Tag Archives: history

A Brief History of the Second American Civil War

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It began in 2017 and lasted until 2030.  By the end of the gruesome conflict, over a hundred thousand protestors on various sides of the political spectrum and with little more to do than go out and hold signs about their individual causes while their poor oppressed parents footed the bill, would be dead.

Millions more Americans who just wanted to turn on the TV and not see outbreaks of tomfoolery would be severely annoyed.

What, you might ask, was the Second American Civil War over, you might ask?

It was over what to do with the monuments dedicated to the First American Civil War that ended approximately 160 years ago.  Yeah.  We know.  Stop shaking your head.

It all began with General Toke-It-All Jackson, the unemployed and unemployable pot fan/purple haired fifth level otherkin hipster leader of the Social Justice Brigade.  “As nothing as my witness, because the idea of a God is oppressive to atheists everywhere, I will never allow a statue of some old racist fuck sit in a park while no one gives a shit while his head gets pooped on by pigeons ever again!”

And so the Social Justice Brigade marched through the South, using their limited upper body strength to pull down one statue of a traitorous rebel racist fucker after another, rather than, you know, maybe just submit a proposal to the local city governments to ask that the statues be removed through the democratic process and be put into museums where nerdy Civil War re-enactors can continue to delay losing their virginity by master bating all over these monuments to a failed effort to double-cross the United States of America.

Meanwhile, the Modern Southerners would not stand for this.  Their leader, General Hushpuppy Beauregard, who sounded very similar to Foghorn Leghorn, publicly said, “We Modern Southerners do not see these statues as a tribute to racism, but rather, as a tribute to our ancestors.  Why, my Great Great Great Great Great Great Grandpappy Rufus Beauregard was General Lee’s personal horn blower.  Why, old Grandpappy blew General Lee’s horn long and hard, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, always being sure to use plenty of tongue and not any teeth and sometimes for hours on necessary if need be.  He looked clean and crisp and respectable in his uniform and we are all proud of Grandpappy’s service.”

When pressed on the fact that the Confederacy was set up to continue the wretched institution of slavery, General Hushpuppy said, “I do declare sir, we Modern Southerners are not racist at all.  We love black folk just fine and want to see them do well and get good jobs and be successful and have good lives and I suppose if our daughters bring one of them home we will begrudgingly acknowledge them and then yell at our dumb wives for telling our dumb daughters for this is somehow ok but regardless, we bear black folk no ill will.  In our minds, the Civil War has been homogenized in pop culture and the hundreds of Civil War films we have seen just display the conflict as a disagreement between two sides of gentlemen gone awry.  Those movies rarely mention the slavery aspect or if they do, they don’t focus too hard on it.  I add that I am no racist sir for I have all of Jay-Z’s songs on my iPhone and I masterbate to the sight of Beyoncé’s luxurious rear end at all times.”

When pressed again, General Hushpuppy added, “Look, we love black folk, but we like to brandish our Confederate memorabilia from time to time to remind those uppity Northern folk that if they keep trying to switch our barbecue ribs for kale and our pick-up trucks for Priuses and our shootin’ irons for therapy, we’ll split off from the country and by God, we’ll do it right this time.”

But it wasn’t that easy.  There were two more sides.  Next, there were the Racist Manboys.  These dudes were all kind of chubby.  Some were Nazis who, like their hero, Hitler, were trying to compensate for small penises.  Some were Ku Klux Klansmen who stole their mothers’ bedsheets and cut eyeholes in them, leaving their mothers to cry, “This is why we can’t have nice things!”

Their leader, General Honkey von Cracker, said, “The white man is better and more smarter and interesting-er than all the other mongrel races and I do be the one who should be knowing this as I took ten years to grad-u-a-mate from night school GED class.  I would have done it sooner but one time a black man cut me in line at the Burger Hut and I seethed with rage over it for years.  I’m not still quite over it but with therapy I have faith I will be.”

The Racist Manboys really, really, really loved the statues of Confederates because they often fantasized about traveling back in time just so they could join the confederacy and fight in a war to oppress black people.  The Racist Manboys divide their time between efforts to build a time machine that will allow them to travel back to the 1860s so they might join the Confederacy and to lobby for laws that will make slavery legal again because the only way they will ever be laid is if it becomes legal to kidnap hot black chicks and hold them against their will.

Finally, there was one last group of non-combatants, the People Who Had Shit to Do.  Ironically, their leader was an African American by the name of Fred Wilbur, who said, “How in the Hell do all you people have so much time on your damn hands that you can go out in the middle of a weekday and beat the shit out of each other over a bunch of statues of some racist white folk from the 1800s?  I mean, holy shit, as a taxpayer, I don’t like to see my taxes go toward the upkeep of a statue of some ass face who wanted to keep me in chains, but shit, I have a wife and kids.  I have bills to pay and mouths to feed.  I work a day job, a night job, and a weekend job.  I got three Goddamn jobs and you weirdoes don’t have any.  Get a job, get Jesus in your life.  I mean, shit, I don’t like the statues but if all you dumbass white people are just going to beat the shit out of each other then fuck it, just let the pigeons shit all over those dumb old statues of those racist pricks until the end of time.”

And so the battle raged on for 13 years as the three sides fought one another while people with jobs like Fred would just come home after work, pop open a beer, curse at all the idiots without jobs then rent a movie on pay per view, preferably one with a lot of action and chicks with big ass titties.

Finally, the war ended when a peaceful solution was offered.  The Confederate statues would remain, but statues of freed black slaves rogering statues of the white wives of the Confederate soldiers would be erected next to the Confederate statues.  All were happy by this compromise which, ironically, was proposed by President Bookshelf Q. Battler, the greatest president America has ever had ever and will also ever have.

