you.  These guys are total butt monkeys.  They’re much smaller than as portrayed in the infamous 1980s movie.  Also, they’re very profane.  They swear like sailors, consume copious amount of alcohol and I’m pretty sure I caught one of them snorting a line of coke once.

I’m not entirely sure but I stepped out of the bathroom one night to find this little schmuck on top of my coffee table, white powder all over the table, a rolled up dollar bill pointed between the substance and his nose.  The dollar bill was taller than he was.

They’re nasty little twerps, let me tell you.  They have sharp teeth so you don’t want to get your fingers anywhere near them.  The good news is that you can easily suck them up in your dust buster.  In fact, if you want to be humane and do a catch and release, you can suck them up in your dust buster, then drive to a wooded area and empty your dust buster’s dust bin.

Personally, I don’t have time for that shit so I just drop them in the toilet and flush.  Don’t worry.  They can breathe underwater…I think.  Actually, now that I think of it, I might have made that up.  Oh well.  The important part is that I am not inconvenienced.

 

 

 

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Mar 09 2017
7 Comments
Tomfoolery

Hey 3.5 Readers…

…just saying hello.  I don’t have much in the way of excitement to share today.  What are all 3.5 of you up to?

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Mar 08 2017
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Tomfoolery

I Have Fought Many Chupacabras

Hey 3.5 readers.

You know, I’ve fought plenty of monsters in my day.  Zombies.  Werewolves.  Yetis and so on.  I feel like I have been remiss in bragging about the chupacabras that I have fought.

Have you ever seen one?  They’re creepy little suckers with giant pointy teeth that they use to suck the skin off of a goat.  I’m totally serious.  Like, if you’re a goat herder, and you come out one morning and find nothing but a bunch of goat skeletons on your farm, then you’ve been hit by a chupacabra.

They’re pretty easy to defeat if you know how to use nunchucks as well as I do, but they aren’t pleasant to look at, at all.

3.5 READERS: BQB, should we be concerned about chupacabra attacks?

Not unless you are a goat or if you know a goat you love enough to get in the chupacabra’s way.  Chupacabras love goat meat and they’ll suck the flesh off of anyone that comes between them and a goat.

So to recap, a) don’t own a goat b) if you do own a goat but don’t love your goat, then let an attacking chupacabra eat it or c) if you do own a goat and you love the goat, then become skilled with nunchucks.

Chupacabras hate nunchuks.

Thank you for listening to this monster related advice, 3.5 readers.

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Mar 06 2017
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Video Game Rack Fighter

Video Game Rack Fighter Lives!!! (Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be a Crazy Cat Lady

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.  The illustrious Video Game Rack Fighter has taken a rare break from playing Car Thief Mayhem to read one of my infamous top ten lists.  A big step for her to go public with a video for as you know, the inhabitants of Bookshelf Q. Battler Headquarters are usually much too busy fighting for truth, justice, against evil and for hilarious jokes or at the very least, jokes that I find funny because at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here’s Video Game Rack Fighter (and furry friend) to give you the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be a Crazy Cat Lady:

3.5 READERS: BQB, that looks a lot like the spokesperson you hired last week to sing your blog’s praises.

That’s a ludicrous accusation, 3.5 readers.  Stayingvintage is way too busy fielding spokesperson requests on Fiverr.com to bother with my trivial tomfoolery.

Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be a Crazy Cat Lady

#10 – Wherever she goes and whatever she sets out to do, she never fails to come home with an extra cat. Trip to the store for milk? New cat. Dentist appointment? New cat. Went to the movies? New cat. Westminster Dog Show? New cat.

#9 – No matter what you do in the house, you run the risk of a cat falling and landing on your head. Open the cupboard for your breakfast cereal? Cat lands on your head. Open the closet to change your shirt? Cat lands on your head. Open the desk drawer to find a pen? A cat jumps into the air then lands on your head.

#8 – You went to the doctor for a bad cough. X-rays indicate your lungs are 90% cat hair.

#7 – You buy those pet hair rollers with extra stickiness by the case.

#6- You’ve become skilled at the 10-K hairball barf dash. Whenever you hear a cat making barf sounds, you automatically pick it up and run it outside before it can puke all over the rug.

#5 – What am I saying? Your girlfriend is a crazy cat lady. You gave up on the rug years ago. That rug is 5% carpet fiber and 95% puke now.

#4 – You have enough litter boxes in the basement to create your own desert.

#3 – And for some reason, even though your girlfriend was the one who wanted all the cats in the first place, you’re the one who is always cleaning up the litter boxes because…I don’t know…women’s rights or something.

#2 – The cats take turns sleeping on your face. Your girlfriend says its because the cats love you but you’re pretty sure they’re just trying to use their pillow like bodies to smother you in their sleep.

#1 – You heard that President Trump was interested in grabbing pussies so you’re sitting by your phone, waiting for that call from the White House, hoping that he’ll stop by and grab all of yours…because you can’t stand living with so many cats anymore!

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Mar 05 2017
1 Comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 3

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Sitwell Community College

Sitwell, Florida

10 p.m.

Sitwell Community College wasn’t known for academic accomplishment, or successful alumni, or even for getting basic knowledge into the heads of its students. It was, however, known for raging keggers, provided courtesy of Lambda Pi Delta, the fraternity that owned the rowdiest off-campus party house.

For the past decade, those soirees had been carried out by perpetual student Chad Becker, a long, flaxen haired hunk who never bothered to wear anything other than a loosely tied bathrobe and worn, leather sandals.

While Chad addressed the crowd of drunken degenerates, his frat brother Paul, a young, gangly looking dweeb, inserted a plastic tube into a funnel.

