Tag Archives: funny

POLL- Should BQB and the Gang Save Blandie?

Bookshelf Q. Battler:  No!  We’ve got a great set-up here in Price Town!  Free food, supplies, and a gate that’s keeping the zombies at bay!  Plus, she made this face at me for as long as I knew her:

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VIDEO GAME RACK FIGHTER: Yes!  She’s still a person and I’ll never live with myself knowing I could have prevented her from being eaten by ravenous zombies, even if she and BQB used to get jiggy with it.

WHAT SAY YOU, 3.5 READERS?

SAVE BLANDIE OR LET HER BECOME ZOMBIE CHOW? 

CAST YOUR VOTES IN THE COMMENTS!

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 7

October 7, 2015

It was mid-afternoon and a bit of light streamed in through the store’s front windows. I felt at ease during the day. It was night time I had to worry about. The pitch black night when VGRF, my alien and I huddled together back to back, fearful that a vicious zombie might be inches away from our faces and we wouldn’t even know it.

“Ahh let’s see,” I said as I stared at Alien Jones’ space phone. “Couple new followers. A few new comments. Some dude is trying to post a spam comment about Venezuelan jock itch powder.”

Sir Spamsalot says: 8:01 A.M. Oct 2, 2015

I am to be enjoying your fine bloggings with the writings and the words of much importance and interest to the readers of the world who care very much about jock itch powder for the curing of the itching of the jock…”

“Delete!”  I said as I punched a button on the space phone.  “I’ll never allow me 3.5 readers to be sold inferior jock itch powder!”

“I can’t believe you’re worried about your dumb blog at a time like this,” VGRF said.

“I’m past the point of no return in my one post a day for a year challenge,” I said. “I promised my 3.5 readers one post of BQB goodness every day in 2015 and by God, I’m not about to quit now, come hell, high-water, or zombies!”

I scrolled through my WordPress dashboard.

“Jeeze,” I said. “I’m really behind in responding to these comments…whoa!”

“What?” VGRF asked.

“Check this out.”

My ex-girlfriend, Bland Life Settler, or “Blandie” as I called her, had posted a comment on the Bookshelf Battle Blog a few days earlier, long before the power went out:

Blandie Settler says: 9:45 P.M. October 3, 2015

BQB, you ass! You’re really updating your blog right now? You know I work at Hipster Hut and yet it never once dawned on you to check on me to see if I’m ok! I’ve barricaded myself in the backroom behind the checkout counter. Get your stupid ass over here and save me or I’ll tell every last one of your 3.5 readers about your tiny…

Huh. I don’t know what happened. The rest of the comment must have been cut off.

“Blandie works in the mall?”  VGRF asked.

“Same job since high school,” I said. “Blandie likes things to be predictable and boring, whereas I prefer to try new things. It was one of the main reasons why she dumped me.”

Alien Jones sauntered in, noshing on a club sandwich he’d made himself from various ingredients he’d swiped from the deli. I don’t think it mattered to him that everything had spoiled due to a lack of electricity.

“That and your tiny…”

I cut the Esteemed Brainy One off.

“Yeah, I can’t think of any other reason why she left,”  I said.

“She also disparaged your interest in a writing career,” Alien Jones said. “Caused you to quit on your dream and take a lame job as the Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice President of Corporate Assistance at Beige Corp, the world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories.”

“God,” I said. “I haven’t even checked in with my boss since last week.”

“Don’t worry,” Alien Jones said. “He’s probably zombie poop by now.”

“Poor Mr. Thompson,” I said.

I’d always thought I had the most boring job known to man, until I met Video Game Rack Fighter and learned that she was the Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice President for Corporate Assistance at Drying Paint Media, the world’s premiere production studio for drying paint videos.

I knew it was kismet because we’ve both long regretted not following our dreams, mine of becoming a writer, hers of designing video games, so now we support each other and pursue our passions in our spare time.

“Blandie made this post four days ago,” I said. “Wow, I hope she’s ok.”

“Why?” VGRF asked. “You’ve still got the hots for that bimbo or something?”

“What? No.”

The photo of Blandie that BQB kept. She literally made this face at our hero at all times throughout the tenure of their relationship.

The photo of Blandie that BQB kept. She literally made this face at our hero at all times throughout the tenure of their relationship.

“He didn’t throw away the photo of her when you moved in to BQB HQ,” Alien Jones said to VGRF.

That little green rat.

VGRF looked hurt.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t throw her photo away. I don’t have any feelings for her anymore. It’s just, we were together a long time. Somehow it didn’t seem right to throw her out with the trash.”

“As she did with you,” Alien Jones said.

Zing.

“It’s ok,” VGRF said. “I get it. I might have a photo hanging around of my ex too.”

“What the shit?!”  I yelled. “You need to burn that shit immediately!”

VGRF was pissed at that response.

“Um, I mean, ok, so we’ve both come to an agreement that it’s possible to wish an ex well and not still be in love with them. And you know what? Screw Blandie. If she needs to be rescued from brain chomping bastards then she should have thought about that before she let this prime side of beef go.”

“No,” VGRF said.

“No?”

“No,” VGRF repeated. “She’s still a human being.”

“I can tell you some stories that would change your mind about that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” VGRF said. “She’s a person. Whether it’s your ex or some random stranger, I’ll never be able to live with myself knowing someone was eaten alive by zombies and I could have done something to stop it.”