Everything was good for awhile until the Third World War broke out in 2034.  That one was over whether or not to get rid of statues of George Washington, not because of the fact that he was a slave owner, but because George, as was the custom in his day, wore a gray haired wig to make him look older and wiser as elders were respected for their wisdom at the time.  Alas, by 2034, youth took over the world and anyone over 35 was required to sit down on an iceberg and be floated off to sea.  No one with gray hair was ever seen again and anyone who used to have gray hair in the past was considered a piece of shit who had to be erased from history.

Finally, in the year 2200, the Fourth American Civil War broke out over the proposed removal of statues of JFK, FDR, Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, President Flava Flav and President Bookshelf Q. Battler.

You see, by the year 2200, a pill was invented that made it so people don’t have to shit anymore.  Yes, by taking this pill, humans were able to absorb all necessary nutrients from their foods without producing poop.  Anyone pre-2200 who never took this pill was considered a dirty pooping Neanderthal.

Thus, a great debate began.  Yes, JFK, FDR, Lincoln, Roosevelt, President Flava Flav and President Battler had all done great things.  In fact, President BQB provided all men with free sex robots, which made them happy because they were never without sex again and their wives happy because they didn’t have to suffer their smelly husbands flopping on top of them ever again.

However, all these men pooped, and so, the Anti-Poop front declared that any traces of anyone who ever took a shit had to be erased from history as they were dirty pooping savages.

That was the last American Civil War.  After that, America, like the rest of Earth, was conquered by an alien race.  The population of the entire world was wiped out and the aliens used the planet to store their excess tennis shoes.

Later, a war would break out amongst the aliens over a statue of an alien wearing tennis shoes when it was decided that dock siders were much more stylish.

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Movie Review – Atomic Blonde (2017)

1980s music!  Jason Bourn-esque fight scenes!  Charlize Theron goes full lesbo!

BQB here with a review of “Atomic Blonde.”

It’s 1989.  The Soviet Union is on the verge of collapse.  In Germany, the Berlin Wall divided the country is about to be torn down.

Set aside this end of the Cold War backdrop, MI6 agent Atomic Blonde (Charlize Theron) must work her way through a world of intrigue to secure a list of Western agents, lest they be killed if they fall into the wrong hands.

With classic 1980s jams playing in the background, Charlize engages in stylish, well-choreographed fight scenes, all the while wearing the latest in 1980s fashion.

Meanwhile, she works with devious allies like Percival (James McAvoy), Spyglass (Eddie Marsan) and Kurzfeld (John Goodman.)

There are a lot of twists.  You’ll feel contorted by the end.  At times it can be difficult to keep up with what is happening, but the music and action is fun.n

Also, you get to see Charlize’s tucas.  I assume it is hers.  I have no reason to believe it was a stunt butt but I have no means of verification.  It isn’t presented in a very erotic manner though but hey, a butt’s a butt.

I’m not sure it lived up to all the hype but it is a fun time just the same.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy.

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Movie Review – Dunkirk (2017)

Bombs!  Explosions!  The fate of the free world!

BQB here with a review of Christopher Nolan’s World War II flick, “Dunkirk.”

It’s May of 1940. The Nazis have swept into France and pushed allied British and French troops to the sea.  400,000 troops await evacuation while being pinned down by Nazi fighter/bomber warplanes.

The stakes are high.  The loss of 400,000 troops would be a terrible loss for the allies, hindering their chances of victory.  However, Churchill has surmised that to send in Navy warships to pick up the men would be a suicide mission, essentially sinking the much needed ships.

Thus, it’s a death defying escape mission.  The film switches back and forth between various parties.  British Fighter Pilot Farrier (Tom Hardy) patrols the scene, shooting down German fighters and watching the backs of those on the ground below.  Meanwhile, Mark Rylance plays Mr. Dawson, one of the many private citizens who volunteered to take their commercial/fishing boats into the war zone to help rescue the troops.  He dukes it out with Cillian Murphy, a battle weary soldier he’s picked up who, for obvious reasons, is scared to return to Dunkirk.

Soldiers trapped in the hold of a ship hunker down to avoid the constant gunfire piercing the ship’s hull.  Kenneth Branagh, the highest ranking officer on the scene, makes a lot of sullen facial expressions every time one of his subordinates delivers bad news, essentially capturing the fear that death might be certain and imminent.

If you’re looking for a plot driven film, you might be disappointed.  There isn’t much intrigue.  There aren’t any twists.  There isn’t much in the way of getting to know the characters or their backstory.  It’s basically a battle reenactment caught on film.

It’s a pretty intense ride.  Nolan makes ample use of ominous music, making you feel as though a Nazi fighter pilot might drop a bomb on your head at any minute.  He also works wonders with sound, the explosions are so loud and jarring you can feel them rattle you, probably the closest experience to war that can be provided through a film.

History flicks are always a risk.  The general public does not want to be educated.  They want to be entertained.  However, Nolan earned his bones through Batman, giving him the ability to preserve this heroic tale on film, one where the military and private citizens came together in a swift, massive effort to avoid a defeat that could have been staggering.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy.  Worth a trip to the theater.

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The History of Farts – The Big Fart Theory and Charles Darwin on the Evolution of Farts

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Of course, the most scientific minded of us reject the idea that God created the earth and all the farts upon it, arguing instead that the massive sphere we call home was created through natural forces.

