Tag Archives: hollywood

Sep 30 2015
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A Guide to the Bookshelf Battleverse

A Guide to the Bookshelf Battleverse – Part 7 – Pop Culture Mysteries

Just as Cheers begat Frasier and Friends begat Joey, so too did the Bookshelf Battle Blog begat Pop Culture Mysteries.

You wish your blog had a spinoff.

DELILAH K. DONNELLY

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Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly of the Los Angeles based law firm of Donnelly and Associates is considered one of the finest lawyers in Hollywood, known for her ability to make impossible deals happen and free even the most guilty looking suspects.  Needless to say, her services cost a pretty penny.

Thus, it’s a mystery as to why she voluntarily serves as Lead Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, holding BQB’s hand in all murky matters and acting as the rock he needs to lean on when times get tough.

A woman of perfect poise and posture, elegance, class, and refinement, she carries herself in an old fashioned manner, though she gets along just fine in modern times, eating most men who cross her for breakfast with a cunning quip.

Intensely guarded when it comes to her personal life, BQB is fully aware of how lucky he is to have such high caliber representation for a website with only 3.5 readers.

JAKE DASHING

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One of the most infamous lawmen of the twentieth century, Jacob R. Dashing left his hometown of Bayonne, NJ at age 18 with his then girlfriend, Hettie May Blodgett.  The young couple made their way to Tinseltown with stars in their eyes and dreams of fame in their hearts.

Dashing wanted to be an actor, Hettie a singer.  Since Dashing became a drunk and Hettie went on to become legendary Jazz singer Peaches LeMay, the deal worked out a bit better for his better half.

A budding career as a boxer was cut short when Mugsy McGillicuddy’s gang forced him to take a dive lest Peaches sleep with the fishes.

“The Jersey Jabber” sought redemption and found it during World War II, when he was recruited for a top secret mission to punch Adolf Hitler in the face.

Through Attorney Donnelly, BQB and Dashing are currently in negotiations regarding the production of a novel based on Operation Fuhrerpunschen.

Such a move may be risky, as there are forces who would prefer to see the details of this mission stay buried.

Following WWII, Jake found employment with the LAPD, rising to the level of detective, and later became a private investigator.

His three ex-wives include:

  • Trixie, who slept with Jake’s partner, Mickey, but insisted she was fooled.  Since she wasn’t the brightest bulb, her claim wasn’t that far fetched.
  • Muffy, who shot Jake six times, but loved him enough to miss every vital organ.
  • Connie, who was the most loyal woman Jake ever knew, but alas he drove her away with his booze addiction.

POP CULTURE MYSTERIES

In 1954, Jake fell asleep at his desk.  When he woke up, it was 2014.  The Tsang family, who considered him an honorary member, took care of him for close to sixty years while he was dozing.

Cell phones.  Computers.  Color TV.  Women wearing pants and acting like they own the joint.  2014 was not a world that Jake recognized, and he began searching for answers.  Why did he sleep for nearly sixty years and was it possible to return to his own time?

A year later, in the summer of 2015, Delilah K. Donnelly walked into Jake’s office, offering answers…for a price.

Her client, Bookshelf Q. Battler, claimed to have the answers Jake was looking for, and would reveal him in exchange for Jake’s agreement to solve one hundred pop culture mysteries.

The notorious lawman felt a bit silly taking on questions as foolish as “What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses?” but decided it was worth it if it would get him back to the 1950s.

Like most hardboiled noir style private detectives, Jake is prone to speaking in long, exaggerated monologues.

To date, BQB and Jake have never met.  Attorney Donnelly delivers BQB’s pop culture questions to Jake out of an entirely astute fear that Jake will just strangle the shit out of him until he makes with the answers.

Remember, 3.5 readers.  Many bloggers claim to be great, but only Bookshelf Q. Battler has pissed off a trained Nazi killer/boxer/detective for your personal amusement.

Keep that shit in mind when you’re doling out the leibsters, nerds.

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Sep 02 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mini Mysteries with Informant Zero – Mr. T’s Real Name Revealed/What Does Lady Gaga Live For?

Salutations 3.5 readers.

Informant Zero

Informant Zero

Informant Zero here, returning once again with another pop culture mini mystery.

LAST WEEK’S QUESTION: What is Mr. T’s real name?

ANSWER: Lawrence Tureaud.  Word has it that Lawrence began wearing gold chains and jewelry while working as a bouncer. Unruly patrons would get into fights, cause trouble, and be ejected. Whenever they accidentally left jewelry behind, Mr. T would wear the items so he could give them to said difficult patrons when they’d inevitably return for them, thus preventing them from entering the club where they would most likely cause trouble again.

