…that you tell him your favorite video games.
Video Game Rack Fighter Cat, not to be confused with his owner, Video Game Rack Fighter.

…that you tell him your favorite video games.
Video Game Rack Fighter Cat, not to be confused with his owner, Video Game Rack Fighter.


Probably not the best stock photo, given that these people all seem to be observing movie theater etiquette…although that guy in the grey shirt with the soda may very well be dating both of those chicks.
Hello 3.5 readers.
For me, the theater is a sacred place.
You plunk down your cash. You cut yourself off from the world for two hours and you enjoy a director’s vision as it unfolds upon the big screen.
But there are some people who just don’t get it.
Thus, from BQB HQ in fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Moviegoers I Can’t Stand:
10. The “What Have I Seen Him In?” Guy – This is the guy who demands that you tell him a) an actor’s name and b) a list of films the actor has been in.
Ignore this man at all costs as he’ll just insist on rehashing the actor’s entire resume while you’re missing out on what is happening on the screen. Or better yet, tell him to go out in the hall and look that shit up on IMDB. Either way, people are trying to watch a movie here.
9. Asshat McGee Who Sits Right Next to or Right in Front of You When the Entire Theater is Nearly Empty – Look, I know I shouldn’t do it, but if the theater is close to being empty, I like to stretch out and put my fat smelly feet on the back of the seat in front of me. Can’t do it if someone’s dumb head is there and I can’t come out and ask that person to move so I can put my feet up so please, be courteous and don’t sit in front of a person if you don’t have to.
(Should there be a #9.5 Annoying Guy Who Puts His Feet Up on the Seat in Front of Him? Absolutely.)
Further, don’t sit next to a person if you don’t have to. Keep at least one seat between you and another person if possible. If the theater’s packed then it is a different story but if it is empty, don’t sit next to me, unless you’re a super hot chick, then sit next to me.
8. Teenagers Who Have Conversations Throughout the Entire Movie – I get it. You all want to chat your dumb faces off and you want to be able to speak freely without being monitored by one of the parents of someone in your group, so instead of going to someone’s house, you go to the theater and then ignore the entire film and have a conversation right there in the theater.
Honest to God. I’m trying to watch Fast and Furious Part 950: Dom’s Revenge and all I can hear is “OMG I can’t believe Becky is dating Brian AND Bobby, Hashtag Skank!”
Thought – go to a coffee shop instead and talk all night there. Its cheaper and hardworking, taxpaying Americans won’t be mad at you that you’ve ruined their moviegoing experience.
Yes, I know I’m starting to sound like Uncle Hardass. This is inevitable.
The older we get, the more we all start sounding like critically acclaimed philosopher Uncle Hardass.
7. Guy That Blames You For Picking the Movie if it Turns Out to Be Stupid – Up your nose with a rubber hose, turkey face. Hollywood puts out like two damn movies every Friday. You’ve got a fifty/fifty shot that the movie you’re going to will either suck or blow.
In fact, you now have a one hundred percent chance that it will be a remake or a reboot of a movie that sucked and/or blowed in the past.
“I didn’t make the movie, ass face,” is a perfectly acceptable reply here, even if the person complaining is your husband, wife, child, second cousin twice removed, grandmother, or parish priest.
6. Dummy Who Takes Too Long Deciding What They Want at the Concession Stand – Popcorn, candy and soda, jerkwad. Literally the same shit for a hundred million years. That f%$king commercial where the popcorn, candy and soda dance the Charleston hasn’t changed since Eisenhower was president. If it was good enough for the man who stormed Omaha Beach, then its good enough for you, clown.
5. Jerkface Who Takes a Call During the Movie – Look, the point of going to the movies is to forget all your problems for two hours. But I get it. We all have lives. Keep your phone on vibrate just in case one of your loved ones gets in trouble. If they text you for help, you can text them back and write, “OK I will come rescue you after this movie is over.”