Specifically, Dr. Hugo von Science, an esteemed Professor of Science at the Institute for Advanced Science Studies at Science University, spoke of the creation of the world and all the farts upon it in his seminal work, “The Big Fart Theory:”

There was a time when the space our planet now occupies was nothing but a dark void.  However, out of that void came large quantities of space gas.  These gases, which smelled terrible and thus had many of the same qualities as a fart, collided with one another over and over again until they created one giant super fart.  The super fart swirled and gurgled in an area we might refer to as the “metaphysical stomach of space.”  Finally, the super fart exploded with such a fierce velocity that it created a magnificent vortex, sucking in all space rocks within a radius of a hundred thousand light years.  These rocks collided against each other, slamming each other again and again until finally, the earth was formed, ironically, as the poop that came after the super fart dissipated.  We have been living and farting on the super fart’s poop ever since.

Fascinating.  But how did the individual farts come to be?  For that question, we turn to Charles Darwin’s fart evolution theory, which he discussed in his book, “The Origin of Farts.”

In my studies of the farting habits of the turtles of the Galapagos Islands, I have taken note of the following observations:

Some turtles make weak farts, barely heard or smelled.  Thus, they are fine company to be around but in the long run, the female turtle prefers a male turtle who can let out a robust fart, as loud, smelly farts are considered a sign of virility.  If the male turtle’s butt is working, then so to must his turtle junk be fully operational is the thought that I can only assume runs through the turtle’s mind.  And that thought must be a reality as I have seen first hand many, many hours of hardcore, down and dirty, rough and ready, bareback, no holds barred turtle sex between a female turtle and a male producer of obnoxiously loud and disgustingly smelly turtle farts.

Accordingly, if there is one universal truth it must be this:  via the process of natural selection, those members of any particular species who make weak farts will die out before they have the opportunity to copulate, their genetic material eventually removed from the population, whereas those with strong farts will attract a mate, fornicate wildly, and produce offspring capable of producing even strong farts.  When it comes to farts, it is all about the survival of the fittest fart.

Some very bold claims by Darwin.  Now, when you think about it, you may begin to wonder whether or not the concepts of creationism and evolution are reconcilable.  Here, we must remember the words of noted philosopher John Paul Fartre (not to be confused with noted philosopher John Paul Sartre:

Whenever I sit on the toilet and fart, I am reminded that I am seated not only upon a porcelain throne, but upon a large, circular sphere that hangs dangling in a vast sea of darkness, lit by a fiery orb that just happened to put there in just the right proximity to allow me to be warmed and to have light as I fart.

Yet, I am also reminded of some of my weaker ancestors, namely the prehistoric cave farters who tried to fart but could not and thus died of spontaneous combustion when their farts consumed their bodies from the inside out.  The stronger farters got together and breeded and centuries later, here I am, blasting out the remnants of my chili cheese fries without a care in the world.

Make no mistake about it.  We are here because some mystical, mysterious higher power deemed it so.  You may call this power God if you wish, but there can be no doubt that this power wants us to be here and he wants us to fart.

But take note of the fact that power gave us minds with the ability comprehend science.  And our farts have certainly gotten smellier and louder over the progression of time.  Some have even projected that if our farts continue along this natural progression, man may eventually produce what scientists have dubbed, “the uber fart” or the fart so toxic that it will consume the entire planet and waste it away into a worn out husk, a shell of its former self.

Frightening to be certain and yet we must remember this has happened before.  The dinosaurs, those mighty thunder lizards who occupied our orb long before we did, farted themselves into extinction and thus there can be no doubt we will do the same.

In short, it is possible to believe in fart creation and fart evolution at the same time.  God created farts and farts got more powerful over time.  Perhaps God has even given us a gift that he did not give to the dinosaurs, namely, a scientific mind capable of studying farts, the ability to figure out how to make farts less potent in order to stave off our inevitable destruction at the hands of the uber fart.

Powerful stuff.  Even more powerful farts.  John Paul Fartre’s warning could not be clearer.  Science and religion do not have to be diametrically opposed forces but rather, can compliment one another.  Scientists and theologians must walk hand and hand if they are ever to come together and prevent the uber fart from rearing its ugly, smelly head and destroying us all as it did with the dinosaurs so many years ago.

If you are an adherent to science, hug a religious person.  Religious people, hug a scientist.  Let us all get along in the spirit of stopping the uber fart in its tracks once and for all.

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Philosophers on Farting

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Think before you stink.

Hey 3.5 readers.

I surveyed the following philosophers on the topic of farting.  Here is what they said:

Socrates – If you want to know whether or not you should fart, ask yourself if you should or should not fart.  The answer to this fart question dwells within you and by asking yourself about farts, you will draw out the answer about farts.

Plato – Before you are born, you get to chill out in Heaven, where there is a mold of everything in the world, including farts.  You forget about that mold after you are born, but the knowledge of that fart mold is still in you deep somewhere, so think real hard, and you will come up with the answer about farts.

Aristotle – The answer to a fart question isn’t with you but it does lie within the world somewhere.  Study farts and you will learn about farts.

Machiavelli – Tell everyone you will not fart, then fart anyway.  By the time the gas hits their noses, it will be too late.

George Hegel – First, we must examine the fart as it happens.  Next, we must look back upon the time when the fart happened and reflect on it.  Finally, once considerable time has passed, we must philosophize about the fart.

Immanuel Kant – Only fart on someone if you wouldn’t mind if they were to fart on you.

Rene Descartes – I fart therefore I am.