See Mr. T’s Wikipedia Page for more info.

Next week’s question:  Lady Gaga lives for something.  What is it?

Tweet your guesses to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments.

And remember, 3.5.

A lost truth can always be found.

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Aug 26 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mini-Mysteries with Informant Zero – What is Mr. T’s Real Name?

Salutations 3.5 Readers,

Informant Zero

Informant Zero

Informant Zero here, reporting from my nondescript lair deep beneath the Anything Goes Club.

Through Attorney Donnelly, Bookshelf Q. Battler and I have reached an agreement.

Every Wednesday, I’ll post a Mini-Mystery, a short question about entertainment.

Doing so will allow Detective Hatcher to ramble off course from the questions BQB asks him but still get your inquiries about Hollywood answered.

THIS WEEK’S QUESTION

In the 1980’s, Mr. T was a big brawny fan favorite.  As BA Baracus, he was the A-Team’s muscle.  Sporting layers upon layers of gold jewelry, he became a cult icon and even had his own Saturday morning cartoon show.

As Clubber Lang, he delivered an upsetting defeat to Rocky Balboa in Rocky III.  Rocky learned the hard way that complacency is a surefire path toward defeat.

The mystery at hand?

What is Mr. T’s real name?

Tweet your answers to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments below.  I will return next Wednesday to provide the answer and a new mystery.

So long, 3.5 readers and remember:

The truth is not as hidden as you might think.

Do you have a question about entertainment?  Whether it’s about Hollywood, celebrity gossip, TV, movies, books, music etc. drop a dime to @bookshelfbattle  

BQB might assign it to Jake or Informant Zero, depending on who’s available.

If you’ve got a book or blog, it will be plugged, subject to Attorney Donnelly’s approval.

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Aug 13 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 6)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“Ms. Donnelly,”  Informant Zero said.  “I have been so very intrigued by Mr. Battler’s blog since its inception that I decided I must get involved.  And Mr. Hatcher, your reports have especially inspired me.”

“So you’re the one who read them.”

“What a life you have lived, Mr. Hatcher.  From 1920 until present day, you have seen this world grow, shutterstock_13743706change, go to war on a massive scale, taken on the criminal underworld of LA’s yesteryear and survived.  Regrettably, you missed quite a bit during your extended nap, but that you’re in good enough condition to share your stories with the world now is amazing.”

“Thanks,”  I said.  “But if I wanted wind blown up my chassis I’d of skipped the trip and stood on an air vent.”

“This is not an enterprise I want to engage in for the rest of my life, Mr. Hatcher.  One day, I’d like to see a Los Angeles where the rich and powerful do what is right because it is the right thing to do, and not because they’re afraid I’ll expose them if they don’t.  Thus, this city needs a hero like you to clean it up and I’d like to do what I can to help.”

“I don’t do much cleaning these days, bub.”

“Then you are truly wasting your talents.  Surely that will change as you get adjusted.  But more importantly, Mr. Hatcher, I can’t help but wonder what this world would be like today had a man of your integrity not fallen asleep in 1955, but rather, had been allowed to continue performing feats of daring do.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the world would be a better place today had you been allowed to keep kicking criminal ass until you became an elderly man during the 1980’s, perhaps even the 90’s.”

“I think about that all the time,”  I said.

“But as an tech expert, I know the mind of a blogger and I know it well,”  Informant Zero said.  “If Battler doesn’t eventually see an increase in readership, he will decide that his time would be better spent playing video games and allowing his ass to expand.  He’ll abandon his blog, you, and your stories will never be shared, because good luck getting through the traditional publishing door.”

“Now just one  moment,”  Delilah said.  “I doubt very much that Mr. Battler will abandon Mr. Hatcher and leave him without the answers he is searching for.”

“He probably won’t, at least not intentionally,”  Informant Zero explained.  “But what if I could help provide a new feature for the upcoming Pop Culture Mysteries spin-off blog, one that would drive up the World Renowned’ Poindexter’s readership?”

I shot Delilah an incredulous look.

“Spin-off blog?  Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Mr. Battler’s mentioned it on his blog a number of times.  Do try to keep up.”

“Do I get any more money for this?”

“No,”  Delilah said.  “At least not according to your contract.”

“Mother of God,”  I said.  “It’s like the damn pinko commies won.”

“Mr. Hatcher,”  Informant Zero said.  “You write very long, detailed reports.  Those are great for individuals who read as a pleasurable past time.  But what about people on the go?  Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers who only have 3.5 seconds to spare?”

“I don’t know,”  I said.  “Tell them to screw?”

