Tag Archives: parody

BQB’s Favorite YouTubers – Straight Outta Gotham

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I came across this video by a group calling themselves the “Castanet Creative.”  It’s pretty funny, so check it out.

At first glance, it seems like a pretty standard parody by a bunch of buddies who got together to make a YouTube video.

But if you really look at it, it’s clear they were fans of the original Straight Outta Compton video by NWA, so much so that they copy all the scenes.  Batman and Robin chasing the villains through back alleys, Riddler getting slammed down and cuffed, the Joker standing up in a top down sports car, rapping insults at Batman ala Easy E.

Kudos.  These peeps have an eye for detail and that made this video 100% funnier.

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The Yeti Covers Adele’s “Hello”

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: Color me surprised as I woke up this morning to my arch nemesis, the enormous furry snow monster known simply as, “The Yeti” attempting to make amends with me by singing a cover song of Adele’s Hello.

Oh, for those just joining in, I’ve been keeping a Yeti prisoner in my basement ever since he broke into BQB HQ and attempted to shut down the Bookshelf Battle Blog because Yetis are boring as hell and they want the world to be as boring as they are.

He’s been free to go for awhile now but he just hangs out, pretends he’s a prisoner, and eats all my food.

Here’s what the Yeti serenaded me with:


Stupid Yeti

Hello…it’s the Yeti.

I was wondering if after all these months you’d like to meet.

To go over…all the ways I hate your stupid blog.

They say that it’s supposed to be funny.

But I ain’t…laughed…too much.

Hello, can you hear the Yeti?

I’m in your basement dreaming about the fights we used to have.

When we were younger…and we were free.

When we used to roundhouse kick each other in the face with our feet.

There’s such a rift…between us.

And our Thursday night Scandal parties don’t help.

Hello from your stupid basement!

My good Yeti name faces defacement!

But I want to tell you I’m sorry…for not stopping your blog.

The world’s brains it does clog.

Hello, from your basement.

At least I can say that I tried.

To roundhouse kick you in the face, BQB.

For your blog is more abominable than me.

Hello, do we have cheese dip?

If you’re going to keep me as a Yeti prisoner I might as well eat.

And I have demands.

Like can I get free cable down here?

Yes it’s no secret that the both of us,

Will fight for…ever.

So hello from your stupid basement (stupid basement!)

I must have tried a thousand times (thousand times)

To pull the plug on your stupid ass blog,

And make the world a better place.

Hello from my Yeti jail (Yeti jail)

There are no hot Yeti chicks down here for me to nail (for me to nail)

And I want to tell you I’m sorry…for not roundhouse kicking you more.

It would be an improvement to your stupid nerd face.

Hello from my Yeti captivity!

Your basement has no Wi-Fi connectivity!

And I really wanted to stream some Netflix.

Are there any shows with Yeti chicks?

Hello from my Yeti dungeon!

Oh BQB your dumbass head I want to bludgeon!

In our next roundhouse kick to the face competition rematch

Until then I want cookies, so bake me a batch.


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Fake Book Review – A Dirge of Murder and Betrayal Series

A Dirge of Murder and Betrayal

A Six Part Book Series

AUTHOR:  Joel LL Torrow

PUBLISHER:  Drunken Elf Publishing Concern


Character butcher.  Fantasy master.  Hat and vest enthusiast.  Santa Clause look alike.

Prolific writer Joel LL Torrow has been called these names and more, though “Fat Pay Cable Check Casher” would be more suitable if it weren’t for the fact that he refuses to allow his fame and fortune to go to his head, opting instead to live just a notch or two above an Amish person.

He still uses DOS.  He still utilizes an ancient blogging site.  And we’re fairly certain he churns his own butter, though we’venever seen him do it.

Joel LL Torrow, Author of the Dirge of Murder and Betrayal Series

Joel LL Torrow, Author of the Dirge of Murder and Betrayal Series

Where other writers have crumpled up their pages, declared their work to be too farfetched and thrown it into the trash can, Torrow was the man who boldly declared, “I’m going to pen an elaborately complicated series of fantasy books geared toward adults even though children are typically the fantasy genre’s target audience, AND it’s going to involve over 928 main characters AND I’m going to kill them all off constantly in weird unexpected ways.”

Yup.  He said all that.  I heard him.

Modest to a fault yet always good to his fans, Torrow recently held a Q and A session with his biggest fan, Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Queen Anara "Annie" Mistwake and her horse before it was transformed into a damn pegasus.

Queen Anara “Annie” Mistwake and her horse before it was transformed into a damn pegasus.