Soren Kierkegaard – The number of potential ways in which one could fart are limitless, so much so that one could not even comprehend the sheer volume of ways to fart.  Regrets about your farting related decision are inevitable.  If you fart, you will regret it.  If you do not fart, you will regret it.  You are damned if you fart and damned if you don’t fart.  You will never know until the end of your life whether you should have farted or not but by then, you will have farted or not farted already.  There is just no way to tell whether or not you should fart until it is too late to fart or not fart.

Thomas Hobbes – Without farts, life is nasty, brutish and short.  With farts, life is smelly.

John Locke – Every man’s fart is his property.  This fart, nobody has a right to, but himself.

Thomas Paine – These are the farts that test men’s souls.

John Stuart Mill – You should only fart if it will benefit the most people.

Friedrich Nietzsche – God is dead.  All that matters is what you want.  If you want to fart, then fart.  If farting makes you happy, the fart, fart, fart.  Fart your way into becoming a gassy superman.

Arthur Schopenhauer – We’re all going to die at some point so go ahead.  Fart if you want.  You’re worried you’ll be embarrassed?  Don’t worry.  You’ll eventually die and then you won’t be worried about your farts anymore.  Worried other people will think ill of you if you fart?  Stop worrying.  They will all eventually die and then no one will be around to talk about your farts.  We’re all totally screwed so fart, fart away.  Fart loud and proud.

Arthur Shopenhauer, Take Two:  All farts pass through three stages.  First, they are ridiculed.  Second, they are violently opposed.  Third, they are accepted as self-evident.

Karl Marx – Farting is the opiate of the butt.  Also, you fart so much while other people fart so little.  Give those people half your farts.

Erwin Schrodinger – Plug up your nose and your ears and then stand next to a person.  Until you remove your ear and nose plugs, you will never know whether or not that person is farting.  Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell a fart.  Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell nothing.  You will never know if a person is farting until you experience the fart.  Until you experience the fart, it is possible that the person is farting and not farting at the same exact time.

Martin Heidegger – If you hold in your fart, you are denying the essence of your need to fart.  Farts are only experienced if they happen.

Jean Paul Sartre – The existence of your fart precedes the essence of your fart.

Albert Camus – In the depth of my buttcheeks, I finally realized there laid within an invincible fart.

 

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BQB’s Time Travel Adventures #2 – BQB vs. Hitler

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So, after I visited the 1970s and busted up a gang of ninjas in a disco, thus making all bushes in the future 25% bushier, I then went back in time to the early 1900s with one goal in mind – I would stop World War II from happening.

I arrived in Austria, where a dopey looking young man named Adolf Hitler was sitting on a park bench, trying to draw a picture of his bratwurst (not the one in his pants but the one he was intending to have for lunch later.)

“That’s a fine piece of art, Herr….”

“Hitler,” Hitler said.  “And nein!  I have applied to every art school around and they all tell me my work is nothing but goosenpoopen.”

“Really?”  I said.  “That’s terrible.  Everyone with creative talent should be able to pursue it.”

“That’s what I said,” Hitler said.  “But if I don’t get into art school I will have to go to my fall back plan.”

“What’s your fall back plan?”  I asked.

“To scheme my way into the German Chancellorship, declare war on the entire world and gas six million Jews to death,” Hitler said.

I was shocked.  I mean, I knew the history but still, to hear him say it out loud.  It was disturbing, to say the least.

“That’s your back up plan?”  I asked.

“Ja,” Hitler said.  “Also I might bang my niece.”

“Bang your…dude!”

“What?”  Hitler asked.

“Well,” I said.  “Is there no happy medium with you dude?  Most people who don’t get into art school say, ‘Well, I guess I’ll go be a janitor’ or ‘I guess I’ll go be a plumber’ or some other noble occupation.  I have literally never heard someone say, ‘Well, if I don’t get to do what I want then I’m just going to become the leader of a country and use my power to gas all the people I don’t like.”

“Undt bang my niece,” Hitler said.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I’ve never heard anyone say they want to do that either.”

“Undt I won’t gas all of them,” Hitler said.

“You won’t?”  I asked.

“Nein,”  Hitler said.  “Some of them I’ll push into ovens, or I might line them up against a wall and have them shot, or send them off to camps where they starve to death, or use them as forced labor and work them until they die of malnutrition and exhaustion.”

“Dude!” I said.

“It’ll be a mixed bag, really,” Hitler said. “I mean, ja, most of them will get the gas chamber or the oven but I’ll play it by ear and see how it goes.”

“Hitler,” I said.  “Not for nothing, but why do you hate Jewish people so much?”

Hitler sat back on the bench and closed his eyes.  “One time, when I was but a little kiddenheimer, I vent to lunch at mein school and a Jewish boy he…”

“Beat you?”  I asked.  “Tortured you?”

“Nein!”  Hitler said.  “He ate mein lunch!”

“Umm…”

“Mein sausage!  It was all gone!”  Hitler said.  “He said it was an accident.  He mixed up his bag with mine.  He apologized profusely but at that very moment I said to myself, ‘Adolf, you must really gas all these people and push them into ovens and only then will you get your revenge for your lost sausage!'”

“Hitler,” I said.  “Honestly, it sounds like the kid just made a mistake.  It happens to the best of us.  Sometimes we accidentally offend someone and all we can do is apologize and move on.  Even if he did it on purpose, it’s one kid.  You can’t denounce an entire group just because one member of the group did something you like.  One member of a group doing something wrong doesn’t mean the entire group is bad.  Seriously, what group in the entire world doesn’t have at least bad apple in it?”

“You sound like undt pussenstein,” Hitler said.

“No, really Hitler,” I said.  “You’ve got to listen and maybe I can help you screw your head on straight here.  If you’re just going to start killing groups of people just because one of them did something you didn’t like then you’re going to have to just kill the entire world.”

