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Aug 26 2016
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Helen of Troy: History’s Hottest Chick – Chapter the Fourth

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“Will you look at this?” Odysseus said as he walked towards the royal family. “The most powerful people in Sparta all lined up to greet me and….ughhh!”

The traveler went crosseyed and orgasmed upon spotting Helen.

“Helen!” Odysseus said as he averted his eyes. “You’re looking even more fly than when I last saw you but jeez, Louise! By the spear of Ares, someone put a bell on this babe before I waste more seed.”

“Oh Odysseus,” Helen said as she hugged the traveler. “You haven’t lost your quick wit.”

“Ack!” Odysseus yelled as he went crosseyed again and doubled over. “Are you trying to kill me, woman? I…I…and…nope…I’m empty. Its nothing but cobwebs and sadness coming out down there until I reload. Dioscuri!”

Castor and Pollux embraced their good friend.

“Oh the shit we got into back in the day,” Odysseus said. “What in the underworld have you two ding dongs been up to?”

“Rescuing Helen from perverts,” Castor said.

“Crusty old fucks, most recently,” Pollux added.

“Yeesh,” Odysseus said. “That sounds like a grind.”

The traveler playfully pretended to shadowbox the king. “Old Man Tyndarecus!”

“Odysseus,” the king said as he embraced the young man. “You grace us with your presence.”

“Oh stop it you old softy,” Odysseus said. The traveler clutched his chest as he looked at the queen.

“Well poke my eye out and call me a cyclops!” Odysseus said. “Tyndarecus, you didn’t tell me you had such a young and attractive sister.”

Leda smirked and hugged the visitor. “You know very well who I am, young man.”

“How could forget the sexiest MILF in the Mediterranean?” Odysseus asked.

“You’re looking well, Odysseus,” the queen said. “How is your father?.”

“Ugh!” Odysseus said. “Don’t get me started! He depends on me more and more these days. And I get it. I’m a dashing prince. Accomplished adventurer. Skilled sailor. Renowned explorer. Legendary monster slayer. Highly trained soldier. All this shit on my resume while I’m still in my early twenties and you’d think these experiences would have prepared me to become Ithaca’s greatest champion but I’m telling you, its a real drag.”

“Your father chose his champion well, Odysseus,” Tyndarecus said.

“Yes he did, if I do say so myself,” Odysseus replied. “But check it. I have gots to gets me some R and R, some Z’s, a little ‘me’ time if you please, you dig?”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Tyndarecus said.

“I have been championing the shit out of Ithaca for a couple years now and I am spent,” Odysseus said. “So much so that I started longing for the summers I spent here in Sparta on vacation with my good friends, the Dioscuri and decided to seek a few weeks’ refuge with you fine folks, my veritable second family.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay,” the queen said.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Odysseus asked. “I’m not asking for much. Just a little food to gnosh, a bed to crash on, maybe take the boys off your hands for a night or two of drunken debauchery when they aren’t busy rescuing Helen Hotpants over there.”

“Odysseus,” Helen said. “You’re positively terrible!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Odysseus said as he turned his head away from Helen. “That’s enough of that! You’re going to turn me into a walking prune, girl!”

“We are glad to have you,” Tyndarecus said. “In fact, a rather sensitive matter has come up that I must speak to my sons about and I would appreciate your wise counsel.”

“No problem, Pops,” Odysseus said. “What, are the Dioscuri playing with themselves too much? I told you guys that would turn you insane!”

“Oh, like you’ve never done it,” Castor said.

The royal family dispersed and Odysseus found himself face to face with Penelope. The traveler’s mood went from playful to somber.

“Penny,” Odysseus said.

“Odysseus,” Penelope said as she rested her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

“Damn girl,” Odysseus said. “You’re really filling out that toga these days.”

Wack! Penelope’s dainty hand left a red mark on Odysseus’s cheek.

“What’d I do?” the traveler asked.

“The next time you tell a girl you love her, send her a scroll once in awhile.”

Penelope stormed off as Odysseus gave chase.

“Aww come on, baby,” Odysseus said. “Don’t do me like that! Damn girl, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.”

“Shut up!” Penelope said.

“You could build an acropolis on that thing!” Odysseus remarked.

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Aug 25 2016
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Helen of Troy: History's Hottest Chick

Helen of Troy: History’s Hottest Chick – Chapter the Third

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The sound of a blaring ram’s horn tore across Sparta before it finally made its way to the king’s ears.

“What?” the king asked.

Leda stirred. “Could it be?”

The gold plated doors to the throne room opened to reveal a rather stern looking muscle bound, long haired warrior. He entered in the company six other warriors, three on each side.

Their uniforms consisted of little more than leather thongs and flowing capes.

A frazzled Tyndarecus sprang to his feet. “Oh, thank the gods, ’tis Audax, General of the Mighty Spartan Army. What news do you bring?”

The Spartans marched in a stoic manner until they reached the throne. Then, they shouted a very guttural “oohrah” before falling to their knees before the king.

“My good king,” Audax said. “My good queen. Castor and Pollux approach the port in their ship.”

“And? Tyndarecus asked.

“Umm,” the general said. “The wind is in their sails and their pace is steady?”

The king slapped his forehead. “For the love of Hera’s tucas, man! Is Helen with them?”

“Oh!” Audax said. “Yes! Indeed she is. I spotted the princess standing on deck.”

“Not trying to tell you how to do your job, general,” Tyndarecus said. “But you might have led off with that.”

The warriors arose. “On your word, we shall escort you to the port, your highness.”

Leda stood up. “I must fetch our niece.”

“Yes,” a relieved Tyndarecus said. “Collect dear Penelope so that our family will finally be together again.”

Three Spartans left the throne room with the Queen.

