Bookshelf Battle

#31ZombieAuthors

PREVIOUSLY ON #31ZombieAuthors

Hello 3.5 readers.

Day 15! We’ve reached the half-way mark for #31ZombieAuthors

For those of you just tuning in…

East Randomtown, the burg I call home, has been ravaged by a zombie apocalypse, masterminded by the dreaded Dr. Hugo Von Science.

I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, and my group of survivors including my girlfriend, Video Game Rack Fighter, alien/intergalactic correspondent Alien Jones, friend/former Funky Hunks rap duo partner Bernie “MC Plotz” Plotznick, and ex-girlfriend Blandie, who is totally the worst, have formed a survivor’s group.

You can read daily posts of our adventure’s in BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal.

Naturally, I can’t do this alone, so for the past fifteen days I’ve been reaching out to noted authors of zombie books to seek their undead expertise. Check back here every day for a new zombie author interview.

Even if you’re one of those nerds who aren’t into zombies, these writers are still sharing their secrets to success, so if you’re an aspiring scribe, you’ll want to tune in and learn from the masters anyway.

For most of this month, my gang and I have been trapped in the East Randomtown Mall. However, a complex plot, perhaps too complex for a blog with only 3.5 readers has emerged.

General Morganstern, a corrupt general who answers to a shadowy, yet to be named figure, is attempting to use the zombie apocalypse as a cover to blow me the hell up.

He’s gone on Network News One to assure the public that everyone in East Randomtown is either dead or a zombie, and that his planned air strikes won’t harm anyone.

Luckily, fans of the Funky Hunks, the wholesome, non-threatening rap duo Bernie and I were in during the late 1990s/early 2000’s, have been descending on the Army’s base of operations in West Randomtown to protest the strikes and inform the people that Bernie and I are very much alive.

They know this because they’ve been reading my posts on the Bookshelf Battle Blog. Oddly, despite all this attention, I never seem to average more than 3.5 readers anyway.

After leaving the mall, the gang and I searched for my beloved Aunt Gertie, to no avail. Is she lost? Dead? Zombified? Will I ever find out? Oh Gertie, where are you?

Currently, the gang and I are holed up in “Hauser Town” or as it used to be know, the East Randomtown Park/Rec Center. East Randomtownians are in a dispute over who is the town’s most famous citizen. Some say it’s Doug because he appeared as an extra in a 1980’s cop drama for thirty entire seconds, during which his character had the snot beaten out of them. Others say it’s me because I built a WordPress blog that brings in 3.5 readers. I don’t care about the title. Doug claims not to. Thus far, we’ve been able to set the rivalry aside for the town’s greater good.

So that’s all you need to know, 3.5. At some point, I’ll have to archive all of this in one easy to read format but until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy as the second half of #31ZombieAuthors begins!

Tagged 31zombieauthors, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, writers, writing, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 – (Part 3)

Doug gave us the dime store tour of the camp he’d set up in the rec center gym.

Over a hundred makeshift beds were scattered across the wooden floor. Some people slept on cots, others in sleeping bags, or on sheets and blankets. Some folks who weren’t able to sleep milled about in different groups.

Near the bleachers, there was a buffet set up. The welcome smell of hot soup filled my nostrils.

“This was all just a matter of being in the right place at the right time,” Doug said. “I’ve been a volunteer coach here since I retired…”

Hauser parlayed his fifteen seconds of fame into a car dealership, Hauser Hyundai. People from all over stopped by to buy

Doug Hauser – One of East Randomtown’s best and brightest, though that’s not saying much.

South Korean cars at a reasonable price and watch Doug recreate his infamous fight scene. Usually, he’d just whip a long haired wig onto one of his salesmen and ask him to pretend to be Don Johnson.

I witnessed this spectacle myself once when I was twelve and Aunt Gertie bought herself a used Hyundai.

“I was watching my boys score another win when the zombie apocalypse broke out,” Doug explained. “The fence around the park has kept the monsters at bay and a few brave souls and I have been making daily scrounge missions into town, picking up all the supplies and survivors we can find and bringing them back here.”

“That’s impressive Doug,” I said. “East Randomtown is in your debt.”

“Oh it’s nothing, BQB. I’m just doing what any good citizen in my shoes would do.”

“What’s this I hear you’re the Mayor now?” I asked.