“Das est mein intention,” Hitler said.  “First the Jews, then the world.  Mein armies vill spread out across the globe.  All vill either obey me or vill be shoved in the oven.”

“Where are you even going to get a people oven?”  I asked.  “It’s not like there’s a people oven store.”

“I’m going to make a people oven,” Hitler said.  “I have some rudimentary designs.  You want to see?”

“Not really,” I said.  “But Hitler, have you considered the fact that on the whole, Jewish people are good eggs?”

“Nein!” Hitler said.

“Good food, good culture, music, arts, inventions, industry, hard work ethic,” I said.  “Historically, the Jewish people bring a lot to the table.”

Hitler began scribbling something on a piece of paper.

“What are you writing?”  I asked.

“A note to myself to have you pushed in an oven when I’m the chancellor,” Hitler said.

I sighed.  “You’re hopeless, Hitler.  Come on, let’s get you into art school.”

At that point, I found Hitler’s favorite art school.  “Das Skoolen Fer Peepzen What Wantzen to Drawzen Not Like Scheizen.”

I brought a thousand bucks back with me, a lot for me even in 2017 but it was like a small fortune in the 1930s.  I handed it off to the Dean and made him promise that he wouldn’t just accept Hitler, but that he’d also heap massive amounts of false praise on anything Hitler made, no matter how shitty it was.  Further, I made the Dean promise to really promote Hitler’s work, get all his friends in the art community to become Hitler’s patrons.  Set the guy up with a good living off of his art so he wouldn’t have to resort to his fall back plan of world domination and ethnic cleansing.

I arrived back in 2017, only to, you guessed it, learn that I had really cocked things up.

“Heil Hitler!  Video Game Rack Fighter said to me upon my arrival to BQB HQ.

“What the hell?”  I asked.  “Video Game Rack Fighter, my beloved nerdy girlfriend!  Why are you in a Nazi uniform?  I’ve never known you to be anything but sweet and kind to all people!  Are you a Nazi now?”

“Ja!” VGRF said.  “Everyone is a Nazi now, thanks to the leadership of Steve Hitler!”

“Steve Hitler?”  I asked.

“Ja!” VGRF said.  “Heil Steve Hitler!”

“Something’s amiss,” I said.  I turned on the TV and found a documentary.  The announcer summed up what happened:

“All hail our beloved World Chancellor, Steve Hitler, who is alive and well over 140 years old thanks to creepy and disturbing Nazi scientific methods!  Steve was but a modest little boy from Austria who used to sit back and dream of becoming a pig farmer.  He would overhear his brother Adolf talk about his fall back plans of world domination and ethnic cleansing and think that sounded like a real neat-o way to make a living. However, he had doubts about Adolf.  He thought Adolf would probably just cock the whole thing up and eventually lose the impending war.  However, when Adolf was accepted to study at an acclaimed art school, Adolf gave Steve his blessing to pursue his goals of world domination and ethnic cleansing.  In fact, Steve was so good at world domination and ethnic cleansing that Nazi historians are assured that Steve was the best choice to run the Nazi party whereas Adolf was better off behind the scenes.  Also, the art school helped Hitler become such a great artist that Hitler drew all kinds of propaganda posters that inspired the masses to become super racist and evil!  All hail the Nazi party and hail that random asshole that helped Adolf Hitler get into art school.  Because of that guy, everyone in the world is either dead or a super racist evil Nazi now!”

“Aww crap sandwich,” I said.  “I guess I know what I have to do.”

I returned to early 1900s Austria and found the version of myself that had time traveled to that time.  I kicked him in the nuts and instantly felt the pain myself.  I told him how his plan to stop World War II works out and he gasped.

After that, we scrapped the whole plan to stop Hitler and went to get some strudel instead.

The moral of the story?  If you try to fix something, you’ll just make it worse, so just shut up and go get a strudel.

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Top Ten Things I Would Do If I Could Become a Time Traveler

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Ahh, time travel.  To dare to surpass the surly bounds of time and space and end up in a different time period that this one.

The experts say that time travel could be reckless!  Every thing happened for a reason even the slightest change could destroy life as we know it.

Meh.  Who cares?  Throw caution to the wind, I say.  When it comes to time travel, I go balls out or I go home.

From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Random Town, it’s the Top Ten Things I’d Do if I Could Become a Time Traveler:

#1 – Change shit.  Like a lot of shit…with reckless abandon for no rhyme or reason.

Give an iPad to a caveman!  Give Napoleon a wedgie!  Kick Genghis Kahn in the nads!

Fart in the presence of Queen Victoria.  Pick a flower from the Jurassic period and plant it in 1702.

Kidnap a dinosaur and ride it into an Ancient Trojan battle.

Sneak into Einstein’s office and move things around without telling him.

Switch out George Washington’s wooden teeth for state of the art dentures.

Visit Jesus at the Last Supper and give everyone Big Macs.

#2 – Bang Hot Historical Chicks

Possible talent includes:

  • Marie Antoinette – Easily bribed with cake.
  • Cleopatra – “De Nile” might be a river in Egypt, but that fine ass Queen won’t be denyin’ this time traveling stud muffin.
  • Joan of Arc – Yes she was holy.  However, she was also a French chick so, you know…
  • Queen Elizabeth – Not the current one, the one that was the daughter of Henry the Eighth.  Her Dad was so obsessed with leaving behind a male heir that he lopped off the heads of many a wife and even changed England’s entire religion.  So yeah, there was a lot of pressure for Lizzy to keep the throne in the family.  In other words, I think she probably could have used a friend with benefits, a little casual fling with no strings attached.  I don’t want England.  I just want that royal booty.
  • Lady Godiva – Total slut if you can get her off that horse.