“No.  That’s where I will come in.  You continue to write your long reports.  I’ll write short bursts, quick mini-mysteries, a pop culture question of the week with a short answer.  Together, we’ll inspire Hollywood to plug up their plot holes and put out a better product.  It’ll bring more hits, Battler’s writing career takes off and who knows, maybe if he gets to the point where he actually starts making money off of his Internet ventures, he’ll release you early from your 100 mystery commitment.”

“Now you’re starting to make sense,”  I said.

Delilah was back to reading her note paper again.

“Mr. Zero,”  she said.  “To that end, Mr. Battler has expressed concern that your Pop Culture Mystery expertise may be lacking and has requested that I kick your tires, as it were, with three questions.”

More of that maniacal, ear crushing electric laughter.

“Proceed.”

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Aug 12 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 5)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“A question for you, my guests,”  Informant Zero said.  “What is the greediest animal in the world?”

I wasn’t amused.

“I’m not one for riddles, Jack.”

“Are you, Ms. Donnelly?”shutterstock_243113842

“I’d wager it’s man.”

More smoke blew out of the shadowy orifice.

“And you’d be correct.  As the Native Americans have said, man has a hole in his heart, a deep hunger that can never be filled.”

I checked my pocket watch.  This guy was going to go on and on.

“Los Angeles has the single largest collection of celebrities in the world,”  Informant Zero said.  “We have men and women who are magnificent to look at, in peak physical condition, and they get paid obscene amounts of money to play make believe.  I’ll admit that acting takes skill and training.  However, let’s be honest.  They’re not digging ditches, or breaking a sweat, or worried about bills like the average citizen is.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,”  I said.

“One would think that an individual who is blessed enough to sniff the rarified air of fame and fortune would be content, but as you witnessed on your way to me, that is not the case.  No matter how much man obtains, he always, without fail, wants more.  Though the general assumption is that celebrities must be happy because they live lifestyles that are far above the norm, the truth is that most famous people are woefully unhappy.”

“I’ve seen more than a few folks get to the top of the world only to fall off it,”  I said.  “I’m one of them.”

“Yes, Jersey Jabber,” Informant Zero said, a mocking note to my failed boxing career, which came to an end when I took a dive.

This guy knew everything about me.  Makes sense, since as he mentioned, he was one of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers.

“Sometimes the hunger that drives man can be good, such as when Mozart composes a symphony or Picasso paints a canvas.  Both men made their art in search of society’s approval, but they also gave the world the gift of their talent as well.”

I sat back in my chair, locked my fingers behind my head and yawned.

“More often, the hunger causes man to implode, such as when you turn on the news to learn about the latest actor or musician to become wrapped up in a scandal.  That hunger is why being a famous actress wasn’t enough for Lindsey Lohan.  It’s why she experienced her infamous battles with drugs and alcohol.  Even Bill Clinton, the former president, engaged in transgressions with an intern.  Even the highest office in the free world couldn’t satiate him.”

“Get outta’ town,”  I said.  “There was a president who got some action on the side?  Why don’t you tell me these things, Ms. Donnelly?”

“It was two presidents ago, Mr. Hatcher.  I’ll tell you about it later.”

Informant Zero switched gears.

“What is the most valuable form of currency?”

Delilah and I looked at each other.  We had nothing.

“Information,”  Informant Zero said.  “In today’s world, information is traded, bought and sold like commodities on the open market at a breakneck pace.  Our celebrities unsatisfiable hunger to fill their bottomless hearts causes them to engage in all manner of transgressions.”

“Like that fella in the cowboy hat who has short people cover him in cottage cheese?”

“Like him.  And that is where I come in.  My vast network of spies feed me a never ending flow of information of what’s happening in this town at all times.  More often than not, I know something is going to happen even before it happens.”

“Gotta say then, Jack, its odd that the group of famous perverts upstairs would allow you to set up shop here.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Hatcher.  It is I who allow them to set up shop here.  This is my establishment.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“The actions you saw upstairs are tame compared to what truly goes on behind closed doors in the City of Angels.  Mere foolishness and nothing at all I’m concerned about,”  Informant Zero said.  “There are actions that certain famous individuals who shall remain nameless are engaged in that, if you were to hear about them, you’d never watch a movie or listen to a song ever again.”

“Worse than the cottage cheese thing?”  I asked.

“A million times worse,”  Informant Zero said.  “And that’s where I come in.  For a price, I can bury a brewing scandal and keep it away from the public.  I can bury a celebrity’s bad information by trading on information I’ve stockpiled about the misdeeds of various politicians, government officials, journalists, and business executives.”

“Blackmail for a clean sweep?”  I asked.

“Indeed.”