“Babe, no,” I said. “We’ve got a good set up here. We’ve got the whole run of a store full of supplies. The hall is full of undead beasts ready to sink their teeth into us. No. Absolutely not. We’re staying put.”

“If you don’t go, then I’ll go on my own,” VGRF said. “If we let Blandie die, then we’re no better than the monsters we’re hiding from.”

I was quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go by myself. I won’t allow you to die for her.”

I felt my heart racing. VGRF’s cheeks looked a little flush as well.

She slapped me across the face.

“Damn it, man! Where you go, I go. I’ll never abandon you and that’s the last I’ll hear of it!”

Alien Jones sucked on a straw attached to a two liter bottle of soda and watched us like he was at a movie theater and we were the coming attractions.

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I brushed my hand over the spot on my cheek where VGRF slapped me.

“I love it when you play rough, baby.”

I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the danger. The possibility that we were considering a mission that could get us both killed, but our engines were at full throttle.

“Yeah, you like that?” VGRF asked as she ripped my shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere. “Then take me right here, right now you sexy bitch!”

“All right I’m out,” Alien Jones said as he walked off toward the deli. “I wonder if there’s any pastrami.”

VGRF pressed her lips against mine, pushed her tongue inside my mouth and gave me the longest, most passionate kiss we’d ever exchanged in our entire relationship.

“MMmph, baby,” I said as I pulled my head back. “Hang on. I need to call someone.”

“Are you kidding me?!”

BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND VIDEO GAME RACK FIGHTER, USUALLY LIKE THIS:

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NOW LIKE THIS:

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THANKS, ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!

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This Excerpt From BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal Brought to By Beige Corp!

BEIGE CORP!

Beige

Beige

Yes, Beige Corp!  The world’s premiere producer of beige products and accessories is a proud sponsor of the Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal.

“We were devastated to learn of a zombie attack in East Randomtown, mostly because that’s where our headquarters is located, and its going to cost an ass-ton of cash to have it fumigate,” said Lawrence Mortimer, Beige Corp CEO.  “Oh, and also we’re very worried about our dear, dear employees.  They are truly the life’s blood of our drab empire.”

Mr. Mortimer noted that despite of the loss of the East Randomtown HQ, beige products and accessories production will continue via new plants in China, India, and Thailand.

“Fear not, loyal beige loving customers, our third world sweat shops will be set up in no time!  Did I say ‘third world sweat shops?’  Whoops! I meant to say ‘developing nation economic advancement centers!'”

BEIGE!  It’s the color you wear when you don’t want to say anything about yourself whatsoever.

Have you lived a pristine enough life to pull off white?  I don’t think so.

Are you enough of a badass outlaw to walk around in all black?  Johnny Cash knows you haven’t.

BEIGE!

Just look at these fine Beige Corp employees, hard at work, producing beige products and accessories for the beige loving masses.

Or, at least they were before our headquarters was overrun by the gruesome undead.  Where ever you are, East Randomtown employees, we’re thinking about you.

But thinking is all we’re going to do because holy shit, we aren’t fighting any damn zombies.

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Ted Becker, Accounting – Feared dead or zombified.

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Judy Masters, Call Center Operator – Most likely was too bored to fend off a zombie attack.

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Eduardo Ricardo Papageorgio Von Finkelstein, aka Bookshelf Q. Battler, Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice-President for Corporate Assistance – Currently fighting for his life in the East Randomtown Mall.

To BQB and the rest of our employees in East Randomtown, know that your bosses are keeping you in their thoughts and prayers, far far away from that shit hole you call a town, which let’s face it, didn’t even look that great before the zombie apocalypse.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 6

October 6, 2015shutterstock_133662827 copy

I was half-asleep, unsure of what time it was.  The only glimpse of light came when Alien Jones opened his glow in the dark eyes or when VGRF moved around while holding the space phone.

She had it on speaker.

“Hello!” came an automated message.  “You have reached the Pentagon!  If you are a terrorist, please stay on the line and an operator will be on shortly to take your location so we can blow you up and shit.”

“Ugh,”  VGRF said.  “You can never get a real person on the line anymore.”

“You’re being silly, babe,”  I said.  “You really think the Army is going to bother to help us?  All they’re going to do is keep the town under containment.  They’re not going to send a unit into an area teaming with zombies just to save a few people.”

“Oh please,”  VGRF said.  “You just want to keep this insanity going so you can up the hits on your precious blog.”

“VGRF!  How dare you imply I’d ever do such a thing?”

(I was totally doing such a thing.  10.5 readers, here I come!)

“This is a rare occasion where I concur with BQB,”  Alien Jones said.  “I’d prefer to keep the government out of this as much as possible.  One look at me and they’ll cart me off to Area 51.”

“Area 51’s real?”  VGRF asked.

“I’ve said too much,” Alien Jones answered.

The Esteemed Brainy One

The Esteemed Brainy One

“Grab another hat and some sunglasses and we’ll tell them you’re our kid,”  VGRF said.  “Or you can just poof yourself out of here.”

Alien Jones did have the ability to teleport himself away at any second.  It was a true sign of his support that he didn’t do just that and leave the rest of us hanging.

The Pentagon’s automated voice message system was back.

“If you are a United States citizen under attack, press one now!”

VGRF pressed one.

“Please state the nature of the attack.”

“Zombies.”