“Oh that,” Doug said as he rolled his eyes. “People just started calling me that. I never asked for the title but you know how people are. They need some authority figure to glom onto. I was sad to hear about Mayor Bramble. I’m going to call for a fair election as soon as possible.”

“Doug,” I said. “About that statue. You know, I never had anything to do with…”

Doug belted out a big “SHHH!”

“Please BQB. Of course I know you never asked Bramble to tear my likeness down and replace it with yours. Do you really think I give a rat’s ass about that thing anyway?”

“You don’t?” I asked.

“Hell no,” Doug said. “Thirty years ago I was a dumb kid who tried to become an actor. Other than getting the shit beaten out of me on one cop drama, it didn’t pan out. That’s just life. You try one thing. It doesn’t work. You try something else. Bramble was the one who made a big deal about it. He was always obsessed with drawing attention to a town no one’s ever heard of, same thing he did with you and your website.”

“You’re a good sport, Doug,” I said.

“I always lecture my team about good sportsmanship. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t follow my own rules,” Doug said.

Janet Melman was two years behind me at East Randomtown High. She went on to become a nurse.

“Hey BQB,” she said as she walked over in a pair of scrubs.

She turned to Doug.

“We need to talk, Mayor. I’ve got a list of medications my patients need. Some of them aren’t going to last long without them.”

“Excuse me, BQB,” Doug said. “Please, you and your friends get something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Doug and Janet walked off.

“And you thought coming here was a bad idea,” I said.

“I’m still not convinced it wasn’t,” VGRF said. “This is all just a little bit too perfect.”

“Think whatever you want,” I said. “I’ma get me some hot soup and call another zombie author.”

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, writers, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 2)

WELCOME TO HAUSER TOWN

ONLY THE WORTHY ARE WELCOME

To protect the indigenous wildlife, a tall fence ran the whole perimeter of East Randomtown Park.

VGRF pulled our ride to the front gate.

It was manned by a pack of gun toting local yokels.

There was George the Barber, who’d made his living providing men’s regular cuts for forty years. He was packing a pretty

The DiStefano Brothers – a pair of gun toting hoodlums even when East Randomtown wasn’t zombified

fierce looking shotgun.

The DiStefano Brothers, Carl and Billy, each carried a machete in one hand and a handgun in the other.

“Halt,” George said, shining a light into our car. “Who dares enter Fort Hauser?”

“It’s me George,” I said. “BQB. You’ve been my damn barber since I was a kid.”

“That gets you no special treatment here, nerd!” George replied. “State your business!”

“State my business?” I asked. “My friends and I want to come in and not get eaten by zombies!”

“Hold please,” George said.

The barber pulled out a walkie talkie and mumbled into it. A few seconds later, the voice on the other end clearly stated, “Send them in.”

Carl rolled the gate open.

“Proceed directly to the Rec Center,” George said. “Don’t dilly dally. Mayor Hauser is expecting you.”

“MAYOR Hauser?” I asked.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, poindexter,” George said.

We did as we were told. When we reached the rec center, we hopped out of the truck and found ourselves face to face with the infamous statue in question.

It was actually two statues set on one base. Both cast in bronze, the one on the left was of a young, chubby cheeked Doug Hauser doubled over, a pained expression on his face as the statue on the right, that of a young Don Johnson, delivered a punch to Hauser’s stomach.

On the base, a plaque read:

In Honor of Douglas Adams Houser

Thirty seconds getting the snot beaten out of you on the greatest crime drama of the 1980’s brought an infinite amount of glory to East Randomtown.

Duct taped to the side of Doug’s head was a red piece of paper that read:

OFFICIAL DECREE

This monument is to be destroyed immediately and replaced with a sculpture of Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Plaque to read, “In honor of Bookshelf Q. Battler, the East Randomtown resident whose ingenuity brought the eyes of 3.5 readers to his hallowed website.”

Signed,

Mayor Philbert T. Bramble

“We need to leave,” VGRF said. “This guy is going to shoot you in the head as soon as he sees you.”

“VGRF,” I said. “I’ve met him before. He came to my elementary school once and told us all about how Don Johnson left him pissing blood for a month. Sure, that probably wasn’t the best story for a bunch of little kids to hear, but still. Doug Hauser is East Randomtown’s favorite son. I don’t care what Bramble’s stupid decree says.”

I knocked on the glass door.