Really, its the only polite thing to do. If your spouse is hanging from one hand off a cliff, you’ve got to let them know that you need to find out whether or not the rebels will destroy the Death Star for the 10,000th time.
But, if you’re one of those do-gooders who thinks their friends and/or family is more important than a movie, then sure, by all means, get up, walk out of the theater, talk to this person on the phone in the hallway, then return to the theater when the conversation is done. Or even better, leave the theater entirely and come to the aid of your friend or family member.
And let’s be honest. Those people who take calls and start chatting away while the film is rolling? None of them are having important conversations. The people who do this are dopes who will sit there for two hours talking about nonsense while you’re trying to watch a movie.
4. The “What Did He Say?” Guy
Movies go by pretty fast. Sometimes someone in your movie going party doesn’t catch what one of the characters said.
My general rule – if you whisper to me, “What did he say?” I will whisper what the person said back to you one time.
If you miss it, do not waste your energy whispering to me with a request to repeat what the character said a second, third, or fourth time.
I’m sorry but you’re screwed. You missed it. Your movie going experience has been ruined. Don’t drag me down with you by making me tell you fifty times what a guy said twenty minutes ago, thus forcing me to miss twenty more minutes of screen time.
Really people, this is common sense.
3. The “Its Just the Previews” Guy
Eff that noise. Hollywood has carefully crafted a series of trailers to educate me on the films that are coming soon to a theater near me. Trailers are a time honored part of the movie going experience. Your talking, farting, burping or what have you ruins it for me. Take it outside.
I run a blog for 3.5 readers. Thus, I’m an important man who must budget his time wisely. Ergo, I must know what Hollywood has coming down the pike so I can relay that information to my beloved 3.5 readers.
I shouldn’t have to miss out on those previews just because you need to talk to your buddy on your cell phone about the tattoo you’re getting , or your comic book collection, or even when you need to tell your loved one to wait and be calm and you’ll be there to pull them out of the car wreck they just had as soon as possible. (Eh, I’m not a complete ogre, if you need to do that last one during the previews, I can let it slide, but really, only during the previews.)
2. Commentary Guy
This guy takes a number of forms. The person might start arguing with a character, or he might make sound effects. “Boo yeah! That guy got it! And he had it coming!” or “Damn girl, don’t go for that dude, you can do way better!”
If you want to commentate on movies, start your own blog and get your own 3.5 readers. Unless I’m one of your 3.5 readers, I don’t want to hear your commentary on movies while I am trying to watch one.
1.“Rude to the Minimum Wage Slaves” Guy
If you didn’t like the movie, or you had some kind of special request (i.e. the “I want three ice cubes in my soda and each cube must be carved to match the likeness of three U.S. presidents who held office during the 1800s”) give the staff a break. They work for peanuts and they usually take these jobs because they like the movies and want to be around them as much as you do, you big dummy.
RUNNER UP:
Dude Trying to Get to Second Base and Can’t Quite Make It – Sir, your incompetence with the fairer sex is ruining my cinematic experience. Either be a dog and go in for that hooter or be a gentleman and keep your hand on your own knee. Make a decision for crying out loud.
Either way, this constant hand flapping around in the breeze “should I or shouldn’t I?” thing that you’re doing is very annoying. Really, this is a theater, not a bordello sir, so get a room and stop annoying people who have paid their hard earned cash to enjoy this Kevin Hart film. We’re already suffering enough.
What things do people do at the movie theaters that you can’t stand, 3.5 readers?
Discuss with BQB in the comments!

It’s a happy day here in East Randomtown, 3.5 readers.
East Randomtown resident Harvey Smotchenbocker has won the gold in the Olympic 10K Flatulence competition.
For those not familiar with the sport of 10K flatulence, that means that Harvey and the other contestants competed in a race in which they had to propel themselves for 10,000 meters through nothing but their flatulence.
Harvey was the first to cross the finish line, making his hometown and country proud.
USA! USA! USA!
I’ll tell you, this is truly a public relations coup for East Randomtown.