#3 – Tell Historical People How the World Turns Out in the Future, then Laugh at Their Reactions

“We’ve figured out how to drop contraptions out of the sky that are capable of destroying entire cities.  We have mechanical transports that can be used to move us from place to place.  We’re all super fat, they’ve got pills that can give you boners (sorry, historical people, ‘apothecary renderings that can engorge a man,’) the leader of the greatest nation in the world has talked about his penis in public, and women act like they’re the boss of everyone!  WTF, am I right?”

#4 – Sit in the Back of Movie Theaters from the Past and Shout Out Spoilers

Also works with plays.  “Hey, Lincoln!  Behind you!”

#5 – Visit the Future

There are a lot of questions about the future that I don’t want to leave hanging.

What will future people be like?  Will the world be better?  Will it be worse?

Will there be inventions that people today never could have conceived of?

Will future people think we are awful?

Will the future be worse?  We will regress into a Mad Maxian apocalypse world?

Will the world be run by damn dirty apes?

Will scientists ever invent robot hookers?  (If they do, I’m staying the future.)

#6 – Warn Past People of Upcoming Tragedies

Experts say you’re not supposed to do this, that horrible events, as bad as they are, happened and to change them is to throw off the whole space-time continuum.  Things happen for reasons we’ll never fully understand and who knows if changing the outcome of one event could cause a negative impact on the future?

But honestly, screw all that, because I keep it real and not warning people when you know some shit is about to go down just seems like a dick move.

Warnings I would give include, but are not limited to:

  • “Hey Europe.  Is it me or does this Hitler fella seem like a real turd sandwich?  Better keep an eye on that guy.  Appeasement doesn’t seem to be the way to go.  Maybe, just maybe, if he tries to march into Poland, y’all might want to get together and raise a stink about it.”
  • “Attention all Irish people.  Make your cows and chickens hump more so you can have more meat to eat because some shit’s about to happen with your potatoes.”
  • “Hey, everyone in 2001!  See those dudes with the box cutters about to get on those planes?  Let’s cock punch ’em!”
  • “Archduke Ferdinand, JFK, RFK, MLK…DUCK!”
  • “Hey Titanic travelers, why the rush?  Let’s smoke a doobie and wait for the next ship.  Europe will still be there.”
  • Alternatively – “Hey Captain Buttface!  Iceberg straight ahead!”

#7 – Take famous works from today.  Give them to my past self.   Reap the benefits.

What?  That’s stealing?  How dare you insult me, Bookshelf Q. Battler, writer of such famous songs as “What Does the Fox Say?” and “Baby Got Back?”  Why, I’d give you a stern talking to, but I must cash my royalty checks from sales on my new novel, The Hunger Games.  By the way, did you catch that new movie?  You know, Avatar.  Totally wrote the script for it.

#8 – The same thing as #7, but with inventions.

BQB here.  Inventor of the iPhone, the iPad, the drone, the cronut (half croissant/half donut), social media and Kim Kardashian’s extra strength panty hose.

#9 – Tell My Past Self to Blog Sooner

I really thought blogging was a dumb idea.  So far, I haven’t made any money yet, but what I lack in dollars, I make up in readers.  3.5 readers to be exact.

But seriously, the more you blog, the faster your blog grows.  Start sooner, rather than later.

#10 – Give My Past Self A Lot of Advice

This is actually a serious one, although I wasn’t joking about getting busy with Marie Antoinette.  I can picture her yelling, “Sacre Bleau, Mon Dieux, Ooo la la!” with that big tall hairdo waving all over the place.

But I digress.  I feel like at every point in my past where I was called upon to make a decision, I made the wrong one.  Granted, I have no idea if the other decision would have fared any better, but the path I took led me to working at Beige Corp and owning a blog read by only 3.5 readers, so advice to my former self as to some decisions he ought to change might improve my future.

Then again, I might just end up working at McDonalds and owning a blog read by 2.5 readers.

Sometimes the grass looks greener on the other side because it actually is greener.  Then again, sometimes the grass on the other side looks greener because it is being fertilized by a lot of poop you’re going to step in.

What would you do if you could become a time traveler, 3.5 readers?  Let me know in the comments.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 39

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Cole unwrapped his burger and winced as he saw two big pickle slices sticking out from underneath the bun.

“You know I hate pickles,” Cole said.

“Really?” Rusty asked with a fake lisp. “I thought you loved pickles, big boy.”

“Rusty,” Cole said. “Seriously, man. I need you to dial it back.”

“OK,” Rusty said.

“They’ve been weening me off the painkillers and I’m on edgy and moody as fuck,” Cole said.

Rusty chomped on an onion ring. “Well, a big ass dog did turn your leg into a Happy Meal so, I suppose those feelings are normal.”

Cole glared at Rusty.

“What?” Rusty asked. “That wasn’t even a joke! I’m just saying, it’s normal for you to feel like shit. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t feel that way in your situation. Just let it all out, man.”

“No,” Cole said. “Fuck that noise. Everyone wants to talk about their feelings. ‘Waah, waah, boo hoo hoo, I have so many feelings.’ Like that helps anything.”

Rusty picked the bun off of Cole’s burger and flicked off the two pickles. “Look here, this is a real easy fix. There. No more pickles.”

“Damn it!” Cole said.

“What?” Rusty asked.

“Well now your hand’s been on it…”

“I wash my hands, Cole,” Rusty said.

Cole picked up the burger.