Meanwhile, the king, Audax, and the other three warriors departed.

As the party reached the hustle and bustle of the city, the king couldn’t help but notice the skimpy attire the warriors were wearing.

“Audax?”

“Yes, my liege?”

“Is it me or have the uniforms of the Mighty Spartan Army grown absurdly scant?”

“’Tis not you, my king,” Audax said. “A reduction in clothing is one of many changes I have made as of late to give the Mighty Spartan Army an edge over all challengers.”

“I never thought one could could go wrong with a good tunic,” Tyndarecus said.

“All due respect, my king,” Audax replied. “But tunics are bulky and get in the way. Leather thongs allow for much freer movement.”

“And the capes?” Tyndarecus inquired.

“Oh the capes are just badass,” Audax said. “When our enemies spy the Mighty Spartan Army rolling up on them, they’ll be all like, ‘Damn, those bad ass Spartan muthafuckas be wearin’ the shit out of them capes!’”

“I see,” the king said. “And what other changes have you made?”

A miserable wretch covered in boils hobbled up to the party on his cane with a live chicken tucked under his arm.

“Huzzah!” the wretch said. “’Tis Good King Tyndarecus! May the gods smile upon you, your majesty!”

“Step aside, peasant!” Audax said as he knocked the wretch over with his pinky finger and kept walking.

“A bit harsh, weren’t you?” the king asked.

“I don’t know where that lowly dog has been, my king,” Audax said. “He coughs on you, you get sick and before you know it I’m slitting my own throat to atone for my failure to protect the man the gods have selected to rule over Sparta. Now where was I?”

“The changes,” the king said.

“Ah yes,” Audax said. “I’ve given the men a robust schedule. Up before dawn for swordplay practice, followed by an afternoon of rubbing scented oils and lotions into one another’s rippling muscles, followed by an evening of slippery wrestling until we fall asleep.”

“That seems rather uh, homoerotic,” the king said. “Not that I’m judging.”

“Scented oils and lotions are good for the muscles, your highness,” Audax said. “It brings the gallons upon gallons of testosterone coursing through our veins to the surface and makes us stronger. I swear it has nothing to do with us enjoying putting our greasy hands all over each others’ firm, supple bodies.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Audax said.

“Also, I have trained the men to shout incredibly manly statements about themselves upon command.”

Audax snapped his fingers. “Spartans! Flatter yourselves!”

“I possess gigantic testicles forged from wrought iron by the hand of Hephaestus, God of All Blacksmiths, himself!” the first warrior shouted. “Ooorah!”

“Is that true?” the king asked.

“I don’t know that it is not true,” Audax said. “Spartans! Continue!”

“I can snap the neck of a griffin with nothing but the tight muscles of my buttocks!” the second Spartan shouted. “Ooorah!”

“That’s true,” Audax said. “I’ve seen him do it. Third Spartan, report!”

“I crave man ass all night and day!” the third Spartan shouted. “Oohrah!”

Audax rolled his eyes. “Third Spartan, that’s not really a macho statement about yourself so much as an interest in an, um, extracurricular activity that the good king doesn’t need to know about.”

“I’m sorry, General!” the third Spartan said. “I’ll think about it and get back to you! Oorah!”

“How does making them shout manly statements about themselves make them better warriors?” the king asked.

“Would you want to go up against an army of Spartans with such massive egos to compliment their oiled up muscles?” Audax asked.

“I should say…” The king stopped to cough in his fist. “I should say not.”

“My king,” Audax said as he stretched out his hand. “Please, let me assist you.”

“No,” Tyndarecus scoffed. “I may be old but I’m not dead.”

“I understand,” Audax said.

The party reached the port and waited as the royal ship drew nigh.

“My king,” the General said. “Far be it from me to question your wisdom, but I hope you know that the Mighty Spartan Army and I are infinitely loyal to the royal family. Should you ever desire to give the Dioscuri a break, we shall relish the chance to rescue Princess Helen the next time she is kidnapped by a pervert, which, given the way things have been going, will no doubt be sometime around next Tuesday, or Wednesday at the latest.”

The king smiled and patted the general on the shoulder.

“Noble Audax. Never would I question your loyalty to my family or to Sparta, especially when you and the Mighty Spartan Army have proven yourselves time and time again on the field of battle, but Helen is by far the hottest chick in the world and I’m sure you will understand that I just feel more comfortable when she is in the company of her brothers as opposed to an army of musclebound egomaniacs with oiled up muscles and gallons upon gallons of testosterone coursing through their veins.”

“Oh, you need not worry, your majesty,” Audax said. “We are not interested in Helen in that way.”

The king was taken aback. “Seriously?”

“No doubt,” Audax said.

“But aside from her kin, Helen is desired by every being with a penis,” the king said.

Tyndarecus raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you dudes weren’t into other dudes.”

“I did not say we were not, not into dudes,” Audax replied. “Besides, I thought you said you weren’t judging?”

“I’m not,” Tyndarecus said.

“Mighty Spartan Army requirements are very strict,” the general explained. “If we were into dudes, which I’m not saying we are, we couldn’t very well run around advertising the fact that we are into dudes now could we?”

“Ah,” Tyndarecus said. “So you’re saying that you’re all into dudes?”

The general threw his hands up. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well,” the king said as he watched the ship come in. “I appreciate the offer, Audax, but I can’t take the risk that one of your men might be a switch hitter.”

“Not gonna lie,” Audax said. “The ninth Spartan warrior isn’t so much into dudes or chicks as he is into anything with a warm hole of any kind.”

“TMI, Audax,” the king said. “TMI.”

The ship docked. A contingent of sailors attached a gangplank to allow the occupants to exit the vessel.

“Princess Helen approaches!” shouted the first sailor from the ship’s deck. “Avert your eyes!”