The following is the reading order of the series, along with a brief synopsis of each book:

Book 1 – A Match of Wits – All is well in the Kingdom of Wentzlendale.  The citizens prosper, the crops grow thick, and the various ruling clans get along famously.  Alas, peace is torn asunder when the dimwitted King Winkytiddles trips and falls down five hundred flights of stairs yet miraculously, manages to survive until he rolls out into a nearby pig farm and is eaten by ravenous swine, who leap on the chance for revenge against a Kingdom who has seen them as nothing but a source of bacon.

Weber and Sasha Prissypants, who respectively, hold the illustrious titles of Duke and Duchess of Shabadoo, believe their time has come.  Days before his passing, Winkytiddles drew up his last will and testament, which clearly states that the crown shall transfer to the Duke, since Winkytiddles had no heirs, as he had never married because all women found him hideous and weird and all the gold pieces in the royal treasury were not enough to compensate.

But the Cleric of Chutzington has something up his sleeve.  Tiddlywinks was, in secret, madly in love to a pillow he drew a face on, so much so that he pretended the pillow was his wife and even referred to three smaller throw pillows as their children.  The oldest, or rather, the pillow Windkytiddles had sewn first had a boy’s face drawn on it and thus, threw a series of backroom deals, the Cleric convinces the Holy Keepers of the Kingdom to declare pillows to be people, thus mandating by law that the crown passes to Prince Stuffy the First, the deceased King’s eldest pillow son.

BOOK 2 – In the Pillow King’s Name – Clan Prissypants declares this turn of events to be outrageous.  In a stirring speech, the Duke of Shabadoo declares, “It’s a f&*king pillow for f^%’s sake!”  Clans Sprankledank and Gibblegobble agree, and the three march toward Wentzenfort, the capital of Wentzlendale, prepared to sack the city and take control of the Kingdom.  They unite under a banner emblazoned with the motto that becomes the title of Book 3.

BOOK 3 – It’s a F&*KING PILLOW FOR F%*K’S SAKE! – Clans Dooradox, Schpratzenpatz and Donkenstein are all exceptionally religious, swearing undying loyalty to any proclamations made by the Holy Keepers, no matter how ridiculous, especially if they lead to a f%&king pillow being crowned King.  Their armies gather around Wentzenfort, prepared to protect the city at all costs.

BOOK 4 – A RAY OF SUN IN THE DARKNESS OF CLOUDS – Anara “Annie” Mistwake, abandoned in a gloomy forest as a child and raised by a band of drunken elves learns that she is the last member of Clan Zoovarin, the family who manufactured the pillow known as King Stuffy the First.  An interpretation of holy law suggests that the King Stuffy is therefore a descendant of the Zoovarin line and as the pillow’s elder sister, the crown is, by right, Annie’s.  The drunken elves are magical and use their powers to turn Annie’s horse into a damn pegasus.  Annie assembles a massive army of her drunken adopted elf relatives and prepares to march on Wentzenfort.

BOOK 5 – THE TOURNAMENT OF THE STAR QUARTER – The Pro and Anti King Stuffy sides agree to a momentary peace in the hopes that the question of who the crown belongs to can be solved in a tournament.  The Pro Stuffy side choose Burt Frederickson, a soldier revered for his bravery in battle.

The Anti Stuffy side selects Antagonizer Stabsmore, Legendary Stabsmith of the Stabsmore Isles, where the inhabitants are trained to be especially stabby from an early age.  Literally, all those people do is eat, drink and stab all day long.

In the tourney, Frederickson pummels Stabsmore within an inch of his life when the Duchess of Shabadoo breaks wind, thus distracting the would be champion and allowing Stabsmore to get the upper hand, which he uses to grind Frederickon’s face into a fine paste.

The Pro Stuffy side cry foul.  The Anti Stuffy side declare fair is fair.  All bets are off and the war carries on.

Book 6 – An End for Crying Out Loud Already – (coming soon this Fall) – Annie Mistwake flies over Wentzenfort, shouts, “Hey everybody!  Look over there!” and then watches as her drunken elves slaughter both sides, leaving her the throne, to the delight of her legions of loyal fans who buy Torrow’s books just to take in her adventures.

Surprisingly, Annie’s rule lasts less than five minutes.  Hungry from battle, she devours some expired cottage cheese and dies instantly.

King Stuffy the First is overthrown.  No seriously.  He is literally thrown into a trash can.  The peasants of the land abandon the monarchy form of government, install a democratic system and only proceed to elect rulers that make them yearn for King Winkytiddles.