“I heard, ‘Taylor Swift wielding a club!’  If that’s correct, please press one.  If incorrect, press two.”

“How could this machine have possibly gotten that out of ‘zombies?'”  VGRF asked as she pressed two.

“Machines screw with humans all the time,”  Alien Jones said.  “They test your patience and take notes regarding your responses for the purposes of planning their inevitable takeover.  Same thing happened to the Moloklaxons.”

“Please state the nature of the attack again.”

“Zombies!  We’re being attacked by zombies!”

“I heard, ‘Rob Lowe is ordering a chicken to peck your eyes out!’  If that is correct, press one…”

“ARRRRGGGGH!!”

It was a VGRF’s turn to flip out.

“Just hang up,”  I said.  “Leave it to the zombie authors.  They’ll get us through this.  The government will just screw everything up.”

“Please state the nature of the attack again…”

“Operator!”  VGRF said.  “I want to talk to a person.”

“You have requested to speak to an operator.  Please hold.”

Elevator muzak.

“It’s catchy,”  Alien Jones said.

“You do realize Dr. Hugo did this on purpose, don’t you?”  VGRF asked me.

Dr. Hugo Von Science - incompetent hack, or cunning mad scientist hell bent on world domination?

Dr. Hugo Von Science – incompetent hack, or cunning mad scientist hell bent on world domination?

“What?”

“He’s always been bitter that scientists aren’t as beloved as celebrities,”  VGRF said.  “He turned those reality TV stars into monsters to start an apocalypse and spread chaos.”

“Get out of here,”  I said.  “Dr. Hugo’s just a tad scatterbrained.  So he didn’t adjust his invention properly.  Cut the guy some slack.  Sure, he might be borderline incompetent but he means well and he’d never do anything like this on purpose.”

“That’s just his schtick,”  VGRF said.  “He knows exactly what he’s doing.  Haven’t you read his columns?”

“Not really.”

“They’re on YOUR blog.  You should be reading everything on it.  Dr. Hugo is always listing his inventions, then ‘accidentally’ mentioning one invention that sounds like it could be used to take over the world.”

“Listen,”  I said.  “I get you’re upset, but I can’t sit back and allow you to tarnish the good name of the great Dr. Hugo Von Science.”

“She’s right,”  Alien Jones said.

“Excuse me?”  I asked.

“Video Game Rack Fighter is astute in her assessment,”  Alien Jones said.  “I read Dr. Hugo’s mind during the demonstration.  He fully intended to start a zombie apocalypse.  He plans to blackmail the government into turning over a hundred billion dollars in exchange for the zombie cure.”

“There’s a zombie cure?”  I asked.

“There’s a cure for everything,”  Alien Jones said.  “Had your human scientists spent less time developing erection medication and more time on other inflictions, they’d of realized this long ago.”

“AJ,”  I said.  “I’ve never believed that you can read minds.  I’m calling BS on that one.”

“VGRF is disgusted by the amount of time you spend on “Buttstravaganza.com” every day,”  Alien Jones said.

I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

“That’s…that’s absurd…I’ve never…”

VGRF confirmed it.

“All I’m saying is you’d think that when an intergalactic despot is threatening to take over the world if your writing career doesn’t take off, you might spend less time on the ‘Butt of the Day’ and more time on your novel.  Or at least respect me enough to erase your browser history!”

“That’s…that’s inconclusive,”  I said to AJ.  “That could be anyone looking at those butts.  You just guessed that.”

“You despise it when Video Game Rack Fighter clips her toe nails in the living room,”  Alien Jones said.

VGRF glared at me.

“Wrong,”  I said.  “There is absolutely nothing that this enchantress could ever do to upset me and OH MY GOD yes it’s so disgusting!”

“BQB!”  VGRF shouted.

“If you won’t do it in the bathroom like a normal person, would it kill you to at least do it over a trash can?  Meet me half-way here, woman!”

“I always pick them all up!”

“You THINK you pick them all up but then I always step on one.  And it’s usually the big toenail, the friggin’ big daddy of them all!”

“Humans, please,”  Alien Jones said.  “It was not my intention to cause turmoil in your relationship.  I simply needed to prove my mind reading capabilities so as to make it clear to you that Dr. Hugo was indeed the culprit in this sordid affair.”

“I can’t believe this,”  I said.  “Dr. Hugo Von Science.  My mentor.  The greatest scientific mind the world has ever known.  A columnist on my website a wanton criminal.”

“I’m sorry I had to be the one to break it to you,”  VGRF said.

“I have no idea who to trust now,”  I said.

“Pentagon Operator, how may I direct your call?”

“Hello,”  VGRF said.  “My friends and I are trapped in the middle of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.”

“Ma’am, it is a serious offense to file a false report with the Federal government…”

“Does this sound false to you?”  VGRF asked as she walked closer to the gate so that the phone would pick up all the zombie snarls and growls.

“Hold on,”  the operator said.

We waited a few minutes.

You're stuck in the middle of what now?

You’re stuck in the middle of what now?

“Ma’am, I’m told we’ve set up a special hotline for all reports stemming from the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.  If you give me your number I’ll text it to you.”

“Oh for the love of…fine!”

VGRF made the same mistake I did, trying to read Alien Jones’ phone number off the screen.

“I think there’s three pyramids…”

She covered the receiver and showed the screen to Alien Jones.

“Is that a cat with a syringe?”