Up until now East Randomtown’s most famous citizens were:
God bless you, Harvey, you’ve done us proud.
“Once you see that shit, it will f%$k you up for life.”
So said the talking twinkie and I gotta be honest, he wasn’t kidding.
If you see this movie, it might very well f%*k you up for life.
But then again, if you saw the trailer and went anyway, you were probably f%&ked up to begin with.
That doesn’t say much about me since I saw the trailer and went to it anyway.
SPOILER ALERT – I can’t really discuss it without spoiling it so, if you’re worried about that, read no further.
BQB here with a review of Seth Rogen’s R rated animated film, Sausage Party.
I’m just gonna throw it out there.
Seth was no doubt smoking some very potent cannabis when he wrote this shit.
I’m an hour out of seeing it myself and I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around it, but let me try.
OK. So every Pixar animated movie is basically about something or someone that doesn’t usually talk right?
Talking toys in Toy Story. Talking fish in Finding Nemo. Heck, forget Pixar. Pretty much every cartoon features either an inanimate object or an animal that can talk and these films usually revolve around, “Gee whiz, kids, what do these toys, fish, other things that don’t normally talk do when we aren’t paying attention to them?”
So Seth turned that concept into one great big joke by asking, “What if food products talk to each other when we aren’t watching?”
Yup. Like I said. He’s been hitting the hard stuff.
In this time of reboots, sequels, prequels, and sequels to prequels of rebooted reboots, I have to hand it to Seth – this movie was original.
It put a lot of stuff on the screen that my eyes, ears, sensory receptors and brain aren’t used to processing – namely, quality rendered animated characters doing and saying horrible, terrible, disgusting things to each other.
Highlights:
Hmm…so, I’m not a prude. There were a few times where I did outright laugh but for the most part, the film’s appeal is similar to that of a gruesome car accident. You don’t really WANT to see any of it and you know not looking away makes you a bad person but you can’t help but look…and stare…and gawk….and repeatedly ask yourself, “Am I really seeing what I think I’m seeing?!”
Ironically, animation has been around for so long now that I think if done right, there probably is a niche market for cartoon movies that appeal to adults (not as in the characters have to hump and drop F-bombs every five seconds just for the freak out factor) but because there may be things that can be done through animation that real life actors can’t do.
STATUS: I don’t want to call it shelf-worthy or non-shelf-worthy. Rather, if you’re easily offended, stay away. If you’re a rubbernecker who can’t help but stare at an ungodly traffic accident, then this film is for you.
About an hour into the film, I found myself thinking, “OK Seth. I get the joke. You’re going to make cartoon food products do terrible things because you can.”
I came. I saw. I was already f&*ked up.
We all aspire to be the first one to do something. Seth, as far as I know, is the first film maker to document food products vigorously humping each other on screen, so no one can take that dubious honor away from him I suppose.
You know 3.5 readers, all I know is that around the turn of the millennium, I was in college and a bunch of my buddies and I went to see South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut. We were in hysterics of Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s raunchy brand of comedy.
Those two broke many taboos and did the world suffer for it?
Yes. Yes it did. The world totally sucks now. Thanks a lot, Trey and Matt.
But at least Sausage Party couldn’t make the world any worse than it already is now, right?
I’m sure the current generation of immature college students are guffawing all over the sight of hot food on food action.

Llyod Bunson, Professional Worrier
Hello 3.5 readers.
I’m Lloyd Bunson, Professional Worrier.
You might remember me from the epic tale, Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life, in which I saved Bookshelf Q. Battler and Video Game Rack Fighter’s lives with my web program, Lloyd Bunson’s Happy Fun Time Ejector Seat Channel.
Yup. I’m still educating the populace about ejector seats, but now, thanks to BQB, I can write a column about my other favorite pastime – worrying about literally everything.
This column will be a running a log of things I am very, very, VERY concerned about.
In fact, here’s what I’m worried about right now:
I spent 98% of my time worrying that a murderer might commit a murder and then frame me for it.