“Although, come to think of it,” Rusty said. “I did take a big shit this morning and for the life of me I can’t remember if I washed my hands after.”

“Enough with the jokes!” Cole said.

“Not a joke,” Rusty said. “I truly can’t remember. That burger may very well be crawling with fecal coliform bacteria.”

Cole shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck it.” He bit into the burger, then moaned happily. “Oh God. Three months of jello.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Rusty said. “And I did tell that girl at the drive through to not put pickles on yours but you know those damn kids never listen.”

Cole and Rusty munched on their food for awhile as they watched Network News One on the TV in the lounge.

“In recent news Vice-President Cheney has announced that he will try really, really hard to not shoot any of his friends in the face ever again,” Kurt Manley said. “The VP added, ‘That was totally my bad, people. Totally my bad. In other news, Senator Barack Obama spoke to supporters on the campaign trail today…”

Senator Obama appeared on screen at a podium. “For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we’ve been told we’re not ready or that we shouldn’t try or that we can’t, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can!”

“Will you get a load of this guy?” Rusty said. “‘Barack Obama.’ Why don’t they just run a guy named Jihadi Al-I’ll-bomb-ya?”

Cole sipped his soda. “I don’t know. He’s a real slick talker. I’ll give him that.”

“What you like him?” Rusty asked.

“I don’t like any politicians,” Cole said. “Republican. Democrat. All the same. When they walk in the room, grab your wallet and hold on tight.”

“Shit,” Rusty said. “You got that right.”

Obama continued. “It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can!”

“‘Yes, we can,’” Rusty said. “‘Hope and change.’ Bunch of bull.”

“He’s got it locked up,” Cole said.

“You think?” Rusty said.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “The man can talk the paint off a barn door.”

Rusty took a bite of his burger and swallowed. “I dunno. I heard McCain just picked this Sarah Palin lady to be his vice-president.”

“Sarah who?” Cole said.

“Palin,” Rusty said. “Governor of Alaska. Supposed to be a real smart cookie though I dunno, I haven’t heard her talk yet.”

Cole stole one of Rusty’s onion rings. “Really, who gives a shit?”

“Indeed, brother,” Rusty said. “Indeed.”

Rusty wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin, then stood up.

“Got a hot date tonight, dude,” Rusty said. “How do I look?”

“Like you should be a supporting cast member on The Sopranos,” Cole said.

“Oh God,” Rusty said. “Don’t even get me started on that show, Cole. I whacked my TV set for a good thirty-five minutes after that finale because friggin’ HBO made me think it was on the fritz.”

“Where’d you meet this one?” Cole asked.

“Online,” Rusty said. “Internet dating, Cole. It’s amazing. You just log on and it’s like your own catalog of poon.”

Cole bit off a hunk off his burger and chewed. “She’s probably a man.”

“I will hear no insults about the lovely Layla,” Rusty said.

Cole washed down his bite with another sip of soda. “Layla’s dick is probably bigger than yours.”

“Blasphemy, sir!” Rusty said. “You have besmirched my honor!”

“You don’t have any honor,” Cole said.

“Oh, right,” Rusty replied. “Check this out.”

Rusty grabbed the sides of his pants, which were secured by dozens of snap-on buttons. The redhead yanked, the pants broke free and there he stood in the middle of the lounge in his polka-dot boxer shorts.

“What the hell?” Cole asked.

“Breakaway pants!” Rusty said. “You like ‘em?”

“No,” Cole said.

“Check it,” Rusty said. “I put these bad boys on. I take Layla out to the club. We’re drinking. We’re dancing. We’re grinding all over each other. We’re in the mood and…splatow! Off come my pants! No muss, no fuss!”

Dr. Kragen walked into the lounge with a parfait cup in her hand. She spotted a pants-less Rusty and instantly turned around and walked away. “Nope. Don’t even want to know.”

“You really need to put your pants back on,” Cole said.

“Oh,” Rusty said as he looked down at his hairy legs. “Right.”

After Rusty was fully clothed again, the duo continued their meal in silence for awhile. Finally, Cole speak.

“Where is she?” Cole asked.

“Where’s who?” Rusty replied.

Cole slapped the remaining half of his burger down on the paper. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Rusty asked.

“Play dumb,” Cole said. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Who’s playing?” Rusty asked. “I’m very dumb.”

“Where’s Sharon?”

“I don’t know, man,” Rusty said. “She didn’t call you?”

“No,” Cole said.

“That’s weird,” Rusty said.

“Stop it,” Cole said.

“Thought she said she was going to call you,” Rusty said. “She probably got busy with something.”

“Knock it off,” Cole said.

“You know how women are,” Rusty said. “They’d forget their heads if they weren’t attached.

Cole pounded his fist down on the table. “Where’s Sharon?!”

A few patients and their families turned around to stare. Rusty waved them off.

“OK,” Rusty said as he put down his burger. “I’ve been dreading this…”

“What?” Cole said. “Come on, man, out with already. Be straight with me!”

“I’ve been straight with you,” Rusty said.
“No you haven’t,” Cole said. “Every time I see you, you got some excuse for her. She’s really busy, she’s sick, she’s visiting her mother, her sister’s got the flu…I was too high to figure it out but now that the doctor cut my dosage I’m getting the distinct fucking feeling that you have been very far from straight with me.”

“Cole,” Rusty said. “I didn’t want to…”

“I lost my leg and my wife hasn’t come to see me once,” Cole said. “I’m not an idiot, Rusty.”

“I know,” Rusty said.