“It’s the sign of the Omnosphar Contingent,”  Alien Jones said.  “But that’s no matter.  Hang up, for I have already read the minds of your government’s officials and they have no intention of helping you.”

“Really?”  VGRF asked.

“Really,”  the Esteemed Brainy one said.  “They’ve determined that it is better to quarantine East Randomtown rather than allow any survivors to leave.  It is their hope that the zombies will just devour everyone and then each other until there is no sustenance left and they all die…again.”

VGRF’s face took a depressed turn.  She hanged up the phone.

“We’re doomed.”

“Not necessarily,” Alien Jones said.  “I will do all I can to get this group to safety.  The Mighty Potentate will expect nothing less.”

I grabbed the space phone.

“I need to consult one of the world’s preeminent zombie scholars about this.”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  3.5 readers, you have no idea how many hilarious porn site names I thought up in order to write this post, checked to see if they’re real or not (for research purposes only, of course) only to discover the porn industry has no shame when it comes to using hilarious sounding names.  “Buttstravaganza.com” was the first one I came up with that does not exist, and thus it was used for fictional purposes in the story above.

Future reader of this post,  if somewhere out there, at some date in the future, some pornographers start up a site called “Buttstravaganza.com,” please know it did not exist when I wrote this.

I of course never frequent such horrible sites.  VGRF may be my soulmate, but she’s also a liar, liar pants on fire.  It’s all WordPress and Wall Street Journal for me.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 5

October 5, 2015

The photo Aunt Gertie uses for her various social media accounts, driver's license, passport and annual Christmas card.

The photo Aunt Gertie uses for her various social media accounts, driver’s license, passport and annual Christmas card.

Books. They’re where I turn to for comfort. I use them to get lost and separate myself from the otherwise drab world, made that much drabber thanks to a zombie infestation.

Turns out, Price Town had a good selection of them.

“What are you reading?” VGRF asked.

“Swiss Family Robinson,” I replied. “It’s a classic. Aunt Gertie used to read it to me all the time.”

“Oh my God!” VGRF shouted. “That’s awful.”

“No,” I replied. “It’s really great. It’s got a shipwreck and a monkey and…”

“No,” VGRF said. “Us. We’re awful. We forgot to check on Aunt Gertie.”

Panicked, I reached for the space phone and dialed the old folks home where she resided.

“I can’t believe you,” VGRF said.

“You could have reminded me!”

“She’s your Aunt!”

“But she likes you more!”

After a few rings, I was connected to a recorded message.

“Hello. Thank you for calling the Decrepit Oaks Assisted Living Facility. Our residents put the ‘do’ in ‘can-do.’ No one is available to take your call right now, so please leave a message at the beep.”

What the hell. I gave it a shot.

“BEEP!”

“Hi. This is Bookshelf Q. Battler. My aunt Gertrude Scrambler is one of your can-do residents. I know you’re probably knee deep in the zombie apocalypse right now but if you get a moment, can someone there ask Gertie to give me a call? My number is…it’s uh…”

I looked at the screen. I didn’t recognize any of the alien symbols it was displaying.

“Some kind of triangular thing stabbing a rhombus and I think that might be a pitchfork…no. You know what? Just let her know I called and asked about her and I’ll try back later. Thanks.”

Alien Jones walked by.

“The latest news reports indicate that phone service is out all over town. In fact, it’s believed that it’s only a matter of time before we lose…”

Every light in the store switched off. It was so dark I could only make out the fluorescent glow of Alien Jones’ eyes.

“…power.”

“Jinx,” VGRF said. “BQB, will you give up on this survivalist crap and call the Marines already?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “But first, I need to call…another zombie author.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 4

“The horror. The horror.”

Bernie's starting to become the weak link in our survival group's chain.

Bernie’s starting to become the weak link in our survival group’s chain.

Bernie sat on the cold tile, trying to conceive of the atrocity he’d just committed.

“It’s ok man,” I said as I rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the zombie apocalypse. We’re all bound to do something stupid sooner or later.”

“But look at them all, man!” Bernie said. “I…I can’t believe I did this.”

“I can’t believe he did that either,” VGRF said, surveying the mess.

“Is there a point to making him feel bad about it now?” I asked. “What’s done is done.”

Alien Jones strolled in, nonchalant as usual.

“Gadzooks!  Is anyone going to clean up all these candy bar wrappers?”

“Twenty Crunchtasticks,” Bernie said as he laid back on the floor and grabbed his stomach. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I ate them all.”

“We’re all under a lot of stress,” I said. “You just have to find a way to deal with it by doing something more productive than snarfing down a bunch of candy bars.”

“This isn’t how I wanted my life to be,” Bernie said. “I wanted the Funky Hunks to go double-platinum! I wanted to hang out with Fiddy and Snoop and drive a Bentley and throw hot tub parties with supermodels.”

He leaned up and grabbed my shirt collar.

“So many supermodels! Where are my supermodels, BQB? Where?!”

“Some things just weren’t meant to be,” I said. “Some people get a hot tub full of supermodels. Some people don’t. We live and die by the cards life has dealt us and there’s no use whining about it.”

“But we were on TV!”

It was time for a confrontation that was years in the making.

“For five minutes,” I said. “Fifteen years ago. At four a.m. on World’s Lamest Musicians. When are you going to get over it, Bernie? The Funky Hunks are dead! Deader than those zombies outside the gate that want to kill us! Stop selling oranges and get a job!”