I started to get up.

“Ms. Donnelly I don’t think we want to be involved with this sort of character.”

“Before you make up your mind,” Informant Zero said.  “Know that I have accomplished more good than anyone else could have with such an endeavor.  “I have never used my powers to cover up illegal activity, only actions that would provide great embarrassment and humiliation for the perpetrator.”

“I repeat, ‘worse than the cottage cheese thing?'”

“Name redacted’s fondness of cottage cheese thing has been widely reported in the trades and gossip rags, Mr. Hatcher.  The public doesn’t care one iota.  His quote per film is higher than ever.  The world has a higher level of tolerance for depravity than it did in your day.  The actions engaged in upstairs, though questionable, would barely register a blip on the public’s radar compared with the inappropriateness I’ve helped the powerful hide.”

“So you run a one stop shop for entitled assbags,”  I said.  “They come here, they lather themselves up in dairy products, get their jollies off, and if they need to, come ask you to take the heat off of them for something they did that’s even WORSE than the freakshow going on upstairs?”

“That’s it in a nutshell,”  Informant Zero said.  “However, I also use the information I obtain for good.  I have provided law enforcement agencies with information that has cracked troublesome cases and put bad people away.  I have worked with the press to expose charlatans, frauds, and others who prey on the weakest among us.  But alas, I cannot obtain and trade information that will help the world without the profits from helping celebrity transgressions disappear.”

“Mr. Zero,”  Delilah said.  “The question yet to be addressed is how can you be of service to Mr. Battler?”

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Aug 10 2015
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TV Reviews

True Detective -Season 2 Finale – TV Review by Special Guest Jake Hatcher

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

True Dick

True Dick

The name’s Hatcher.  Jake Hatcher.  I’m a gumshoe.  A sleuth.  A shamus.  A private dick.

And as of late, a coerced scribe for Bookshelf Q. Battler’s joke of a blog.

Not to put my employer down, but I’ve seen milk cartons with a higher readership.

Let’s take a minute and shoot the bull about True Detective.  The second second season just wrapped up on HBO and there were more twists than a road designed by a blind man.

I’m required to warn you this review has more SPOILERS that you can shake a stick at.

Trailer – True Detective – HBO

Like most capers, it all begins with a murder.

The City of Vinci.  It’s a factory town.  Lot of big business, but only a handful of people actually live there.  That means the cops and the local government pretty much act with impunity, free to wrangle their devious deals without any oversight.

And like most mysteries, this story begins with a murder.  The city manager, a real pervert’s pervert, is put on ice.  A special task force is put together to figure out the whodunnit.

It includes:

  • Rachel McAdams as Ani Bezzerides – Hubba hubba.  Even though they try to ugly her up so she looks like a real downtrodden broad, she still makes this gumshoe’s ticker skip a beat.  Hell, I still haven’t stopped thinking about how this dame wore the hell out of that dress in Southpaw.  Bezzerides’ pops ran some hippy dippy commune and growing up on it made for a tough life.
  • Tayler Kitsch as Paul Woodrugh – A highway patrolman who takes a bad rap when he pulls over a speeder.  Turns out its some floozy actress who puts the frame job on him.  She makes a false claim that he tried to get the goodies just to get out of trouble because she’s had one too many run ins with the law before.  His bosses put him on the special detail so he can lay low for awhile, but the case allows him to do anything but.
  • Colin Farrell as Ray Velcoro – a real mean so and so, a drunk bastard to boot.  Beats up people at the drop of a hat.  I kinda liked him.  (Well, except for the corruption part.)  Ray’s wife was raped years ago an he turned to mobster Frank Semyon to hand over the perpetrator. Unfortunately, Ray pays for that info with his soul as he ends up becoming Frank’s lapdog for the rest of his life, using his position to further Frank’s criminal interests on account of Frank now having something to hold over Ray’s head.

Frank, played by Vince Vaughn, is a crooked club and casino owner whose duked his way out to the top of the underworld ranks.  He’s experienced success late in life and like most folks who’ve had that happen, it’s hard for him to be happy about it.  He’s bitter that it took so long and his worst fears are met when he discovers that the city manager had been looting all his money behind his back.  It’s up to Frank to find out who the manager was working with.

I’m a straight arrow when it comes to the letter of the law, so I don’t care for it when a bad guy is glorified.  However, Vaughn steals the show and the writers try to get the point across that sometimes folks like Frank, born into bad circumstances, see their only way to the top as being a life of crime.

To the show’s credit, it’s also made clear that Frank could walk away at any time and leave the degenerate life behind.  His wife Jordan, aka Kelly Reilly, begs him to take the money they have left, forget about revenge, and call it quits, but Frank just can’t do it.