“Fellow Deltas,” Chad said. “I dedicate this next chug to the good people of Syria. May those vile Dakotans stop trying to build a pipeline through their lands once and for all so that Bernie Sanders can focus on his bid to become the president of Afghanistan.”

“You really need to pay more attention to the news, Chad,” Paul said as he cracked open a forty ounce tall boy.

Chad burped, then with slurred speech, stammered out a weak reply. “You really need to pay attention to your face. Because it’s ugly.”

Britney, a fake blond with one inch black roots, stumbled through the crowd on high heels that she was not comfortable walking on in any way whatsoever. Her press on nails may have been fake, but her concern was genuine.

“Chad,” Britney said. “You need to stop.”

“No,” Chad said. “You are the one who needs to stop.”

“Babe,” Britney said. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“College is for drinking, sugar tits,” Chad said before releasing a loud belch.

“This is just his sixth one,” Paul said as he picked up a tall boy.

Britney snatched the giant can out of the geek’s hand. “Spazenbrau? Are you shitting me, Paul? You let him drink six of these?”

Somewhere in the back of the frat house, a DJ got on his mic. “Lambda Pi Delta! Are you having a good time?”

The DJ’s question was met with a deafening chorus of “yeaah!” and “yoo!”

“I can’t hear you!” the DJ said.

The hoots and hollers grew louder.

“My main man Chad Becker is in the back chugging brews in the name of various social causes so you’re going to want to check that out. When the hell are you going to graduate, Chad? You’ve been going to a two-year community college since the Bush administration!”

“Never!” Chad shouted. “Party time for Chad forever! Woo!”

“Now it’s time to get down with a little Stank Daddy,” the DJ said. “Y’all need to get your dance on for Stank’s new single, Smack a Bitch.”

Britney persisted in shouting questions to Paul, who just shrugged his shoulders because he couldn’t hear anything over the blaring rap music lyrics:

Stank Daddy in Da House Gonna Smack a Bitch,
Bust Her Head with a Tire Iron, Leave her ass in a ditch.
Stank Daddy on the scene gonna make some greens.
Gonna smack a bitch until her ass starts to scream.

Gretchen and Eleanor, the two most notorious feminists on campus, sauntered past Chad, Paul and Britney and found a spot on the dance floor to boogie down.

“Should we be dancing to this?” Martha shouted. “It seems awfully chauvinistic.”

“No!” Gretchen shouted back. “Stank Daddy isn’t using the word ‘bitch’ to describe a woman, but rather as an insult to all of the various societal forces that are trying to keep him down.”

The rap continued…

Talkin ‘bout them phat ass bitches with them big ass titties.
Stank Daddy gonna chop ‘em up and bury ‘em under seven different cities.
Smack a bitch yo, smack a bitch yo, if you is a bitch you don’t pass go.

Britney got right up in Paul’s ear and screamed. “Why did you let him drink six of those?”

“He only drank five!” Paul shouted back.

“It doesn’t matter!” Britney cried. “Each can is a forty ounce! A regular beer is like twelve ounces so you basically let him drink sixteen beers!”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Britney,” Paul cried. “You take one math class and you think you know everything!”

Britney carried on. “And it’s a beer slash energy drink. So now you’ve got him drunk out of his mind and all cranked up at the same time!”

“Chaddy wants his drinky poo!” Chad shouted. “Paul, you son of a bitch, you beer me right now!”

Paul stuck the other end of the plastic tube in Chad’s mouth.

“Don’t you do it,” Britney hollered as she wagged a finger in Paul’s face.

“I’m powerless, here!” Paul yelled. “I’m the frat’s Beer Meister. If a brother asks for beer, he gets beer.”

“Cut him off!” Britney shouted.

“I’m sorry,” Paul cried as he cracked open the tall boy. “But I can’t allow anything to interfere with my sacred duty! I took an oath!”

Elsewhere on the dance floor, Gretchen and Eleanor were getting their groove on.

“I’m still not so sure about this song,” Gretchen shouted.

“Will you relax?” Eleanor shouted back. “This song has nothing to do with misogyny. Try to stay woke, babe.”

Stank Daddy’s lyrics filled the room:

Aw yeah I’m talkin’ ‘bout smackin’ up a bitch with a big ass vagina.
Knock her out with a baseball bat, nothin’ could be fine-ah.

Eleanor put her arms around Gretchen’s waist and the pair began to sway back and forth together.

“You know what we should do?!” Eleanor shouted.

“What?!” Gretchen yelled.

“We should totally go back to the sorority house and scissor the crap out of each other as a big F-U to the patriarchy,” Eleanor hollered.

“But will the patriarchy even now?” Gretchen screamed.

“The patriarchy knows everything,” Eleanor yelled as she took Gretchen’s hand and led her off the dance floor.

“OK,” Gretchen shouted. “But I have to tinkle first!”

Meanwhile, a group of looky lous assembled to watch Chad destroy his body. Stank Daddy’s jam died down and the DJ brought the music to a normal volume.

“Chug, chug, chug!!!” the crowd cried as Paul poured the Spazenbrau down the funnel and into Chad’s hatch.

Thirty seconds later, Paul crushed the beer can in his hand. “Empty!”

“Wooo!” cried the onlookers.

Chad stood up, surveyed his adoring fans, then released a giant burp.

“One more for the Chadinator!” Chad shouted to uproarious applause.

“Holy shit baby,” Britney said. “Are you ok?”

“Of course, foxy mama,” Chad said. “I’ve never felt…”

Slam! Chad collapsed to the ground.

“Oh my God!” Britney screamed as she dropped to her knees and slapped Chad in the face. “Baby! Babe, wake up!”

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Mar 05 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator Sundays Continue…

Getting bitten on the butt by a toilet gator is hazardous to your health.

But don’t take my word for it.  Here’s a doctor to fill you in…

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