Specifically, I become paralyzed with worry whenever I’m out in public because I fear that a murderer will steal a glass I used at a restaurant or fish a turd I left in a public toilet and leave the glass and/or the turd next to the victim at a crime scene, thus fooling the police into thinking I committed a murder when in fact, I am a law abiding citizen who would never do such a thing.
I never leave my drink out of my sight, even around people I know and/or by normal standards, would be required by social conventions to consider trustworthy. I don’t care if you’re my brother, sister, uncle, cousin, or what have you, I am convinced that everyone is thinking about slipping Mickey powder into my drink at all times.
If I need to pee, I’ll bring my drink into the public bathroom. No one is slipping me a Mickey on my watch.
If I’m alone in my own house, I will walk around, drink in hand. How could I possibly know that while I left the room, a ninja didn’t break into my house, slip a Mickey into my drink, and then slink away?
Look, I’m not a wealthy man. I can’t afford to dump out a perfectly good glass of soda pop every time I need to get up and leave for a moment, and I just can’t take the risk that ninjas aren’t trying to poison me.
If you have enough faith in the world to believe that ninjas aren’t trying to poison your drink every time you leave the room, then God bless you.
Me? I’m not going to get Cosbied, thank you very much.
What if death isn’t so much death as it is an extended, indefinite sleep at low power?
Not only am I an advanced stage hypochondriac who worries constantly about death, I worry that when I die and get embalmed and buried, that I’m just going to lie there for all eternity, feeling terribly claustrophobic in a box where the lid is right up in my grill and I won’t be able to move.
Thus, I have left specific instructions that I am to be cryogenically frozen, as I worry that in the future, scientists will discover the cure to whatever kills me and will therefore drop what they are doing and revive me and cure me.
I realize this is ridiculous because a) I don’t live in England and b) my gas is more or less under control, but every time I let one rip, I instantly look around just to make sure the Queen of England was not present and/or a witness to my horrifying bodily excretions.
I can see it now. I fart. I turn around and there she is, the Queen. Her monocle pops right off her eye in disgust and she exclaims, “Well, I never!” and then she has me locked in the Tower of London, which I am certain is a prison for people who have passed gas in the Queen’s presence.
I avoid restaurants for the sole fact that a restaurant is the one type of business that provides you the goods up front, then asks for payment after.
What if I thought I brought a proper form of payment with me but then I didn’t? There I will be, having consumed a meal I can’t pay for and I know that I will be locked up in a Federal penitentiary or a CIA black site or some other such terrible place and worse, the media will report extensively about how I cheated an Applebee’s out of a chicken finger sampler.
On the rare occasion when I do go to a restaurant, I bring: a) a debit card, b) a credit card c) a second credit card d) cash e) a gold bar f) a friend who has certified to me via a notarized affidavit that he or she has on their person a debit card, two credit cards, cash and a gold bar in the event that my multiple forms of payment fail and g) a goat, cow, pig or other farm animal that I could barter and/or trade to the restaurant in exchange for the cost of my meal.
Keep in mind my earlier fear that murderers are trying to steal my drink glass and plant it at a crime scene in order to frame me, and restaurants are truly places that I avoid at all costs.
I like pets. I worry they are taking notes about us while we sleep and reporting all of our activities to the government.
Still, I do love my dog. If you’re a dog lover but you’re as worried as I am that all pets are spies, do what I did and adopt an incompetent dog that can’t read or write.
I prefer loose, free-flowing undies or absent that, just going commando as opposed to tight underwear. Call me crazy, but I’ve crunched the numbers and have convinced myself that it is possible that tight underpants holding my testicles too close to my legs could cause said testicles to heat up to the point where they spontaneously combust, thus turning me into a eunuch.
Don’t even get me started on how much I worry about how terrible the life of a eunuch would be.
Do you worry about dumb things too, 3.5 readers? Share your totally ridiculous, entirely unfounded concerns in the comments!
Hey 3.5 readers.