“Shut your eyes!” the second sailor shouted as he walked down the gangplank. “Princess Helen comes this way!”

“What’s everyone on about?” the third sailor asked from the dock.

It was too late. All but the third sailor closed their eyes. That sailor, upon spotting the glorious beauty of Helen as she strolled down the gangplank with her brothers in tow, immediately went cross-eyed, became consumed by an orgasmic fit, then dropped to the deck.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me the Princess was disembarking?” the third sailor asked. “I soiled my tunic!”

“We did,” the first sailor shouted from the deck with his eyes shut. “Clean the shit out of your ears!”

Helen spotted Tyndarecus.

“Father!” the princess cried as she ran over and hugged the old man.

“Oh my darling daughter Helen!” Tyndarecus said as he wept tears of joy. “I am so delighted that you survived this week’s kidnapping.”

“The Dioscuri rescued me from the crusty old fucks!” Helen proudly declared.

“Castor and Pollux!” the king said.

The Dioscuri took turns hugging their old man.

“Father,” Castor said.

“Father,” Pollux repeated.

“My heart swells with pride that you have saved your sister from yet another weekly kidnapping!” the king said.

“Yeah,” Castor said. “Not like there was anything else we’d rather be doing.”

“Right,” Pollux said. “Now let’s go nap for five minutes before some pervert nabs Helen and we do this shit all over again.”

Tyndarecus frowned. “What…what is that? Are you boys using sarcasm on your father?”

“No,” Castor said.

“We’d never do that,” Pollux said.

Seconds later, the queen arrived with the royal niece and her contingent of Spartan warriors.

“I can block out the sun with my monstrous phallus!” the fourth Spartan warrior shouted.”Ooorah!”

“Yes, yes,” the queen said. “We all know you are all super gay. No one cares.”

Penelope was a curvaceous young woman. Tight in the waist, splatow in the other place if you catch my drift.

“Mother!” Helen said as she hugged the queen.

“Oh Helen!” the queen said. “We were so frightened that you’d been done in by those crusty old fucks!”

Helen let go of her mother and embraced Penelope. “Sweet cousin!”

Penelope spoke in a monotone and had a demeanor similar to what you modern readers might refer to as “depressed brainy goth chick.”

“Whoo-pee,” Penelope said as she let her arms hang at her sides, refusing to return the hug. “Helen’s back, y’all. Let’s all drop what we’re doing and talk about this for three or four hours. Hooray.”

Audax squinted as he looked out across the  sea’s horizon. “My king!”

Tyndarecus looked up and joined his general in staring at a small blip that eventually turned into a ship.

“Is it a friend or foe?” the king asked.

“It…it bears the markings of a ship of Ithaca!” Audax proclaimed. “Surely it carries a friend.”

Castor and Pollux looked at each other.

“Oh come on,” the first brother said.

“It has to be…” the second brother replied.

Penelope flashed a rare smile. “Ithaca, you say?”

The royal family and the Mighty Spartan Army waited patiently until the ship reached the port.

A strapping young man with a full beard stepped out onto the deck and grinned.

“Whassup, beatches? Odysseus all up in Sparta’s ass! Woot woot!”

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Aug 25 2016
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Helen of Troy: History's Hottest Chick

Helen of Troy: History’s Hottest Chick – Chapter the Second

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Tyndarecus, King of Sparta, sat sullenly upon his throne, ensconced in a crippling bout of depression so severe that even his three most ample slave girls were unable to break him out of it.

“More grapes, your majesty?” the first slave girl asked.

The king did not respond.

“Perhaps some wine?” the second slave girl inquired.

Tyndarecus continued to wallow in his perpetual woe.

The third slave girl started to untie the string that held the top of her robe up when she was rudely interrupted by a pair of clapping hands.

“Begone, wenches,” commanded the most lovely and regal Queen Leda as she strutted through the chamber. “The king is in a state that only a queen can fix.”

The slave girls departed and Leda sat down upon Tyndarecus’s lap. She ran her hand over her husband’s face, tickling his beard.

“Why do you suffer so, my king?” the queen asked.

“’Tis Helen,” Tyndarecus answered. “Kidnapped once again under my watch and no doubt being forced to touch the super old wrinkly balls of Theseus and Peirithous as we speak.”

“Ugh,” Leda said. “Damn those crusty old fucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Tyndarecus said.

“You need not concern yourself,” Leda said. “Castor and Pollux have never failed you.”

“Indeed they have not,” Tyndarecus said. “Never has a father been blessed with a pair of twin sons as daring and brave as the Dioscuri. But I fear we ask too much of them, wife.”

“How so?”

“This week its the crusty old fucks,” Tyndarecus said. “Last week it was the Kraken. The week before that it was the minotaur. Leda, Helen is getting ridiculously hotter everyday and accordingly, no man or beast in all of Greece with a penis can control himself in her presence. If we continue to importune Castor and Pollux to save their sister every time she is kidnapped by a filthy degenerate pervert, they will never have lives of their own.  They’ll never find wives.  They’ll never have children.  They will simply spend all of their time fighting perverts.”

Leda sighed. “I admit I never thought about it that way.”

“That’s because you never think of anyone but yourself,” Tyndarecus said.

The queen stood up. “How dare you?!”

“How dare I?” Tyndarecus asked.

“My betrayal was so long ago, dear husband!” Leda shouted. “Surely by now I have earned your forgiveness!”

Tyndarecus took his wife’s hand. “So many nights I have laid awake begging myself to forgive you but alas…I don’t know if I will ever be able to.”

Leda stomped her foot on the marble floor. “It was Zeus! Fucking Zeus!”

The king stood up. He gritted his teeth and his face turned red. “In the form of a swan! How did you fuck a swan?”