Thanks to the magic bookshelf, a tiny version of Anara Mistwake has been known to fly around the BQB compound.  BQB has known her for years, yet she still insists on introducing herself and stating her multiple titles every time she sees him.

BQB’s attorney reminds readers this is a parody.

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Fake Book Review – The Incorrigible Monroe


AUTHOR:  Alexander T. Buttercross

PUBLISHER:  Bullfinch House


There’s a reason why Alexander T. Buttercross’ classic novel, The Incorrigible Monroe, has been a staple for high school English classes for over eight decades.

There just isn’t a piece of writing that captures the decade known as “The Roaring Twenties” any better.

Cheers to You, Young Duffer

Cheers to You, Young Duffer

In his day, Buttercross penned multiple tales surrounding the lives of the ennui laden rich, folks whose fortunes skyrocketed during a boom period for the U.S. economy, leaving them with little to do other than wile away the hours, drink heavily, philosophize needlessly, spend extravagantly, and nazel gaze to no end, scrutinizing every inch of their personal life choices and decisions.

In retrospect, historians are left to ponder whether upper crust society would have rested on their laurels for so long had they been aware that the Great Stock Market Crash would close out the decade in 1929, thus ushering in the Great Depression of the 1930’s.

Truly the best read that Buttercross ever produced was the life story of Sid Monroe, the larger than life go-getter who spends lavishly on extravagant parties at his Chicago mansion in the hope that by doing so, he’ll impress and win the heart of Jenny, the woman he so desperately loves.

This reviewer dares to claim that if one were to pile up every romance novel ever written, they’d all surely pale in comparison the sheer gut wrenching emotion of Monroe’s inner turmoil.

On the outside, Monroe is everything to everyone.  He speaks with an air of sophistication and oozes a mixture of Ivy League breeding with a man of the people charm.  He’s a notorious glad hander, always quick with a handshake, a humorous anecdote, a hilarious joke, and almost as out of an effort to manufacture a witty personality out of whole cloth, insists on referring to everyone he meets as, “Young Duffer.”

It’s sort of his trademark.

Monroe can have his pick of any woman he wants in the Chicago nightlight circles but alas, his heart beats only for Jenny. Meanwhile, Jenny is slavishly devoted to the boorish, ill-tempered Gustavo, who beats her viciously with a wet noodle, curses like a sailor, and drains his wife’s inheritance on his obsession with pointy German helmets.

In fact, SPOILER ALERT – the novel climaxes when Monroe and Gustavo quarrel over the obscene number of pointy German helmets Gustavo has purchased (an entire warehouse full).  Fisticuffs are exchanged, a struggle ensues and Monroe is tragically impaled on one.

His sad last words?

Kind of wish I’d realized there were other fish in the sea before right now…ack!”

Kind of wish I’d realized there were other fish in the sea before right now ack, indeed.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy

A tiny version of the Incorrigible Monroe has been known to throw extravagant parties right on BQB’s magic bookshelf.  Outwardly, BQB and Monroe couldn’t be more different (BQB being a nerd while Monroe is a smooth talker.  However, they both suffer from the affliction of “Caring Too Much About Women Who Don’t Like Us Syndrome” and have wasted away many an evening conversing over martinis.

BQB’s Attorney says, “This is a parody.”

Man with martini image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Fake Book Review: Arrowblast Series


A Six Part Series

AUTHOR:  Rebecca Martley

PUBLISHER:  Schmeckford, Schmeckford and Dondlinger


When it comes to Young Adult fiction, Rebecca Martley’s Arrowblast sets the gold standard.  Others may try, but few will be able to match Martley’s skills in world building or character development.

The setup?

Tessa sets at least fifty fires a day in the BQB compound.  Luckily, BQB always keeps a fire extinguisher handy.

Tessa sets at least fifty fires a day in the BQB compound. Luckily, BQB always keeps a fire extinguisher handy.

In the future, and also in an alternate dimension, a second version of Earth is conquered by the cruel and unjust Overlord Kwazlo, who is by far just the nastiest jerk-face you could ever possibly imagine.  Where the world was once a happy place, it has now descended into decay and despair, as Kwazlo has outlawed all fun and merriment under penalty of death.

On a farm in the middle of nowhere, Tessa Fireswarm lives with her kindly Uncle Larry, her parents having been kidnapped by the Kwazlo Regime and forced to slave away in a mine.  Larry is a pleasant fellow who’s refused to let the sorry state of the world get him down.