Doug’s voice came over the intercom.

“One moment. I’m coming.”

A minute later, the door opened and Doug walked out to greet us. He wore a dirty white undershirt, a pair of jeans and had a gun secured in a holster on his hip. He was in his early sixties, but despite a few wrinkles, a few extra pounds, and a receding hair line, he looked just like his statue.

He took one look at me, grinned, and gave me a big hug.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler. Thank God you found us.”

“Good to see you, Doug,” I said. “This is…”

“I know,” Doug said. “We’ve got a generator going and one of my guys rigged up a Wi-Fi hotspot. I’ve been monitoring your survivor’s journal. A pleasure to meet you, Video Game Rack Fighter. Bernie. Blandie. And this must be…”

Doug squatted down and gave Alien Jones the old once over. AJ was still in his incognito hipster disguise.

“Are you for real?” Doug asked.

“Are you?” Alien Jones replied.

“If it’s all the same,” I said. “We try to keep him on the down low. Sure, I talk about him on the blog but no one ever believes any of my posts are for real. If we could just tell everyone he’s my deformed kid with ADD, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Doug said. “Please, entre vous. Mi casa es su casa.”

At this point, Attorney Donnelly, Official Legal Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, advises me to state that at no time did Mr. Don Johnson, one of the greatest thespians in the history of the stage and/or screen, ever make Doug Hauser piss blood, nor did he beat him up or injure him in anyway. Any reference to Mr. Johnson and/or Miami Vice are purely for fictional and parody purposes only.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 1)

October 14, 2015 – 12:00 A.M.

Night fell and we were back in the Compensator, heading west through the Great Random Forest, a tract of undeveloped land where the trees grew tall and other than the squirrels, there wasn’t much of anyone to keep a guy company.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a plywood sign.

Scrawled on it with black spray paint were the words:

Sanctuary for the Worthy

Head Ye Who Would Dare to Fort Hauser

(Formerly Known as the East Randomtown Park and Rec Center)

“Fort Hauser?” VGRF asked.

“Hauser,” I said. “Doug Hauser!”

Doug Hauser – BQB’s rival for the title of East Randomtown’s Most Famous Citizen

“The guy who was an extra for thirty seconds in one episode of Miami Vice in 1985?” VGRF asked. “The guy you beat for the title of most famous East Randomtown resident when you obtained 3.5 readers for the Bookshelf Battle Blog?”

“The same,” I replied. “He must have started a survivor colony.”

East Randomtown Park was a family favorite. Picnics, concerts, sports, you name it. It had a walking trail, a beautiful pond, tennis courts, I could go on and on. It was one of the few locations the town had going for it. At the Westernmost point of the tract of land was a rec center with a basketball court and a gym, not to mention an indoor track and swimming pool.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” VGRF said.

“I’m sorry,” Bernie said. “That was me, yo.”

Blandie gagged. “Oh my God! I need air!”

“That’s not a good idea,” VGRF said.

“It’s not a good idea to die of asphyxiation either,” Blandie said as she rolled down her window.

Alien Jones, who was sitting between my ex and my friend, chimed in.

“I must concur with the blonde human. The stench is quite potent. Fairly close in molecular composition to the gas banned for warfare purposes by Intergalactic Space Law.”

“I wasn’t talking about that anyway,” VGRF said. “This guy just puts out signs inviting people to seek his help because…why? The kindness of his heart? I’m sorry but throwing in with him would be a terrible idea.”

“A zombie apocalypse can bring out the worst in people,” I said. “Or the best. Maybe this is Hauser at his best?”

“Your mate is astute, BQB,” Alien Jones said. “I sense this is the worst.”

“That’s just an old zombie apocalypse trope,” I said. “The old ‘invite people to a camp under the guise of charity then rob and/or murder and/or eat them’ routine. This isn’t a book or a TV show. This is real life. We should check it out.”

“Aren’t you’re the last person Hauser wants to see?” VGRF asked. “Seeing as how Mayor Bramble was planning to have Hauser’s statue torn down and replaced with a sculpture of you?”

“I never wanted that,” I said. “I’m sure Hauser knows that. Head to the park, babe. There’s safety in numbers. Morganstern can’t kill everyone.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Alien Jones said.

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, zombie apocalypse, zombies

Oct 12 2015

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 3)

“Where to?” VGRF asked.