“What?” Bernie asked. “You’re going to make fun of my oranges now? I will have you know that I provide the world with much needed vitamin C. Whenever you don’t have a cold, you can thank me.”

Fun fact: Stank Daddy, the top rapper on today's charts, coined the phrase "Dropping a Funky Hunk" to refer to the production of a lousy rap song. All rappers live in fear of "dropping a Funky Hunk." More often than not, the phrase is interchangeable with, "Dropping a Funky Dump."

Fun fact: Stank Daddy, the top rapper on today’s charts, coined the phrase “Dropping a Funky Hunk” to refer to the production of a lousy rap song. All rappers live in fear of “dropping a Funky Hunk.” The phrase is interchangeable with, “Dropping a Funky Dump.”

“You bum five bucks off of people who feel sorry for you and give them an orange so you can trick that rattle trap you call a brain of yours into thinking you actually DID something,” I said. “Yes, Bernie. We tried something with the Funky Hunks and we failed. Our rap duo was a miserable failure. On the great list of ‘Worst Rappers in History,’ we actually rank BELOW Milli Vanilli even though those guys were caught lip syncing. And you know why? BECAUSE WE SUCKED!”

“I don’t suck! You suck!”

“We totally sucked,” I said. “But you know what? At least we tried. We tried and we failed and that’s more

“You bum five bucks off of people who feel sorry for you and give them an orange so you can trick that than most people ever do. Be honest with yourself. You refuse to try do anything else now because you’re afraid any new path you take will end up in a massive failure of Funky Hunkian proportions, don’t you?”

Bernie stood up and marched toward the gate, which was teaming with hungry undead beasts.

“I don’t have to take this!”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m leaving.”

“You can’t go out there!”

“Watch me. I’d rather be out there with those things than with a poor excuse for a friend like you!”

Bernie’s hand was inches away from slapping the red button that would open the gate.

“Stop!” I said. “You’re going to let them in!”

Various zombies of all races, colors and creeds were rattling the gate, looking at us like we were delicious chicken nuggets.

Alien Jones pointed a finger at Bernie and instantly, my buddy was frozen.

“Holy Crap!” I said. “Did you kill him?”

“He is frozen indefinitely,” Alien Jones said.

“Can you do that to them?” I asked, pointing at the zombies.

“It only works on living organisms.”

“Bernie’s really down in the dumps, huh?” VGRF asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “But since when is there a guarantee that we are all supposed to get the life we want?”

VGRF handed me Alien Jones’ space phone. She’d been reading an e-book. On the cover was a young girl holding a sledgehammer.

“I think the author of this book could help us out with that.”

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#31ZombieAuthors – The Week in Review with Schecky Blargfeld, Zombie Comedian

Meanwhile at the East Randomtown Chuckle Barn…shutterstock_226147114 copy

ANNOUNCER:

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and ghouls, please remain calm!

Yes, East Randomtown has been devastated by a zombie apocalypse, but you know our motto, “the show must go on!”

So pick your hands up off the floor and clap them together for Schecky Biggsfield….wait.  What?  He’s a zombie now?  Oh great.  OK put whatever body parts you have left together for SCHECKY BLARGFELD, ZOMBIE COMEDIAN!

SCHECKY:

Oh stop!  Please, you’re too kind.  Cut it out!  No really, you in the front row, cut out that patch of gangrenous skin out before you keel over and become a zombie like yours truly.

Actually, being a zombie isn’t that bad.  Half the women run from me in terror.  The other half just give up and let me bite them. Come to think of it, Saturday nights aren’t much different for me as a zombie than they were when I was a human.

Take my wife…PLEASE!!  Ha ha but really, she’s turning into a hideous beast (more so than when she was alive even)…someone take her outta here before she eats my entire audience, all 3.5 of them!  Hey-yo!

So I’ve got good news and bad news.  The bad news is that this whole town has been overrun by dirty, smelly zombies.  The good news is that the zombies will never attack Washington, D.C.  We tried that once, but we couldn’t find anyone with a brain, so we all starved!  Whoa!

I just want to say it’s great being here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.  3.5 readers?  I’ve seen dishwasher user’s manuals get more reads than this joint!

So we had quite a week, didn’t we?

THREE COMPLETED INTERVIEWS!

DAY 1 INTERVIEW – SARAH LYONS FLEMING

sarah lyons fleming

You know, time was when a zombie could walk up on a gal and have himself a nice lunch but now thanks to the whole “Walking Dead” zombie pop culture craze, everyone and their Uncle Bob is fully prepared for a zombie attack.  Now if you’re a zombie and you try to eat someone, your intended victim is likely to reach into a bag and pull out everything from a ninja sword to a cuisinart.

Want to learn how to pack the perfect bugout bag?  The Until the End of the World series author will teach you how.  “Until the end of the world?”  I can’t wait until the end of my set!  Not that I’m trying to disparage the good name of the East Randomtown Chuckle Barn, but I’ve been in bomb shelters with more ambiance.  Yowza!

What’s this?  Someone just handed me a note.  Yeesh, the hand’s still attached.

“Do not go running around packing a bug out bag full of dangerous accouterments like some kind of dummy.  The Bookshelf Battle Blog is not responsible if you hurt yourself or someone else with your bug out bag.  This is fiction and we’re just joking around here.  Sincerely, Attorney Donnelly, BQB’s Lead Counsel.”