Rusty pulled a piece of paper out of his folder out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cole. As soon as Cole looked at it, he felt his entire world collapse. Two words were written on it in Sharon’s handwriting. “I’m sorry.”

Cole crumpled up the paper and threw it against the wall. He pounded his fist on the table over and over. “Fuck!”

The patients and families looked over again. Cole let them have it. “The fuck are you looking at?! Mind your business!”

“That night,” Rusty said. “When the doctors told me you were stable, I swung by your house to tell Sharon and she wasn’t there.”

Cole cocked his head back and stared up at the ceiling in a daze.

“I let myself in,” Cole said. “Found that on the kitchen table. All her stuff was gone.”

Cole remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Rusty said. “You’ve been through so much. I didn’t want to upset you. I figured it might mess up your chances of getting better. Kept hoping maybe she’d come back or something and it’d all be fine but…that never happened.”

“You call her?” Cole asked.

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “Left a bunch of messages. Just went right to voicemail.”

A few silent minutes passed. Cole kept staring at the ceiling. Rusty kept eating dinner.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “Now I feel bad for telling you about my date.”

“She probably has a dick,” Cole said.

“She most definitely has a dick,” Rusty replied.

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Literary Poop with Professor Nannerpants – Analysis Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Professor Horatio J. Nannerpants, Professional Simian Literary Professor/Semi-Professional Poop Flinger

Oh, 3.5 readers!  Get thee to Europe to see the glory of what once was.  The statues, the brilliant architecture and of course, the fine cuisine.  It’s all so lovely that it almost breaks my heart when I lose control and throw my poop all over it.

Yes, in this land rife with history, there are all sorts of lessons to be learned about history and culture, stories of monarchs who have come and gone.  And you’ll even find such tales written into various antiquities the world over, even in, say, Egypt.

Have you set a goal for yourself, 3.5 students?  Is it a big project?  Perhaps it’s causing you a great deal of anxiety.  In times such as these, I highly recommend flinging your poop against the wall.  I know it calms me right down, though I presume it creates all sorts of untoward feelings inside the poor individual who must clean up the poop.

Oh well.  That’s not my problem, for I am much, much too important to clean up poop.

Not only is life short and full of poop, but eventually, everything you do or say or even accomplish will, as a basic matter of fact, turn into poop.  Such is the point of Ozymandias, the old poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

“I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Pardon my French, 3.5 students, but that Percy Bysshe Shelley was one morose motherfucker.  To paraphrase the immortal Ben Affleck’s line delivered in that most seminal work, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, it’s as if someone shit in Percy’s breakfast cereal.

But the man has a point.  The poet speaks of Ozymandias, better known as Ramses II, the mightiest of all Egyptian pharaohs.

Ozymandias believed in himself so righteously that he had himself preserved in a giant statue.  The engraving boasts of Ozymandias’ power and warns other mighty kings to “look upon” his works “and despair.”

Despair about what?  All the broken statue pieces and shit littering the dessert sands?

What is Percy getting at?  The fragile nature of life.  Maybe one day you’ll accomplish as much as a great Egyptian pharaoh, but sooner or later, the poop will hit the fan.  You’ll kick the bucket and all the material possessions you acquired will end up broken and rotting underneath the sand, or dirt, depending on where your shit is doing its rotting.

Now, don’t get Percy wrong.  I don’t think he’s coming right out and saying, “Give the eff up.  Smoke a bone and stop trying because we’re all screwed anyway.”

I mean, it’s still pretty awesome that Ozymandias managed to do so many great things that he was eventually preserved in the form of a giant ass statue.  Sure, you can mock him, but it’s not like you ever did anything that led to your immortalization in a statue.

The lesson?  Do try, for there may be awesome rewards.  However, if you fail, don’t beat yourself up too badly about it.  After all, this is all turning to poop sooner or later.

Is there something you’re trying to achieve, 3.5 students?  Do you worry that one day it will all turn to poop?  Fling your poopy thoughts in the comments.

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Movie Review – The Promise (2017)

Romance!  War!  Fezes!  So many fezes.

BQB here with a review of The Promise.

In the waning days of the Ottoman Empire, a love triangle forms between Armenian medical student Mikael (Oscar Isaac or “Poe Dameron” as Star Wars fans know him), American journalist Chris Myers (Christian Bale), and French Armenian artist Ana (Charlotte Le Bon).

Both men yearn for Ana’s heart (and cooter) but there’s much more evil doings afoot.  The Ottoman Empire becomes Germany’s ally in World War I.  Now stronger than ever thanks to their German benefactors, the Turkish majority army sets its sights on the country’s Armenian minority.  Armenians are savagely executed, brutalized, rounded up, sent off to forced labor camps and so on.

Although the film is a love story and a war story, it’s much more than any of that.  As far as I know (and perhaps historians/film buffs can prove me wrong), it’s the best, most compelling story of the Armenian Genocide, a horrific chapter in Turkey’s history that should be more well known to the world than it is.

As the film states, the French Navy was able to rescue 4,000 Armenians.  However, a staggering 1.5 million Armenians were killed.  To this day, the Turkish government denies that the Armenian Genocide ever happened.  This sucks, especially since Turkey is a NATO ally.

It’s an Oscar-ish movie, though I doubt it will see any gold statues as it was released too early in the year.  Oscar Isaac gets to shine in a non-comic book/sci-fi movie. Bale is an impressive adventurer/man of the world.  Le Bon puts the filling in my Crepe Suzette and is so beautiful that you almost can’t blame Chris and Mikael for stopping periodically during the war to vie for Ana’s hand (and cooter).

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy.  A must see and it is a movie that does the world a service by shining a light on a tragic part of history.

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