“You know where, babe,” I replied.

VGRF took a right onto Pondmore Road and from there it was smooth sailing. An occasional zombie would take interest, but they were no match for a skilled driver.

Five minutes later, VGRF pulled up to a box shaped building. The sign on the front read:

Decrepit Oaks

Our Seniors Put the “Do” in “Can-Do!”

“You’re going to risk our lives for your old ass aunt?” Blandie asked.

“You know, Aunt Gertie used to talk about you all the time,” I said.

Blandie perked up. “Really? What did she say?”

Aunt Gertie – Dead, missing, or zombified?

“That you’re shallow, materialistic and when it comes to relationships, you care more about what a man looks like than what he’s got going on inside.”

“And that’s a problem…why?”

“I give up, Blandie,” I said. “If you want to stay in the car, fine, but I need to check to see if the woman who raised me is still alive.”

“Fine. I’m coming.”

I got out and Bernie passed Alien Jones to me. The little guy was still exhausted from shooting a force field out of his body, so we were on our own for the rest of the day. I threw him over my shoulder like he was an extra bag. He didn’t weigh that much at all.

The gang grabbed our gear and we entered the old folks home.

Decrepit Oaks wasn’t so much a nursing home as it was an apartment building for old timers. It catered to elderly folk who were still active, but needed some help with meals, cleaning, and so on. I’m not sure my aunt even needed to live there but that’s what she wanted. There were times when I thought Gertie might live long enough to bury us all.

Bernie and VGRF shined their flashlights. The place was deserted. Oddly though, everything appeared to be in immaculate condition.

We headed down the hallway to the residential section.

“Yo, y’all need to be hella careful,” Bernie said. “Some of these damn old peeps might look just like zombies. You don’t wanna gank an old ass human by accident.”

“That’s partially accurate and partially offensive, Bern,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What’s her number?” VGRF asked.

“Forty-nine.”

We walked and walked. Along the way, a few apartment doors had been left open.

I peeked inside each one of them. They were all nice and neat, beds freshly made, everything in order.

“Maybe they were able to evacuate in time?” VGRF asked.

“I hope so,” I said.

We reached forty-nine. Gertie had given me a spare key. I found it on my ring and opened the door.

The place was a mess. The coffee table was turned up on its side. Broken glass pieces were strewn everywhere. A lamp was shattered on the floor.

From the bathroom came a loud moan. I put Alien Jones down on Gertie’s bed, drew my gun, pointed it at the door, and nodded to Bernie, bidding him to open it.

Sure enough, a zombie ran out. He’d once been a young man, late twenties, in combat fatigues. Whoever he was, he was out of place at an old folks home. I exploded his head with one shot.

Zombie attack!

I borrowed VGRF’s flashlight and entered the bathroom. The floor and walls were soaked with blood. In the tub, there was a ripped apart corpse. It was so badly disfigured that it was unrecognizable.

VGRF put her hand on my shoulder.

“Is it…”

“I…I don’t know. God I hope not.”

Bernie picked up the Esteemed Brainy One and carried him for me for awhile.

“What now?” my friend asked.

“This place looks pretty safe,” I said. “Let’s clear all the rooms to be sure, lock the building up, then pick a room and spend the night. We’ll consult Alien Jones on what to do next when he wakes up.”

“I can’t stay here,” Blandie said. “This whole place reeks of bengay and depression.”

“Then feel free to…”

“I know, I know,” Blandie said. “Wait in the car. Fine. Lead the way.”

An hour later we finished checking all the apartments and after discovering the building was zombie free, we locked the front and back doors, took over apartment one, the unit closest to the front door in case we had to make a break for it, and settled in.

“You guys get some sleep,” I said as I took a seat on the couch. “I’ll take first watch.”

Bernie stepped out of the bedroom and made some googly eyes at Blandie.

“The bed’s big enough to share if you catch my drift.”

“I’ll rip off any part of you that touches me, nerd,” Blandie said as she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door in Bernie’s face.

“Shoties be trippin’ yo,” Bernie said.

He crashed on the floor.

VGRF snuggled up into my arm nook.

“Are you going to call another zombie author now?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “And a plot this thick requires not just any zombie author, but one of the most legendary zombie masters of all time!”

Tagged 31zombieauthors, amwriting, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, writers, writing

Oct 12 2015

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 2)

“Grab the gear,” Alien Jones said. “We’re leaving.”