“I don’t know!” Leda said. “I just did!”

“The logistics alone boggle my mind!” Tyndarecus cried.

“Why must you insist on dredging up the past?” Leda asked.

“How did you even find yourself attracted to a damn swan?” Tyndarecus asked.

“Because it was Zeus in the form of a swan!” Leda said. “My darling, shouldn’t a woman be allowed a pass if she is seduced into adultery through the allure of a god?”

“Absolutely not,” Tyndarecus said.

Leda folded her arms. “You’re going to stand there and tell me that if Aphrodite swooped down from Mount Olympus and begged you to go to town on her lady bits, you’d tell her no?”

The king shook his head. “If we’re talking about Aphrodite in all her super hot big goddess titties glory, then yes, I’d most certainly lose control. But if we’re talking Aphrodite in the form of a duck, then no dearest, I would abstain. I love you enough to avoid fucking a duck. Alas, you did not afford me the same loyalty when it came to a swan.”

“It was still Zeus!” Leda protested.

“Ahhh, fi on thee woman,” Tyndarecus said. “I shall hear no more excuses for your swan fuckery.”

The king eased his weary bones back into his throne and let out an “oof!” upon landing.

“Besides,” Tyndarecus said. “Your sordid infatuation with swan penis…”

“It was an infatuation with the greatest of all Gods!” Leda snapped.

“It does not matter,” Tyndarecus said. “All that matters now is that is that I have failed our children and failed them miserably.”

Leda returned to the king’s lap and gently stroked her hand through her husband’s hair. “Oh my love, you are not a failure. How could Castor and Pollux have become such gallant fighters were it not for the training you provided them?”

“A fine point,” the king said.

“And who kept Helen safe for so many years until your advanced age forced you to turn the burden over to the Dioscuri?” Leda asked.

“I did,” the Tyndarecus said. “But that is the point, my queen. Sooner or later, we all find ourselves dragged into the underworld. I can burden our sons no longer and yet, who will ensure our beloved Helen is safe when I die?”

Leda held Tyndarecus in her arms. “A most vexing question, but one you will surely answer. You are a noble man, Tyndarecus. Few men in your position would have found it in their hearts to raise Helen as their own.”

“She must never know that I am not her father,” Tyndarecus said. “You must never tell her.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Leda said. “And as far as I am concerned, you are her father, for that sleaze bag Zeus never once called, or wrote me a letter, or even offered to pick up a bill or two.”

“Fucking gods,” Tyndarecus said.

“Alas,” Leda said. “I fear the more Helen learns about science, the more likely it will be that she will do the math in her head and reach the conclusion that her astounding beauty could only be the result of an illicit union between a woman and the greatest of all gods in the form of a swan. That’s just science.”

Tyndarecus slammed his fist down on the arm rest of his throne. “Blasted science!”

“You can’t argue with science,” Leda said.

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Aug 25 2016
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Helen of Troy: History's Hottest Chick

Helen of Troy: History’s Hottest Chick – Chapter the First

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There has never been, nor will there ever be, a woman as beautiful as Helen.

I’m totally serious, you guys. One look at that foxy mama and it was all Boner City: Population You.

I’m talking an enchanting face that you could stare at for hours, eyes you could get lost in, long luxurious blonde hair you’d kill just to touch its sublime softness and those tittays? Don’t even get me started about the tittays. There were like two giant, perky chest rockets standing at attention.

No joke, I’m Homer, the Greatest Poet in all of Ancient Greece and it was all that even a scholar such as I could do to keep myself from dreaming about motor boating those puppies.

“Vrrooom vrrroooom ung nung nung nung nah!”

But I digress. Given Helen’s epic splooge inducing hotness, it was no surprise that those crusty old fucks Theseus and Peirithous, the kings of Athens and Larissa, respectively, kidnapped our beloved Helen and took her back to a dank, dark undisclosed lair.

“Come, Peirithous!” Theseus did say as he dropped his robe to the floor to reveal his oily hide. “Let us put our super wrinkly, disgustingly gray pubic hair infested nut sacks on full display!”

“Yes,” Peirithous did reply. “For we are very, very old and I do not know about you, my good friend Theseus, but I would surely enjoy having my way with the most beautiful woman in the world before I drop dead from a heart attack or ass cancer or some other bullshit disease that we are susceptible to for as you are no doubt aware, we are both ridiculously old!”

And so, Helen did cringe and cry and bemoan her fate as two lecherous, old, decrepit and dilapidated perverts closed in upon her. As they did so, both men held out their hands, opening and shutting them in the internationally understood “I want to honk some hooters” sign that men of poor moral character are known to engage in when approaching a woman with a copious bosom.

“Oh cruel fate!” Helen shouted. “Surely I am not doomed to be accosted by two crusty old fucks with super wrinkly balls, am I?”

At that precise moment, the business end of a sharp sword tore its way through Theseus’s belly, spritzing the lair with a thick douse of crimson red blood. A second blade made short work of Peirithous’s gut in similar fashion.

Both of the crusty old fucks fell to the floor, gyrating and convulsing. It was a horrific yet hilarious sight. If only video technology had been invented at the time. That shit would have gone viral on GreekTube.

The swords belonged to two young warriors, fair haired lads with chiseled jaws and rippling physiques.

“Brothers!” Helen said with glee as she hugged her rescuers.

“What treachery is this?” cried the crusty old fuck Theseus as his blood drained out into the dirt.

“Egads!” hollered the crusty old fuck Peirithous, “’Tis the Dioscuri! Castor and Pollux making with a cock block most foul!”

“Yes!” Theseus said. “Hast thou not heard of the ancient law known as, ‘bros before hoes?’”

“We have,” Castor said.

“But it pales in comparison to the law of ‘sisters before misters,’” Pollux added.