I can relate.  My third ex-wife, Connie, often tried to talk me out of dropping the gumshoe game.  She wanted to move to the sticks and start a bed and breakfast.  I came up with a million reasons why that wasn’t feasible but the real one is that I’d of been bored out of my mind.  Sometimes you get to the point where you’ve pummeled so many criminals that you don’t know what you’d do without another one to smack around.

But I digress.

Overall, it was a decent program with a lot of action and intrigue.  Also, there’s the occasional bare set of bosoms.  It’s not like I try to notice things like that, but I can’t help it.  I’m a detective.  I notice every detail.  No matter how big.

One criticism might be that the plot is a bit convoluted.  I watched the whole thing and had to stand on my head and spin before it all made sense.  You’ve got land deals, murder, a cold case from 1992, some impropriety in Afghanistan, sometimes it all ties together, though you need a flowchart and a slide rule to figure it all out.

Maybe that’s director Nic Pizzolato’s point.  Sometimes the answers to mysteries aren’t handed over all wrapped with a nice shiny red bow.

Word on the street is there have been some complaints that this season wasn’t as good as the last.  To that, I’d point out that the idea is that each season rolls with a new group of detectives in a different locale.  Thus, each season is like watching a whole new extended movie, so it’s hard to compare one film to another.  Just because you really like one movie, aka season one, doesn’t mean the second movie, aka season two was terrible.

They were just different.

Ahh, Rachel McAdams.  What a foxy broad.

Jake Hatcher is the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s Pop Culture Detective, sworn to solve 100 pop culture mysteries.  Sometimes he even shares his own tales of daring do in LA’s seedy underworld.  If you have a pop culture question, put Jake on the case.  Tweet questions to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments.

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Aug 10 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 3)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1      Part 2  

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

After leading us through a door and down a dark hallway, the cowboy screeched his Segway to a halt in front of an elevator.

He pushed the down button.

“Here, buckaroos, is where I leave you.”shutterstock_239019796

“OK then,”  I said.  “Happy trails, pardnah.'”

“Before I go…the rules.”

“The rules!”  the cowboy repeated loudly.  “You’ll follow them to the letter if you don’t want to get thrown out of here.  Rule Number One.  Do not ask Informant Zero his name.  If he wanted you to know, he wouldn’t refer to himself as Informant Zero.”

“Makes sense.”

“Rule Number Two.  Do not touch Informant Zero in any way, shape, or form.”

“But I like touching shadowy underworld characters,”  I said.  “It’s a condition.  I can’t help it.”

Delilah tugged on my sleeve.  “Now is not the time, Mr. Hatcher.”

The cowboy squinted at me, attempting to discern whether or not I was joking.  Obviously I was, but he let it go.

“Rule Number Three, do not remove Informant Zero’s disguise.  He takes a number of precautions to hide himself from the world, and he needs to keep it that way.”

“Kinda redundant, Jack,”  I said.  “Touching him would be required to reveal him.  You could have stopped at number two.”

“NO, YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED AT NUMBER TWO!!!”

This guy was like a ticking time bomb, the slightest provocation set him off.

His comeback didn’t even make sense, but I didn’t want to rile him up any further.

“We like Informant Zero,”  the cowboy said.  “We want to keep him around.  People are only allowed to conduct business with him when they follow the rules, capiche?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to…”

Another tug on my sleeve from Delilah.

“We capiche,” she assured our guide.  “We very much capiche, thank you Mr. Redacted.”

“All right then,”  the cowboy said as the elevator dinged.  “As long as you kemo sabes capiche.”

The doors opened and we stepped inside.

“Enjoy your visit and tell old IZ I said hello.”

Just before the doors closed, I snuck in a, “Go suck some cottage cheese ya’ sick bastard.”

And just before our descent, I heard a fist pound the metal doors, followed by an, “OW!!!  SON OF A…”

“Mr. Hatcher, that was quite uncalled for.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Donnelly.  I just didn’t like the cut of his jib.”

“Well you’re going to have to get used to jibs of all different shapes and sizes if you’re going to make it in this world.  The days when everyone marches to the tune of the same drummer are long gone.”

“Tell me about it.”

Like a trip to Veracruz, it was a long ride.

As we continued to plummet deep below the Earth’s surface, Delilah piped up again.

“Mr. Hatcher, were the olden days really that good?”

“Not at all,”  I said.  “Everyone foisted their personal beliefs on you and threatened to ruin you if you didn’t comply.”

“So why are you in such a hurry to get away from the present?”

I didn’t skip a beat.

“Because everyone foists their personal beliefs on me and threatens to ruin me if I don’t comply.”