One night, Larry sings a happy tune, and unlucky for him, a contingent of Kwazlo’s men hear it.  Instantly, they insert Larry into a high-velocity cannon and blast him into the stratosphere, where scientific principles dictate he’d either pop like a ripe watermelon, burn up to a crisp in the atmosphere, or suffer a heart attack from the trauma of being shot out of a cannon.

Tessa, once a peaceful girl, vows revenge and plots an attack on Castle Kwazlo.  She recruits her dueling love interests, the handsome and dashing Esteban and the dorky yet dependable Melvin.

The rest, as they say, is history.  Here’s the reading order along with a short synopsis of each book:

Arrowblast 1The Song Sentence – With no prior battlefield experience or training, three teenagers who’ve never held a weapon before manage to fight their way past Kwazlo’s forward defenses, using little more than their luck, wit and a bow and arrow Uncle Larry used to shoot squirrels with.  Seriously, Tessa was the only armed one.  Esteban and Melvin just threw rocks and doled out wedgies.

Arrowblast 2 – Big Box Office Returns – Following the monumental success of the summer blockbuster Arrowblast movie, Martley rolled up her sleeves and delighted her fans with a sequel.  Kwazlo, infuriated that three plucky teenagers with no prior battlefield experience and only one bow and arrow were able to defeat an entire division of his army, invents an evil Tessa look alike robot.  Robo Tessa tricks the dimwitted Esteban to wander off to what surely will be a gruesome fate.  Melvin is immune to Robo Tessa’s charms as he’s too in love with the real Tessa to be hoodwinked by an imposter.  Real Tessa is moved by Melvin’s loyalty, but chooses Esteban anyway because, well, it’s never expressly said because he’s better looking than Melvin but…yeah.

Arrowblast 3 – Three Time’s a Blast – Kwazlo hires 3,000 assassins to hunt down Tessa.  Tessa shoots all but one of them in the face with her bow and arrow aka “The Arrowblaster.”  The worst assassin, Demonus Repulsivo, takes a shot at Tessa.  Esteban yells “Feets don’t fail me now!” and runs the hell out of there.  Melvin, without thinking, jumps in front of Tessa and takes the hit, becoming mortally wounded.  Tessa still chooses Esteban because…yeah.

Arrowblast 4 – This is Getting Ridiculous – Melvin recovers on Uncle Larry’s farm while Tessa and Esteban infiltrate Castle Kwazlo.  They’re surprised at how easily they are able to penetrate the vile dictator’s defenses when suddenly, they find themselves hanging by their feet over a pit of lava filled with man eating sharks that have been genetically modified to be resistant to lava burns.  It was a trap all along.  Melvin, after receiving word of Tessa’s fate, makes an impassioned and moving speech that convinces all of the farmers in the land to take up arms and march to Castle Kwazlo.  Melvin leads the charge, defeats all the sharks, and frees Tessa and Esteban.  In the end, Tessa chooses Esteban because…you know, Esteban has a six-pack and plays football while Melvin has glasses and is all nerdy and shit.

Arrowblast 5 – Cashgrabber Supreme – Following the success of the Arrowblast 1, 2, 3, 3.5, 4, 4.3, 4.5 and 4.9 movies, Martley bring us a fifth installment of her unstoppable franchise that makes the youth of the world swoon and writers from here to Cucamonga green with envy.  Melvin is finally over Tessa.  He gets laser eye surgery and finds a love interest in Janessica Paramour.  Suddenly, Tessa wants to be all over Melvin but he lets her know she can talk to the hand.  Kwazlo attacks the base of the revolutionary farmers but our band of heroes fend off the attack.  Following the battle, Melvin lets Tessa know that his love for her continues to burn brightly and he’s hers if she’ll have him.  Tessa replies, “Well, now that you want me again it’s not that interesting!  See ya’!”  Janessica hears the entire exchange and kickboxes Melvin in the face.

Arrowblast 6 – The Final Blastening:  Parts 1-3 – Exhausted from having to constantly fend off attacks from an army of teenagers with little to no battlefield experience, Kwazlo develops a gigantic laser cannon designed to burn up anyone under 21.  Melvin leads the attack on the laser cannon itself.  Tessa oversees the ground forces as they overrun Castle Kwazlo once and for all.  Esteban is charged with leading a second wave on the laser but gets lost in a canyon and refuses to ask for directions.  In a final battle royale, Tessa delivers a death blow to her arch enemy. She unmasks him to discover that Kwazlo was in fact, Uncle Larry the entire time.  Except it’s not the Larry Tessa knew.  It’s Larry from the other version of Earth, thus totally blowing fans minds and causing them to lose their shit all over Twitter.  Melvin and Tessa marry and become just rulers.  Esteban remains lost in the canyon for ten years.  Finally, he finds his way out and Tessa divorces Melvin to marry Esteban, because he’s friggin’ Esteban.  Enraged, Melvin dons the mask of Kwazlo, thus beginning the upcoming twenty part series: The New Kwazlo:  Rebecca Needs a House in Malibu.