“Ha, ha!” Helen said. “Enjoy your most deserved deaths, crusty old fucks!”

“Uncool, Helen,” Castor said.

“Indeed,” Pollux said. “They’re already dying and…they’re dead. Yes. Its official. The crusty old fucks are dead.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Helen said. “Couldn’t you boys have saved me sooner? I was unacceptably close to having to touch their wrinkly balls.”

“We do have lives, Helen,” Castor said.

“Right,” Pollux said. “We do our best.”

“I know you do,” Helen said as she pecked each brother on the cheek. “Now come! We must return to father immediately! He shall be very worried I’m sure of it.”

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Aug 25 2016
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Helen of Troy: History's Hottest Chick

Helen of Troy: History’s Hottest Chick – Prologue

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The following is an e-mail exchange between Homer, Legendary Poet of Ancient Greece, and Bookshelf Q. Battler, Proprietor of a Website with 3.5 Readers

TO: BQB

FROM: Homer

RE: The Many Ways in Which Your Rewrite of My Work Doth Suck

Sir,

Let it be known that while I appreciate the lengths your diminutive friend, the odd looking short being your refer to as “Alien Jones,” took to restore me back to life, I must protest the absurd changes you made to the draft I submitted to you.

We agreed that I would write and deliver unto you a work regarding the life’s story of the most alluring Helen of Troy.

I held up my end of the bargain. Yet, you took my most eloquently selected words, hacked them to pieces, and replaced them with profanity, vulgarity, and worse, references to the so-called pop culture of your time that those from my time would nary understand.

You are a charlatan and I demand that you cancel the publication of this work entirely.

Regards and With Tremendous Disappointment,

Homer

TO: Homer

FROM: BQB

RE: Stop Being a Bee-yotch

Homie…bubie…baby…are you kidding me? You’re kidding me, right?

Look, you’ve been stone cold dead since before Jesus was born. I appreciate you are history’s most accomplished poet but with all due respect, no one wants to learn shit about the past anymore.

Readers want T, A, and TNT. Its all about the TANT, baby. Titties + Ass + Explosive Action = peeps buy the shit out of that and Jeff Bezos flies one of his funky ass drones to our houses to drop off a fat ass check, son.

Ya heard?

TO: BQB
FROM: Homer

RE: Fat Ass Check

Well, as long as its fat…

 

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Aug 21 2016
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Zombie Western

Undead Man’s Hand – Chapter 44

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Charlie gently patted Jane’s back as she heaved, heaved and heaved some more.

“Jane,” Charlie said, attempting to get a word in edgewise between the hurls.

“Huah…huah….bleah….ack…”

“I’m not a doctor…”

“Then shut the fuck uh…ughhhhh!”

“…but I’m pretty sure that when you throw up, its your body’s way of telling you that you’ve had enough liquor.”

“Oh, what do you know you uptight son of uh…uh….bleah!!!”

Perfect gentleman that he was, Charlie sat there, accepting Jane’s verbal abuse as she puked into the dirt.

Jane’s heavy breathing subsided. A cool sweat broke out all over her face. She sat back on the bench, sighing with relief.

“That all?” Charlie asked.

“I think so,” Jane replied. “Jesus H. Christ, a girl can’t get a little under the weather without getting a Sunday sermon around here.”

“This is more than just being a little under the weather and you know it,” Charlie scolded. “You need to drop the bottle and never pick it up again.”

Jane blew Charlie an impassioned raspberry. “Pbbbbhhht! Now you’re just talking crazy tah…ugh….ughhhhh!”

The cowgirl clutched her stomach and barfed all over the ground once again.

Charlie started rubbing Jane’s back again, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Hands off, pervert!” Jane cried.

Jane sat back and closed her eyes. “You love this, don’t you?”

“What are you on about?” Charlie asked.

“You love it when you can act all high and mighty,” Jane said.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “You know what? I’ll just leave then.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jane said as she laid down on the bench. She let her hat hang down her back from the cord around her neck and crushed it with her back as she snuggled her head down on Charlie’s lap.

The businessman was pleasantly shocked.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Jane said.

“I won’t,” Charlie said. He stared down at Jane’s face. Her eyes were closed. She looked so peaceful until she spoiled it by talking.

“I mean it,” Jane said. “Keep your hands to yourself, Utter.”

“I will,” Charlie said.

“Just because in my temporarily ill state I require your doughy lap as a makeshift pillow does not mean that I am inviting you to have your way with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Charlie said.

“Good,” Jane said. “Because I’m not some kind of shameless hussy. And besides, you’re a married man.”

“Apparently not anymore,” Charlie replied.

Jane opened one eye. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Louise,” Charlie replied. “She’s filed for divorce.”

Jane laughed and laughed until she grabbed her stomach to hold off the pain.

Charlie was chagrined. “Fine friend you are.”

“Well I don’t know, Charlie,” Jane said. “Here you are, poking your nose around in my personal business when you can’t even keep your missus happy.”

“‘Poking around in your business?’” Charlie asked. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“I do,” Jane said as she closed her open eye.

“I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself,” Charlie said. “It’s a tiresome burden that I wouldn’t wish on a dog if we’re laying our cards out on the table.

Jane’s voice grew weaker as she grew sleepier. “Land sakes alive, Charlie, you worry more than a ninety year old grandmother. ‘Granny Utter’ I ought to call you.”

Torn between his desire to dispense advice and to not get rebuked, Charlie sat there quietly for a while, enjoying Jane’s head in his lap as much as he could, given the circumstances.

“Why do you smell like a French hooker?” Jane asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You smell like a cat house on payday,” Jane said.

“Its cologne,” Charlie said.