“Out there? With those things?” Blandie asked. “No way!”

“You heard the human military leader,” Alien Jones said. “By tomorrow morning, this entire structure will be a pile of charred ash. We can’t stay here.”

I picked up my bug out bag. VGRF and Bernie did the same.

“What’s the plan, Esteemed Brainy One?” I asked.

The Compensator – when only a vehicle capable of depleting the oil reserves of a third world country will do.

“I sense there is a brand new, fully loaded Compensator Sports Utility Vehicle illegally parked across two handicapped parking spaces outside the nearby entrance. It was formerly owned by what you humans would refer to as a ‘One Percenter Douche Bag.’ We will make our way to it, hit the open road, and improvise a further plan from there.”

“Can I have a gun?” Blandie asked.

“You’ll shoot your foot off,” I said.

“You let HIM have a gun,” Blandie said, pointing to Bernie.

“Good point,” I said.

I pulled a spare pistol out of my waistband and handed it to her. She handled it rather clumsily.

“So how do you take the safety off? Is it just this little…”

BAM!

Blandie fired a shot right into the roof.

“Gimme that!” I said as I took the piece back. I searched around for a blunt instrument and handed her a trophy that read, ‘Blandie Settler: Hipster Hutt Manager of the Year.’”

“You were manager of the year?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Blandie said. “So? What? I can do stuff good!”

I opened the door. That dumb, confused zombie was still bumping into the corner. He was harmless, so I left him alone.

“I need new duds,” my alien buddy said.

Hipster Alien

Alien Jones picked out some hipster wear – a white bucket hat, plaid cargo pants, a muscle shirt and oversized sunglasses.

“What planet are you from?” Blandie asked.

“Oh, it doesn’t really matter,” Alien Jones said as he adjusted his sunglasses. “I doubt you’ve ever heard of it anyway.”

The little green guy punched a button on the space phone and the security gate lifted. A throng of zombies poured in but were instantly vaporized when our tiny protector threw up his force field bubble.

“We only have five minutes,” I explained to Blandie as we ran out of the store. “And whatever you do, DO NOT TOUCH THE BUBBLE!”

Away we went, turning multiple bloodthirsty, brain hungry zombies into mist clouds until we hit the parking lot. Alien Jones’ bubble began to flicker.

“There’s the douche-mobile!” I shouted.

Alien Jones punched a button on his phone and the Compensator’s engine started and the doors unlocked.

“VGRF,” I shouted. “Take the wheel!”

The bubble passed out and so did my alien friend. I scooped him up into the back seat then took the front passenger’s seat. Blandie and Bernie got in the back.

The parking lot was quiet but as soon as VGRF backed the SUV up, zombie heads turned and they all converged on the vehicle.

“BQB you pussy!” Blandie shouted. “You’d let a girl drive?!”

I turned around to face Blandie.

“She’s not just any girl. She’s the Goddamned Number One International Car Thief Mayhem Champion Ten Years in a row.”

I looked at VGRF.

“You got this baby. Punch it!”

The Highest Ranking Car Thief Mayhem Champion in the World

VGRF took off like she was in a stolen car, not just because she was, but because her nimble fingers had played out this scenario on her gaming console millions of times before. She smashed through piles of the undead like they were nothing. Blood and guts sprayed all over the window and she didn’t even flinch. She just sprayed the cleaning fluid and ran the wipers.

She banged a right out of the lot and floored it down the mall access road. Zombies chased along side the SUV, banging on the sides. She swerved right and left, taking them all out.

Full steam ahead, VGRF sailed the big truck at 80 MPH down the road until she came across a gaggle of beasts blocking the way forward. Too thick to slam through, she improvised.

“HANG ON!” my sweetie yelled.

With expert precision, VGRF yanked the emergency hand brake up, swerved out and just barely missed the horde car as she took a right and headed down Main Street.

To our left was a steep hill. More zombies ran down it and flanked the left side of the car.

VGRF rolled her window down and pulled a handgun out of her jacket pocket. She shouted, “BREAK YOSELF, FOOL!” then took them all out.

“BQB?”

“Yeah Bernie?”

“I don’t wanna be rude but your old lady is givin’ me a mad chub right now, B.”

“Me too, Bernie. Me too.”

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, grand theft auto, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, video games, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

Oct 12 2015