Wow.  Lawyers.  Yet, I’m the bottom feeder!

DAY 2 INTERVIEW- JAIME JOHNESEE

IMG_20150320_185310 copy

 Not all zombies are bad.  In fact, most zombies just want your brains because they lost theirs and that’s why they’re so dumb now.  I always attach one of those little keychains that beep when you clap your hands to my brain.  Otherwise, I’d lose it all the time.  Bob the Zombie is an ok guy in my book, though he shares Bookshelf Q. Battler’s love of Taco Bell, which is a surefire way to start an apocalypse…in your toilet!

 DAY 3 INTERVIEW – STEVIE KOPAS

stevie k

“The End of the World is Not Glamorous.”  It sure isn’t.  I just had to staple my pinky finger back on.  Can’t wait to find out which body part is going to fall off next.  My body parts are dropping faster than network television’s ratings.  Nope, nothing glamorous about the zombie apocalypse at all.

Be sure to check out The Breadwinner Trilogy.  By the way, I hear Stevie’s beverage of choice is Zombie Killer beer.  Personally, I prefer a White Russian.  In fact…excuse me…I’ve got a little bit of Ivan still stuck in my teeth.  Zing!

WHO’S NEXT?

TODAY – ANN CHRISTY  will be taking BQB’s space phone call.  She’ll give us the 411 on her Between Life and Death series, which is about an angry female that likes to smash the undead with a hammer.  Kind of reminds me of my wife.  Also, I hear there will be some talk of were gophers.  Miserable little jerk faces.  You really need to keep an eye on them.  Here, take one of mine.  It pops right out.

TOMORROW -Oct. 5 – PERRIN BRIAR

perrin briar

Perrin is going to tell BQB about his creepy tales, including Z-Minus, a series about a father who races against time to save his daughter.  Perrin’s also the author of SwissFamilyRobinZOM, a classic book that was turned into a Disney movie.  I wonder if we can get Perrin to zombify all the Disney films.  Zombie Aladdin.  Zombie Lion King.  Zombie Frozen.  “Let it go, let it go, please let your brains go!”  Ha, I’m hilarious!

TUESDAY – Oct. 6 – S.G. LEE 51FYROgGgoL._UX250_

Mr. Lee will dip into his Journal of the Undead to see what tricks he can offer BQB to keep him out of trouble.  Also, S.G. is a diehard Phillies fanatic (as in a fan, not the mascot pronounced “Phanatic”) whereas BQB is a loyal supporter of the East Randomtown Mascots, so things are bound to get heated when the conversation turns to sports.  Steeee-rike!

WEDNESDAY – Oct. 7 – Gillian Zane

gzSpeaking of sports, when it comes to the ladies, BQB has absolutely no game whatsoever.  LeBron James he is not.  Don’t worry, the NOLA Zombie author will give our nerdy amigo some lessons on how to be an alpha male, just like the macho men in her books.  I’ll give Gillian an A for effort but I wouldn’t expect any miracles here.  BQB isn’t an alpha male, or a beta male…he’s pretty much a zeta male, and that’s being generous.

THURSDAY – Oct. 8 – Joseph “Zombie” Zuko

Joseph

Joseph “Zombie” Zuko – he’s like Van Helsing, but for zombies.

Oh my God.  NOT ZOMBIE ZUKO!  ZOMBIES, RUN FOR YOUR UNDEAD LIVES!!!

Seriously, I’m gonna get while the getting is good when this world class zombie fighter comes around.  A renowned zombiologist, Zombie Zuko is going to turn BQB into a world class zombie fighting champ.

Look, Zombie Zuko, it’s cool.  I’m just a harmless zombie comedian.  I don’t want any trouble.

FRIDAY – Oct. 9 – Devan Sagliani

devanauthorphoto copy

The HVZHumans vs. Zombies screenwriter will talk about his Zombie Attack! series as well as how he brought the City of Angeles to life (so to speak) in LA Undead.

SATURDAY – Oct 10 – Armand Rosamillia

armand

OK.  Now I can’t decide who I’m scared of more.  Zombie Zuko or Armand Rosamillia.  Crap, if they were to ever team up, you’d probably never see a zombie ever again.  Worldwide zombie extinction.  Armand will give BQB the scoop on his Dying Days series and I’ll steer clear of this guy lest my days be numbered.

Want more information on these fabulous zombie scribes?  CLICK HERE

Check out their books.  Tell your friends about them on social media.  Honestly, stop popping photos of your lunch on Facebook.  Put up a link to a zombie author instead.  Much more interesting than your chicken salad sandwich.  You don’t see zombies posting pictures of brains before we eat them do you?  No.  We’re too classy.

And while you’re at it, if you like their books (and I’m sure you will because BQB is known for spotting talent at 50 paces), leave them a review on whatever site you bought them from!  There’s nothing you can do to thank these zombie authors for helping to save BQB’s useless carcass more than leaving them an awesome review to make them feel appreciated for all the hard work they do in bringing zombie stories straight to your e-reader.

OK 3.5 readers, I see I’m about to get the hook.  That’s not a pun either.  There’s a survivalist chasing me with a hook.  I’d say you’ve been a great audience but I’ve seen livelier statues in a museum.

See you next Sunday!

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 3

It was only a matter of time.

Since October 1, zombies have been trying to break through the metal gate that separates Price Town from the rest of the mall. Thus far, it has held.