“Smells like perfume,” Jane replied. “Unmanly if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Charlie said. “And its better than smelling like…”

The mixed aroma of Jane’s festering puke pile on the ground, combined with her stank breath wafted into Charlie’s nostrils, but he caught himself before he could say anything unkind.”

“…I just like the way it smells.”

“You would you dandy,” Jane said.

Slowly but surely, Charlie reached his trembling hand down until it landed on Jane’s head. Hearing no protest from a woman who was never shy about offering it, he began to stroke his hand through Jane’s hair.

“The fuck you doing?” Jane asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Charlie said as he pulled his hand away. “My mother used to do that for me when I was sick. I thought it would help.”

“I didn’t say stop, dumb ass,” Jane said.

A thoroughly enthused Charlie continued to stroke Jane’s hair.

“But don’t get any ideas,” Jane added.

“Of course not,” Charlie said.

After awhile, Charlie asked, “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Shut up,” Jane said.

“You have a job that you do well,” Charlie said. “You’ve got your beauty. You’ve got business partners that care about you. You’ve got your health if you’ll vow to put the cork in the bottle once and for all.”

“And I’ve got assholes,” Jane said.

“What?” Charlie asked.

“Assholes,” Jane said. “The world is full of them and they all stink. No pun intended. Wherever I go, whatever I do, there’s never a shortage of assholes waiting to tell me what to do, how to act, what to think and how to live my life. I can’t even rest on a goddamn bench without an asshole giving me his unwanted opinion about my affairs.”

Charlie sat there for a minute then perked up. “Oh, wait a minute. So you’re saying I’m an…”

Jane finished Charlie’s sentence. “…asshole. Yes.”

“Some of these um…uh…”

“‘Asshole,’ Charlie,” Jane said. “Jesus, you wouldn’t say ‘shit’ if you had a mouth full of it, would you?”

“Probably not,” Charlie said. “But anyway, some of these folks offering you their advice may have the best of intentions.”

“And some of them are just pieces of shit trying to overcome for their flaws by pointing out mine,” Jane said.

“I just don’t want you to die, Jane,” Charlie blurted out.

Jane opened her eyes and stared up at Charlie’s face, which, from her vantage point, was staring down at her more lovingly that she was used to.

“Appreciated,” Jane said. “But unnecessary. I can handle my liquor.”

“Clearly,” Charlie said.

“Well, Mr. High Horse,” Jane said. “Tell you what. If you can rid the world of every asshole in existence, then I won’t have to drink in order to avoid thinking about them.”

“That’s a tall order,” Charlie said. “Can’t you just ignore them?”

“Would that I could, Charlie,” Jane replied. “Would that I…”

Jane fell fast asleep. Charlie closed his eyes for a spell, until he remembered Bill’s request.

He nudged his compatriot.

“Jane,” Charlie said.

“Huh?” the sleepy cowgirl asked.

“We need to get you a cup of coffee because Bill wants us to meet him,” Charlie said.

Jane’s head shot up. “Bill? Bill needs me?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But maybe you ought to take it slowly and…”

Jane sprang to her feet, puked once more, then collapsed on the ground.

“Oh Lord,” Charlie said.

The businessman dropped to his knees, lightly slapping Jane’s cheek to see if she was alright. “Jane? Jane?”

“Ughhh,” Jane groaned.

“Come on,” Charlie said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But,” Jane protested. “Bill…Bill needs me…”

“He’ll get along without you just this once,” Charlie said.

The familiar voice of the Reverend Weston Smith pierced the air as he made his way down the street.

“Sinners! Repent! Repent lest ye be judged unworthy in the eyes of God!”

“Say Reverend…”

“End your sinful ways! Reject gambling, drinking, fornication, wine, women, and song!”

“Reverend!” Charlie shouted.

The Reverend turned and saw Charlie kneeling over Jane.

“Oh Heavens,” the Reverend said. “Is Miss Jane alright?”

“Well,” Charlie said. “That question has a long answer but for now, nothing that a good night’s sleep probably wouldn’t cure. Help me get her to her room?”

“Of course,” the Reverend said.

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May 21 2016
3 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 102

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The crowd’s mumblings eventually worked their way back to Doc and Annabelle.

“Women and children only.”

“Come on,” Annabelle said. “We’ll find another way.”

“No,” Doc replied. “My dear I can’t deny you safe passage across the Mississippi River on my account.”

“But we’re in this together,” Annabelle said.

“And we still will be, in a way,” Doc replied. He reached into his pocket, produced the two documents he’d been carrying and handed them to Annabelle.

Annabelle squinted at the words. She hadn’t been through much schooling.

“Last..will and…what?”

“My last will and testament,” Doc said. “My dear, when I got into the miracle cure-all business, my financial standing was transformed overnight. I went from pauper to prince in an instant but you see, I made so much in the way of cash that I didn’t feel comfortable carrying it all on my person.”

Annabelle listened. Fearful that untrustworthy characters were lurking in the crowd, Doc led Annabelle away from the rabble.

“At each major city I stopped, I enlisted the assistance of men from the revered Pinkerton Detective Agency to transport my money and deposit it in an account I set up in the First Bank of Chicago.”

“Darling,” Doc said. “In my will I have left the entire sum of my wealth to my beloved wife…”

The ditzy prostitute slapped Doc’s face before he could finish. “You’re married?! You never told me that you…”

Annabelle furrowed her brow at the small chunk of Doc’s flesh that had come off in her hand. She pressed it back into Doc’s cheek.

“Maybe I can just put it back,” she said.

“No just leave it,” Doc replied.

Annabelle let the piece of rotten flesh drop to the ground.

“Let’s be honest, my love,” Doc said. “My condition is worsening and even if I could cross that bridge at your side, I would eventually become a danger to you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and you’d no longer have a life…for I will lose control of myself and devour your brains when you least expect it.”