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Aug 09 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

The Anything Goes Club.  Armand wasn’t kidding.

I’d never seen such a disgusting display in all my life.

shutterstock_71510056

“How is it possible that I’ve been scraping the fungus off of LA’s seedy underbelly for years and this is the first I’ve heard of this place?”

“We hide ourselves well, sir,”  Armand said.  “We cater to all manner of, interests, and our more famous clients appreciate our…discretion.”

Indeed, there were a number of celebrities in our midst.  Lucky for them, I was new to this time period and while I recognized many of them from seeing them in passing on Ms. Tsang’s television, I didn’t know any of them by name.

I was fairly certain one of the gals slathering herself up in the jello fighting pit was the same skirt who pointed to prizes and smiled on Ms. Tsang’s favorite game show.

And that guy who was tripping out and dancing on the pool table? He looked a lot like the actor who plays the father on that sitcom Ms. Tsang always watches.

You know.  The one where the wife and kids do everything right and never make a mistake and they all have to suffer through the constant incompetence of the family’s idiotic paternal figure?

Yeah.  I know.  That describes every sitcom so it’s hard to narrow it down.

Ms. Donnelly was a bit more hip than I was.

“Is that NAME REDACTED playing the banjo in his underwear?”

“Sure is,”  the bartender said.  “That son of a bitch sure can wail.”.

“Ms. Donnelly, I wonder if we might move this along?”

“Of course,”  she said as she turned to Armand.  “I was told it would be possible to meet with Informant Zero?”

Armand’s beady eyes lit up.

“Informant Zero?”  the butler asked.

“Yes, Informant Zero,”  Delilah repeated.

Armand looked at the bar keep.

“Informant Zero.”

The barkeep nodded and rang a loud dinner bell.

He then shouted, “INFORMANT ZERO!”

Across the room, there was a DJ wearing a furry gorilla costume, though he didn’t wear the mask.

Abruptly, he shut his turntables down, cutting off the music entirely.

“INFORMANT ZERO!” the DJ announced through his microphone.

All of a sudden, in a room full of sickos, Delilah and I were the ones being stared at.

A man with a ripped six-pac road over on one of those two wheeled Segways.  He wore a cowboy hat and a pair of leather pants.

Segway.  What an interesting machine.  I wanted one myself.

“Who seeks Informant Zero?”  the cowboy asked.

“These two seek Informant Zero,”  Armand answered.

I recognized the cowboy from somewhere else, but couldn’t put a finger on it.  In a room full of twisted behavior, a man who was just pretending to be a Southerner didn’t seem so bad.

The cowboy chewed on a toothpick for a bit, giving us the once over.  Then he had a question.

“What is the slope of the rope?”

It was a test.  I was stumped, but when Ms. Donnelly reached for her cheat sheet, I realized her contact must have prepared her for this.

She raised a finger in the air and read from the paper ever so triumphantly:

“It is equally proportionate to the angle of the dangle!”

I love it when Delilah gets tricked into talking dirty.

The cowboy looked at Armand.  Our butler nodded.  The cowboy wheeled away toward the back of the room.

“This way.”

We followed but he was going fast on that thing.  It was hard to keep up.

Suddenly, I noticed the cowboy was weirder than I had originally surmised.  From behind, I noticed he wasn’t wearing leather pants at all.

He was wearing assless chaps.

“What have I seen you in, buster?”  I asked.

“Nothing,”  the cowpoke said, keeping his face forward, refusing to look at me.

“You in show biz?”

“That’s none of your biz.”

“I do believe he’s NAME REDACTED,”  Ms. Donnelly whispered to me.

“THE GUY THAT PLAYS ROLE IN SUPERHERO MOVIE REDACTED?!”

Oops.  I was less than discrete.

The cowpoke wheeled around and leered at us.

“You know,” he said.  “You non-famous people have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under.”

“I’m sorry pal,”  I said.  “Forget it.”

“No,” the cowboy said as he scooted his scooter so he could get in my face.  He leaned over the handlebars and I found myself leaning backward just to give him some room.

“Sure.  You all look at me on the big screen in my costume and think, ‘Now there’s a guy with a great life.  But you don’t know what’s involved to keep my career going.”

He leaned back and got out of my personal space.

“Everyday I wake up at 5 am.  I run for miles, do sit ups, crunches, squats, pecs, lats, delts.  I work out until dusk and ALL I ever get to eat is a bag of baby spinach and three almonds.”

Delilah hanged back, realizing we were in for it for awhile.  I’d unleashed a monster and was now doubling as his impromptu therapist.