We secured the front doors leading to the parking lot as well, locking them, then chaining and padlocking the handles together for extra measure. We moved as much furniture and junk as we could find to put in front of the glass doors.

In the stock room, the loading dock was impenetrable. There was a giant roll-down steel door that was shut tight.

But we forgot one thing.

The four of us were playing a rousing board game that may or may not have involved dungeons and or possibly dragons when a hideous zombie popped out of a ceiling vent.

Zombie Farmer...E I E I...ARRRRGGHHH!!!

Zombie Farmer…E I E I…ARRRRGGHHH!!!

The creature was ugly and wore a pair of overalls. I assumed he must have been a farmer in his previous life. He lunged at us and I didn’t hesitate to unload a clip in his chest, to no avail.

Bernie scored a headshot and the zombie’s brains went flying everywhere.

Four more zombies charged out of nowhere, but were instantly misted.

Alien Jones smacked his vaporizer.

“Out of power? I thought I charged this thing before we came here!”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that’s my bad. I unhooked your vaporizer because I needed to charge my electric toothbrush.”

Alien Jones' Pocket Vaporizer

Alien Jones’ Vaporizer

Alien Jones face-palmed himself, took a seat at VGRF’s video game console and started playing Car Thief Mayhem.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I thought you didn’t like that game,” VGRF added.

“Yeah, well, you dummies have put me in a prostitute running over mood,” was the Esteemed Brainy One’s reply. “Go secure every vent in the store. I can’t do everything for you.”

“Sheesh,” I said as VGRF, Bernie and I walked away. “If he had a butt, I’d ask what crawled up it.”

“It’s the zombie apocalypse,” VGRF said. “It’s stressful. Puts a lot of pressure on everyone. You can’t expect everyone to act like their usual selves. Circumstances like these bring out the worst in people…and aliens.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “People are the same no matter what situation you put them in. Right Bernie? Bernie?”

Bernie was busy, smearing his face with war marks, using dark eyeshadow he nabbed from the make-up

Bernie's losing it...more so than usual...or than he ever did in the late 90's.

Bernie’s losing it…more so than usual…or than he ever did in the late 90’s.

aisle.

“Look out for Charlie. He’s everywhere. And its either us or them.”

He took a kitchen knife he pinched from housewares and walked up to the carcass of the farmer zombie. There wasn’t much head left, but there was just enough there to hold an ear.

Bernie cut it off and showed it to us.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a necklace,” Bernie said. “As a warning to the other zombies.”

I leaned in and whispered into VGRF’s ear (luckily still intact) and said, “You might be right.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 2

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter loves to play Car Thief Mayhem

Video Game Rack Fighter was in her element.

She’d hooked up a gaming console to a fifty inch flat screen, moved a couple of bean bag chairs in front of it, and was fielding questions from Alien Jones regarding the finer points of her favorite video game, Car Thief Mayhem.

“You’re operating that stolen vehicle at an inadvisable pace,” Alien Jones said. “You run the risk of injuring one of these pixelized beings and…oh my! There goes an entire gaggle of prostitutes.”

“It’s just make believe,” VGRF said.

“Why would one want to pretend to run over prostitutes?” the Esteemed Brainy one asked.

“I don’t know,” VGRF. “It’s just a game.”

“Are all humans aware this is just a game?” Alien Jones inquired. “Surely there are some slower witted hairless apes who might take this too seriously.”

Bernie walked up with a shotgun.

“Aww sweet, Car Thief Mayhem! I get dibs on next game! I’ma run me over some prostitutes!”

“Case in point,” Alien Jones said.

“Bernie,” I said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“What, this?” Bernie asked as he cocked his new gat. “God bless America baby! Food, clothes, toys, and guns all under one roof. You want one? This place has a ton of ’em.”

VGRF paused her game.

“Put that away,” she said. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

“Didn’t you just shotgun a bunch of old ladies and steal their Winnebago?” AJ asked.

“Again,” VGRF replied. “It was make believe. I’m not one of the idiots who can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.”

“Bernie,” I said. “Show me where you found that. We should all be packing.”

“Hell to the yeah, ‘cuz. I’ma stone cold busta cap in some zombie ass. Blakow!”

“Hold on,” VGRF said. “What if there’s a nice zombie?”

“What?” I asked.

“A nice zombie!” VGRF repeated. “Or a confused, bumbling zombie. No one wants to be a zombie. Should we really just start shooting zombies with reckless abandon if we don’t have to?”

“Check it,” Bernie said. “Zombies ain’t all like the people they used to be and shit, girl. Maybe they used to be nice people but now all they want to do is rip us open, feast on our guts, and turn us into zombies.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” VGRF said. “Maybe most of them but not all of them. If we can avoid killing them we should.”

I grabbed Alien Jones’ space phone.

“Hold on. I know who can settle this argument.”

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BQB’S Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 1 (Part 5)

Alien Jones' space phone.  Perfect for calling authors of zombie fiction.

Alien Jones’ space phone. Perfect for calling authors of zombie fiction.

My little green friend was stretched out on a table in the employee’s break room of Price Town.  His hat and glasses had fallenoff in the chaos, leaving his face on full display.

“He gave his life for us,”  VGRF said.

I sniffed and teared up.

“I…I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I can’t believe your kid was so ugly,”  Bernie said.  “No offense dude but you might be better off.”

“He wasn’t my kid,”  I said.  “He was Alien Jones, the wisest, most intelligent diplomat, space explorer, and warrior the universe has ever known.”