“Then we’ll go out together,” Annabelle said. “My brains are your brains.”

“No,” Doc said. “For the world needs cocaine and gynecology and you must promise me that you’ll spread the news of the curative properties of both across the globe in my stead.”

Annabelle stammered. “But…”

Doc clutched Annabelle’s shoulders and looked Annabelle in the eyes. In the dim moonlight, Annabelle was able to see that Doc’s face had turned gray and the left side was drooping, practically sagging away.

“From the well-to-do royal circles of London to the lowliest village of the Congo, you must tell everyone that daily doses of cocaine are required for robust health and that women can stave off the mysterious horrors of their nether regions through regular examinations…you must promise me.”

“I promise,” Annabelle said.

“The money in my account will be more than enough to fund your world travels,” Doc said. “And should the bank manager protest you need only show him my will in which you are named my sole heir.”

Doc pointed to the second document.

“And should any scheming members of my family protest your claim, I have taken the liberty of preparing this certificate of marriage…”

“Marriage?” Annabelle asked.

“Indeed,” Doc answered. “This certificate states that you and I were joined in the bonds of holy matrimony two days ago. The Reverend was kind enough to falsely claim that he officiated the ceremony by affixing his signature. And Mr. Slade graciously signed as a witness.”

Doc pointed to an empty line. “That is for you, my dear. Sign it, if you’ll have me and in the eyes of the law, we shall be considered husband and wife. I know earlier this afternoon you said that premise did not appeal to you but…”

Annabelle cried and hugged the good doctor. “Oh Doc. You’re the best fake zombie husband a girl could ever ask for…”

“And you are the finest fraudulent wife a nearly undead man could ever dream of,” Doc replied.

Though she’d been gentle, one of Doc’s ribs cracked under the pressure of Annabelle’s hug.

“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said.

“Quite all right,” Doc replied. “I’m rotting from the inside out as it would seem.”

Unconcerned about the safety of his bones, Doc pulled Annabelle back to continue the embrace for awhile longer.

“Do be careful not to lose these documents, my dear,” Doc said. “For with them in hand, your claim to my fortune will be iron clad.”

“I don’t want your money, Doc,” Annabelle said. “I just want you.”

“And I, you my dear,” Doc replied. “But this is bigger than both of us now. The needs of two people hardly matter when compared to the world’s need for cocaine and vaginal inspections and I know you will do me proud in both endeavors.”

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May 16 2016
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BQB's Romance Tips for Nerds

BQB’s Romance Tips for Nerds #1 – Oui by Jeremih

Hey Nerds.

BQB here.

Look, I’m no Casa Nova, but I’ve learned a thing or three in my day.

If you’re reading this blog then you’re probably a lonely nerd.

If there’s a she-nerd out there who’s on the fence as to whether or not you’re the man for her, put yourself over the top by playing “Oui” by Jeremih.

Forget that commercial where Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (that guy who plays Jamie Lannister on Game of Thrones) strikes out when he plays it.

He was up against Alison Brie, a famous actress who probably gets hit on by famous men all day long. She’s immune to it.

The average woman is powerless against Jeremih’s smooth vocals and I’m telling you, just bring “Oui” up on your phone, push play and she’ll be all over you like stink on a monkey.

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May 04 2016
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top ten lists

All of BQB’s Relationship Warning Signs Top Ten Lists Reblogged!

Thanks to the knowledge packed books he keeps on his bookshelf (which he occasionally even reads) Bookshelf Q. Battler is a world renowned expert on most things.

Recently, he’s used his uncanny brain power to help his 3.5 readers learn the warning signs they need to recognize in order to keep their love boat from running aground.

Is your girlfriend a ninja?

Is your boyfriend a conspiracy theorist?

Is your girlfriend a zombie?

Is your boyfriend a hipster?

Hold onto your butts, for BQB will be reblogging them all..now!

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Apr 30 2016
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top ten lists

Top Ten Things Your Girlfriend Might Say About You if She Were a Classic Film Noir Detective

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Fear not, 3.5 readers.  Jake Dashing continues to file his pop culture mystery reports.

I’m just so bogged down with all my work here at Bookshelf Q. Battler Headquarters that I never have time to edit and post them.

I really need to hire an assistant.

I head a rumor though that after being told to pound sand one too many times by Attorney Donnelly, Jake has set his sights on a lady detective who he shares some uh, let’s say, “personality traits” with.

Here the mystery woman is, with the Top Ten Things Your Girlfriend Might Say About You if She Were a Classic Film Noir Detective.

(Translated from English to Film Noir Speak.)

10.  ENGLISH: Babe, you left the bathroom a mess!

FILM NOIR SPEAK:  Another day, another dollar and another twenty-four hours closer to meeting my maker. I gave up on a perfect life long ago but call me crazy, I feel like even a gal like me has a right to five minutes of peace alone in the powder room.

Sigh.  No such luck.  I open the door and find the floor covered with enough water to float the Titanic, which is ironic, because the floor is also littered with enough towels to soak up the Pacific Ocean.

I need to think.  I go to the sink and turn on the faucet, hoping a splash of cool water on my face will subdue my burning rage.  No such luck.  The sink is filled with a twisted concoction of whisker hairs, shaving cream, and toothpaste.

Just what ever gal wants. A furry viscous fluid waiting for her.  Lucky me.

Thirty seconds with a washcloth would have spared my eyes from this sight.  What’s the skinny on this palooka? Is he stupid? Rude? Was he born in a barn? Raised by hobos?

Is this some kind of bizarre power play? Leave a mess to see if the little woman will clean it up?

Or is he just that obtuse that he doesn’t notice things like this?

Speaking of noticing things, out of the corner of my eye I spot that the toilet is filled with more skid marks than the Indy 500 race track.