John McLaughlin, host of the McLaughlin group, died this week at age 89, which surprises me greatly because I thought he was 89 like 30 years ago.
Is that relevant to this blog? Well, this blog is more about pop culture than politics but to make it short and sweet, you wouldn’t have the many, many, perhaps too many talking head pundit shows that you have today without John McLaughlin.
He had a certain style about him. Or should I say, “formula?”
The formula:
Admittedly, he wasn’t that bad. But when I was a kid, I was in love with Saturday Night Live.
I think every kid who is into humor falls in love with SNL at some point.
Back in those days it was Dana Carvey, Adam Sandler, Kevin Nealon, Mike Myers, Chris Rock, etc.
Anyway, I used to watch Dana Carvey do his masterful impressions of the first President Bush, H. Ross Perot, the Church Lady, etc.
And then I’d do my rendition of Dana’s impression.
One of the funniest impressions Dana did was of John McLaughlin. I’d incorporate it around the house, telling various family members they were, “wrong!”
Was I a no-life having kid who was into things that kids should find boring?
Was it that this was pre-10 million channels plus streaming everything and I didn’t have cable and only had like 5 channels?
A little from column A. A little from Column B.
Anyway, here’s a clip from NBC of Dana doing his John McLaughlin impression.
Saddest part is that Chris Farley is dead (heart attack) and Phil Hartman is dead (shot by wife).
Sigh.

Hey 3.5.
Bookshelf Q. Battler, Mayor of East Randomtown here.
Just an update on East Randomtonian Harvey Smotchenbocker, who is participating in the 10K Flatulence Competition at the Olympic Games in Rio.
Flatulence is one of the lesser known games but every gold medal counts.
Harvey has checked in. He is reporting that he is getting in some last minute training for his big day later this week. Filling up on all sorts of gaseous foods. I have nothing but faith in him.
Stay tuned for more updates.

East Random Town’s Finest Athlete
Hey 3.5 readers.
For those of you who follow this monstrosity of a blog regularly (because, I don’t know, it was this or watching paint dry) you’re aware that among my many duties, I am currently the Acting Mayor of East Randomtown, due to the fact that our duly elected mayor was eaten by zombies last October.
The job is a real burden, let me tell you. Even so, I’m in the middle of a tough re-election battle with town bar fly Leo McKoy, who I’m fairly certain is a robot, because I saw him get eaten by zombies last October as well. I don’t know how to explain his shocking return the town other than through robotics.
But I digress.
As mayor, it is up to me to promote our humble hamlet and give a pat on the back to our citizens whenever they do our town proud.
Not gonna lie. It doesn’t happen often. This town is a real stink burg.
But it has happened. East Randomtown insurance salesman Harvey Smotchenbocker is representing the United States of America in the 10K Flatulence Competition.
10K Flatulence is one of the lesser known Olympic events but it does have a long tradition dating back to the very first games when Arcadius the Flatulator climbed to the top of Mount Olympus and let one rip.
Contestants’ submissions are graded on size, length, pitch, tone, aroma, and methane content.
“I train every day with two burritos, a half-dozen chili dogs, and a 2-liter bottle of generic cola,” Harvey told the Bookshelf Battle Blog. “It’s the least I can do to make this great nation proud. USA! USA! USA!”
Keep your fingers crossed and your noses plugged for Harv, folks. He faces some ripe competition from:
Hirohito Takamotodashi – Japan’s most prolific flatulator. Rumored to have killed a man with his flatulence.
Ivan Rostikoff – The greatest flatulator to come out of Moscow. Caught up in the Russian doping scandal. Investigators claim he was injecting chili directly into his buttocks. This kind of doping is frowned upon in the world of competitive flatulence.
Sir Nigel Walstingshire – England’s premiere flatulator. His greatest supporter is the Queen herself, who shows her support by attending his training sessions with a clothespin on her nose.
These flatulators are no slouches, 3.5 readers, so keep the Harvmeister in your prayers. He’ll need to make a whole lot of brown to win that gold.