“What?”  Bernie asked.  “You’re saying that alien who writes on your blog is real?!  I thought that was just you pretending!  I thought you pretended to be all the characters.”

“No comment,” I said.

Alien Jones shot his head up into the air and let out a loud gasp.  It scared the crap out of all of us.

“Sweet Zanacostia’s Upper Filter!!!”

Alien Jones was always saying phrases that sounded like they might have been outer space forms of swearing.

“AJ!” I said as I hugged my little friend.  “You’re alive!”

“But I checked your neck,”  VGRF said.  “You didn’t have a pulse.”

“You don’t even want to know where I keep my pulse.”

Together, we walked out into the store.  It was fully stocked.  From hardware to groceries, it had everything we needed to survive.

Everyone was gone.  I assumed all the employees and customers hightailed it when they heard everyone becoming zombie lunch.

“Guess we picked a good spot to ride out the zombie apocalypse,”  Bernie said.

“Ignorant human,”  Alien Jones said as he pointed at the zombies pounding on the security gate.  “The structural integrity of that barrier will not last forever.”

“So you can just do that bubble thing again,”  Bernie said.

“It saps me of all my energy,”  Alien Jones said.  “I will not have the power to make another one for a full twenty four hours, and only then, it will last for about five minutes.”

“We’re screwed,”  Bernie said.

An eternal optimist, VGRF tended to look on the bright side.

“At least we have each other.”

“AJ,”  I said.  “Can’t you just call the Mighty Potentate and ask him to send some shock troops to cook these fools?”

“No,”  Alien Jones replied.  “For the time being, the Mighty Potentate is following Intergalactic Space Law, which mandates that no advanced world get involved in the affairs of primitives such as yourselves.”

“Right,”  VGRF said.  “The Prime Dir…”

“Intergalactic Space Law!”  I interrupted.  “Come on, VGRF, the last thing I need is to have Shatner shove a lawsuit up my ass.”

“The MP is bending the law enough already just by having me aid BQB with his insipid bloggery,”  Alien Jones said.  “He gets away with it because BQB only has 3.5 readers and aside from VGRF, the other 2.5 do not believe I am real.  He won’t take the chance of landing battle units.”

Alien Jones pulled out his phone.  It was silver, had a screen that displayed holographic images, and looked incredibly expensive.

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

“Consulting news reports.  It seems that the zombie infestation has spread all throughout East Randomtown in a matter of moments.

“Is West Randomtown safe?”  VGRF asked.

I knew she was worried about her family.

“It appears the surrounding communities were evacuated in time.  Military units are descending on the area to cut East Randomtown off from the rest of the world.”

“Alien Jones,”  I said.  “Can I borrow that for a minute?”

“Be careful,”  AJ said.  “It’s official Mighty Potentate property.”

I love technology so I relished the chance to look over a phone constructed by aliens.

“What is this?”  I asked.

“A Kondoferian Class Sub 9NM1 Intergalactic Communications Unit.”

“Whoa,”  I said.  “A space phone!”

“No,  it’s a Kondoferian Class Sub…”

“We’re calling it a space phone,”  I said.  “It can call anyone anywhere in the world?”

“Anyone anywhere in the universe,”  Alien Jones replied.

“Is it fully charged?”  I asked.

“It is powered by a plutonium pod with a half-life of a thousand years.  There is no need to recharge it until the year 3015.”

“I know exactly what to do with this,”  I said.

“Call the Army and ask them to rescue us,”  VGRF said.  “Thank God!”

“Take some dope ass selfies in front of the zombies and post them all over the Internet,”  Bernie said.  “Shit, with publicity like that the Funky Hunks will be back in no time.  High five!”

I left him hanging.

“No,”  I said.  “I’m going to call…ZOMBIE AUTHORS!”

“What?”  VGRF asked, incredulously.

“As the owner of a magic bookshelf, I am beloved and revered throughout the literary world!  With AJ’s space phone, I can call the world’s foremost zombie experts, individuals with vast knowledge of the undead, and they’ll be able to advise us on how to extricate ourselves from any zombie related situation!”

“I’m pretty sure we should call the Army,”  VGRF insisted.

“Perhaps you should call your charges back at Bookshelf Battle HQ,”  Alien Jones suggested.

He was right.  It was my duty to make sure that the various literary characters who called my magic bookshelf home were ok.

I dialed my number.

“Woof?”

“Bookshelf Q. Battledog!  My noble Security Chief!  Is everyone ok?”

“Woof.  Woof woof.”

Bookshelf Q. Battledog

Bookshelf Q. Battledog

“Really?”

“Woof.”

“And the Yeti?”

“Woof.”

“Very well,”  I said.  “Keep the entire facility on lockdown.  No one is to enter or exit.  Be safe, noble hound.”

“Woof.”

I hanged up the phone.

“Well?”  VGRF asked.

“Battledog says the zombies have already made it to our neighborhood, but they’re no match for BQB HQ’s high fortress like walls.  The bookshelf characters are safe and ready to fight if necessary.  My nemesis, the Yeti, remains imprisoned in the basement.”

I was able to get a lot out of those “woofs.”

“We won’t be able to stay here indefinitely,”  Alien Jones said.  “Gather supplies and prepare bug-out bags should we need to leave in a hurry.”

“Yes,”  I said.  “And I know just who to call about that.”

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