Men. Can’t live with ’em.  Sorry. There isn’t a second verse to that old song and dance number.

9.  ENGLISH:  I love you.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION: Love.  That and a plug nickel will buy you a cup of coffee, but at least you never have to worry about your java sprouting legs and walking away.

Men, on the other hand, have a bad habit of becoming gold medal marathon runners when you least expect it.  There one day, gone the next, the only memories he leaves you with are his silhouette against the moonlight as he makes a beeline for the door and that old familiar throbbing in your ticker…

…ba-dump…ba-dump…ba-dump.

Then again, it could just be gas.

8.  ENGLISH: I wish you’d take me somewhere nice.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION:  There’s a part of me that wants to dance. Not that I’m a spritely ballerina type mind you but the madcap irony of life is that the less you have of it, the more you want to embrace it.  Rattling around in the back of my mind like so many marbles shot by the kid with the best aggie in school are images of myself as a wrinkled up old broad, wrapped up in a shawl, rocking away in my wheelchair, cursing myself for not having danced more in my youth.

I owe it to that old gal to trip the light fantastic fella, so either cut a rug with me or I’ll find someone who will.

7.  ENGLISH:  I baked you cookies.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION: Sweets.  They’re one of the many cruel jokes played on us by the man upstairs.

Surely you’ve realized by now that the Almighty  has a peculiar sense of humor, right?

Cookies are delicious, but too many and you’ll end up looking like the love child of Fatty Arbuckle and King Kong.

Making whoopee is an equally pleasant pastime, but pick the wrong person and you’ll end up with some kind of dirty social disease.  You know, the kind that makes your privates shrivel up, turn green, and that’s only if you’re lucky.

Still, everything in moderation is the way to go, so here are some cookies. One a day makes the blues go way.

Two a day will make me go away.

Make your choice, Jack.

6.  ENGLISH:  Do these jeans make my butt look big?

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION: Sizes are like opinions.  They vary greatly depending where you go, and they all leave you feeling like you’re going to explode.

In this case, I feel like there’s going to be an ass explosion. I’m not about to share my size with you, Nosebox McGee, but let’s just say I’ve always fit in the same number except for today, as I tried a new boutique where apparently it’s the company creedo that everyone should have an ass flatter than everyone thought the pre-Columbus world was.

I can tell you’re burning a hole in the back of my jeans with your lustful eyes, because like bathroom cleanliness, subtlety has never been your strong suit.

So make like a tipped over milk carton and spill, Jack. Is it round like a candy apple or does it look like it’s got its own gravitational pull?

5.  ENGLISH: You forgot my birthday, jerk.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION:  Time. Oh how that relentless son of a bitch enjoys teasing me. Taunting me. Yanking days off the calendar of my life with reckless abandon, leaving me with little more than fuzzy memories of cheap men and even cheaper vodka.

Eighteen.  Twenty-one. All the best birthdays are gone now.  What’s left to celebrate to celebrate now other than being one year closer to shaking hands with Mr. Grim Reaper himself?

Now there’s a celebrity whose autograph you don’t want.

Still, it’s perfectly normal for anyone with a pulse to feel a burning desire to be remembered. In the end, when all is said and done, when the last clump of dirt is heaped on our graves and the undertaker collects his due, all we are to the people we leave behind is the sum total of the memories they carry with them in their minds.

And apparently, my fella isn’t carrying many thought drops about me in his brain bucket.

I saw a bum shivering on a park bench this morning.  Cold. Alone. Forgotten. Cared for by no one.

Whenever my man screws up like this, it’s hard not to see myself as ending up just ike that lowdown vagrant one day.

Cold. Alone. Forgotten.  Cared for by no one.

Thanks a lot, Jack.

4.  ENGLISH: Let’s move in together.

TRANSLATION:  Space. I have it. You have it. Who needs it? Let’s live in the now and share the cow.  My milk. Your milk.  Who cares whose gullet it goes down when it all comes out yellow anyway?

Splitting digs is always a big step in any relationship.  And sure, it might turn out to be the step that lands our feet on an emotional land mine that blows our psyches to kingdom come.

Then again, it could also be the step that leads us to the American Dream.  A nice house with a front yard, a white picket fence, three kids, a dog, and our very own shared subscription to Better Homes and Gardens.

Mull it over, palooka. For as Custer said on the way to his last stand, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

3.  ENGLISH: I forgive you for (whatever dumb thing you did recently.)

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION: They say love is blind but in my case, she must have had her eyes gouged out with rusty razors because despite all the strike marks you’ve got against you, you’re still aces in my book, bub.

2.  ENGLISH: We should get married.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION:  Here we are, two dopes stuck on a big blue marble, our lives as insignificant as a couple of ants to the shoe of a random passerby.

Call me naive. Call me crazy. Call me late for dinner but I love ya, ya big lug. There, I said it. Write it down, rubber stamp it, set it in a frame and hang it on the wall for the whole world to see.

Sure, we could end up crashing in flames like the Hindenburg but we might just circumnavigate the globe like Lucky Lindy. We’ll never know until we flap our wings and take that leap.

There’s no one I’d like to take that leap with more than you, see?

  1.  ENGLISH: I think we should break up.

FILM NOIR TRANSLATION: Alright, buster. Clean the wax out of your ears and listen up.

You and I are over. We’re done. Kaput.  It’s like seeing the final credits roll at the end of a three hour Judd Apatow film. I feel depressed that I wasted my time yet elated that this bullshit is finally out of my life now.

Take a long walk off a short pier, palooka.  Dumpsville just held an election and you’re the Mayor, the Alderman, and the dog catcher all rolled into one.

Aww, pipe down with the waterworks, see?  Like my Aunt Edna’s underpants, a crying man is a sight no one wants to see.

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