“That’s actually in my contract!  My lawyer and the studio banged out a deal that specifically states I can only eat three almonds a day or risk losing everything.”

Delilah couldn’t resist.

“You should have hired me, Mr. REDACTED.  I’d of gotten you five.”

“Whatever,” the cowboy replied.  “All I’m saying is when I work as hard as I do and provide as much joy to the world as I do, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for me to be allowed to hang out in a private club during my free time and dress up like a cowboy while a pair Czechoslovakian dwarves slather me with cottage cheese and read me the collective works of Ayn Rand.”

I repeated the phrase that I found myself saying a lot in response to this new world.

“What the?!”

“Oh,”  the cowboy said as his face turned red.  “What are you, one of those uptight right wing jerk-holes who thinks that everyone who suffers from Curdoslovakiandwarvishrandism should be swept under the rug and denied their basic civil rights?!”

I had no idea how to respond to that.

“Well guess what, pal?!  I’m here!  I love it when small people from Eastern Europe smear me with spoiled dairy products while they read me tales of an alternative dystopian future, SO GET USED TO IT!”

“OK buster, take it easy.”

“You have no idea how I’ve suffered because of an affliction I can’t control!  It’s not my fault, you know!”

Delilah’s intervention was welcome.

“Pardon us,”  Delilah said to NAME REDACTED.  

She pulled me away and confronted me.

“Mr. Hatcher, you’ve committed a very serious social faux pas.”

“I have?”

“Yes.  You mocked his condition.”

“Condition?”  I asked.  “That’s a real thing?”

“Every thing is considered a real thing now,”  Delilah said.  “No matter what bizarre fetish a person has, society expects you to listen politely and nod as the individual explains to you why this nontraditional interest is the cause of all problems in his or her life.”

“So I can’t just tell him to man up and knock that shit off?”

“Certainly not,”  Delilah said.  “Especially not if you don’t want Mr. Battler to have an anti-Bookshelf Battle campaign launched against him on Twitter demanding that he fire you.”

“This is going to be hard for me,”  I said.  “My generation was too busy fighting a global onslaught of evil to worry about being slathered up with, by, Jesus, I lost track of what this guy has.”

We returned to our guide.

“Sorry fella,”  I said.  “I didn’t know you had it so bad.”

The cowboy nodded and extended his hand.

“That’s big of you to admit you were wrong.”

I looked at his hand, then at Ms. Donnelly.  Her look convinced me I had no choice but to shake it.

The cowboy did a 180 degree turn and led on.  I wiped my hand on my trench coat.  Was that rude?  Sorry.  I didn’t know where his hand had been.

Probably on a Czechoslovakian dwarf.

For legal purposes, Delilah tells me I have to say there’s nothing wrong with that.

Copyright (c) 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Aug 08 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Fan Dime Drops – For the 3.5 – (Part 4 – Conclusion)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1      Part 2       Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE

“A third and final question, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Lay it on me, Ms. Donnelly.”

DELILAH:  Java Davis, The Road Trip Writer wants to know why there were so many characters named Johnny in old timey films?

I drummed my fingers along the edge of the table, stalling for time as Delilah stared me down, certain I’d been stumped.

“Davis,”  I said.  “Java Davis.  Word on the street is he’s the nineteenth scribe to take a whirl on Mr. Battler’s blog.  Must be a big time player to to rake in that kind of action.”

Delilah folded her hands and leaned in.shutterstock_239019775

“Do you give up?”

I rose to my feet and paced about, practically wearing a hole in the library’s carpet.

It came to me.

“They didn’t have self-publishing in those days,”  I explained.  “Establishment writers were free to be hacks.  They dished out the slop and the audiences ate it up like ice cream because unlike today’s discerning entertainment connoisseur, they didn’t know any better.”

The lady lawyer returned the dossier to her briefcase and pointed a gloved finger my way.

“You certainly have a talent, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Deduction is but one of my many talents, Ms. Donnelly,” I said as I raised my right eyebrow in a shifty manner.  “Perhaps you’ll let me show you my others sometime.”

The blonde rested a hand on my shoulder.  The gesture was more than welcome.

“Perhaps not.”

Once again, she walked out of my life, a brief distraction from an otherwise lonely existence.

I was sad to see her go, but what a pleasure to watch her leave.

For a brief moment, I was lost in my dreams of blonde bliss, only to be distracted by an old bag of wrinkles.

“You’re going to stare a hole in that behind,”  Agnes said.

“It’s the little things in life, Ag,”  I said, still gawking at Delilah from the study room doorway  as she waited for the elevator.  “Put a cork in it and let me enjoy it, will you?”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“Nah,”  I said.  “The man upstairs would never be so good to me.  Just someone I work with.”

Agnes was taken aback.

“Work?  You found a job!  Congratulations!  What are you doing?”

“Already told you.  I’m a highly skilled private investigator who tracks down questions to answers about pop culture posed by an anonymous blogger.  She’s his lawyer who brings me the cases.”

The old gal squinted and stared at me like I was from outer space.

“You’re serious?”

“Like a heart attack.”

“You weren’t lying?”

“Ma Hatcher didn’t raise a liar, ma’am.”

Agnes took a seat.  The news that I actually was a private eye threw her for a loop.

“Between the idea that that woman would be your girlfriend or that that woman works with you for a blog that you solve pop culture mysteries for, I have to admit the latter is more plausible.”

“Thanks Ag,”  I said.  “Thanks a lot.  Class over?”

“Yes,”  Agnes replied.  “One of my students had chest pains so I called it a day early.”

“Think I will too.”

“Oh Jake,”  Agnes said.  “I’m sorry.  I offended you didn’t I?”

“Nothing sticks to this gumshoe.  It all rolls off, like water off a duck’s back.”

“Have you made a move yet?”

I took a seat on the other side of the table.  My relationship with Agnes was becoming weird.  Technically, I was older than she was, but she didn’t know that, and she was quickly becoming my impromptu mother.

I think Ma Hatcher would have been ok with it.

“I’ve made more moves on her than a world champion chess player, but my bishop isn’t going anywhere near that queen.”

“Never say never.  Herb had to ask me a bunch of times before I came around.  I’ll never forget it, there was this one time we were at the park, and he got down on one knee and the birds were singing and…”

I stretched, yawned, and checked my pocket watch.

“Great Liberace’s piano, Agnes!  Look at the time.  I’d best skeedaddle.  Take it easy, kid.”

“Oh sure.  I listen to you, you don’t listen to me.  Just like my son.”

She sniffed the air.  Sniff.  Sniff.  Sniff.

“Have you been smoking in here?  This is a PUBLIC building you jackass!”

shutterstock_278169329

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Aug 07 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Fan Dime Drops – For the 3.5 (Part 3)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1    Part 2

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“Perhaps I was in the wrong to complain about this situation,”  I said.  “After all, being cooped up with the most beautiful woman in the world isn’t so bad.”

That would have worked on my first wife, Trixie, who was all looks and no brains.  Delilah, on the other hand, was the whole package and that meant nothing but disappointment for yours truly.

“Do gain control of your loins and prepare for the next question.”

DELILAH:  Mr. Hatcher, a Ms. Barb Knowles reported this dilemma:

“I have a question for Jake. Can he PLEASE find out how Robert Ludlum has published more books since his demise than he did when he was alive??”

Read Barb’s blog at saneteachers.com 

“Who’s this gal?”

“A teacher,”  Ms. Donnelly explained.  “She writes about ‘the things they never taught her in teacher school.'”

“I don’t envy anyone who has to educate kids in this day in age,”  I said.  “Hell, even my kid brother Roscoe and I were known to drive the occasional chaulk jockey bananas back in our day.  What tricks are kids pulling now?  Whoopie cushions?  Joybuzzers?  Rubber snakes in the peanut brittle can?  Tack on the teacher’s chair?”

“I suppose those are all things that teachers of today have to deal with now and then,”  shutterstock_207933922Ms. Donnelly said.  “When they aren’t busy worrying about drugs and weapons coming into the schools.”

I coughed from surprise.  One of many reasons why I no longer recognized the world I lived in.

“Sorry I asked,”  I said.

I rubbed my thumb and fingers together, making the international sign for money.

“It’s all about the cash-ola,”  I said.  “The green stuff.  The bread.  The lettuce.  The cabbage.”

“Yes, I understand, Mr. Hatcher.”

“An author’s readers are a form of currency,”  I said.  “They’re an asset and like a piece of land, or a house, or a watch, they can be transferred and utilized after the author’s demise.  An author’s name is something his heirs can cash in on and before you’re quick to judge them, you should realize that you probably wouldn’t run in the opposite direction if some extra scratch was coming your way.”

I needed another puff.

“In Ludlum’s case, I bet there are some readers who aren’t even aware he’s gone.  Folks just see ‘Ludlum’ and grab the book like one of Ma Hatcher’s prize winning flapjacks at the county fair.  Other readers are aware but are happy to see stories set in a world they enjoy continue.  And if you’re a writer, and a new writer continues spinning yarns off of a spool you built, don’t you still deserve some credit in the form of your name being slapped on the cover, albeit posthumously?”

“An astute deduction, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Who’s next, sweetheart?”

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