A tiny version of Tessa frequents the Bookshelf Battle Compound, thanks to the magic bookshelf.  BQB is constantly putting out fires caused by Tessa’s arrow blasts, which she fires indiscriminately and with reckless abandon with no regard for BQB’s property.

Find out more in BQB and The Meaning of Life – Part 1 – A Toaster Pastry Too Far

Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler (2015)  All Rights Reserved

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license

BQB’s Attorney says:  “This is a parody.”

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BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 10 – Sell Out


BQB croaked on the can due to an explosion of lightning from his nether regions.  In death, he met Shakespeare, who urged him to seek out the meaning of life.  Mini versions of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson hop out of one of the mystery books on BQB’s magic shelf and offer their assistance.


PART 6 – BQB wakes up in the hospital.

PART 7 – Characters apologize.

PART 8 – More characters check on BQB

PART 9 – Holmes offers to solve “The Case of the Missing Bookshelf Caretaker’s Testicles”

“You guys have two seconds to beat feat out of here before I swat you both with a rolled up newspaper,” I said.

Ignoring me, Holmes paced up and down my kitchen table.

Holmes is on the case.

Holmes is on the case.

“Take copious notes, Watson!”

Watson pulled out a notepad and a pen and proceeded to write down every word the great detective uttered.

“The victim?” Holmes said. “One Bookshelf Q. Battler…caretaker of a magic bookshelf upon which the inhabitants of various volumes of lore come to life and proceed to attack one another over limited shelf space.”

“Limited…shelf…space,” Watson repeated as he took the words down.

“The pilfered prize?” Holmes continued. “One pair of testicles.”

“That’s absurd Holmes,” Watson said. “Any novice medical student would tell you that Mr. Bookshelf would be in more pain than he is now if someone lobbed off his…”

“Spiritual testicles, Watson!” Holmes said. “I’m referring to that force, that drive, that blind ambition that we saw brewing in Bookshelf Q. Battler’s heart ten years ago. It was a fire burning bright in his belly that made him zealously pursue his dream of becoming a writer. Where, oh where, has that fire gone?”

“Just trying to eat my corn flakes here, guys,” I said.

Holmes smoked his pipe and appeared to be lost in thought. His eyes widened as he pointed at a picture hanging on the wall behind me.


“What is it, Holmes?” Watson asked.

“By Jove, I’ve discovered a clue!” Sherlock said.

“Explain yourself, Holmes,” Watson said. “We’ll need detailed records for our files.”

Holmes picked up tempo as he paced back and forth.

“Ten years ago, our illustrious caretaker was a man full of great gusto! A man of vim and vigor!” Holmes said. “Remind us, Mr. Bookshelf, where did you work ten years ago?”

“The Encyclopedia Factory,” I replied.

“And you enjoyed your occupation as an Encyclopedia scribe, did you not?”

BQB once held an entry level position as a writer for the Encyclopedia Factory, but became a sell out and joined the business world.

BQB once held an entry level position as a writer for the Encyclopedia Factory, but became a sell out and joined the business world.

It was too early in the morning to be getting the third degree from a diminutive detective, but I complied.

“I loved it,” I said.

“Tell me man,” Holmes said, staring up at me through a magnifying glass. “Why?”

“My job was to write articles about all the great happenings of the world,” I said. “I loved to write. They paid me to do what I loved.”

“And yet you quit!” Holmes said. “Explain!”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Liar!” Holmes shouted, pointing an accusatory finger my way. “Fibber! Deceiver! You know why you quit the job that brought joy to your heart! Tell us! Tell us why!”

Flustered from the third degree, I choked on my corn flakes. I put down my spoon and raised my palms toward the little man, making the universal “back off” gesture.

“It just wasn’t working out,” I said.

“May I remind you that you are under oath?!” Holmes yelled.

“I’m not under oath,” I replied.

“He’s not under oath, Holmes,” Watson interjected.

“Isn’t it true that you quit the job you loved because of that woman right there?!” Holmes asked, pointing at a photo of a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed goddess hanging on the wall behind me. “Didn’t you leave your beloved writing career because your ex-girlfriend, one Ms. Bland Life Settler, did not approve?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.

“And why do you still keep her likeness hanging up on the wall?” Holmes asked. “Have some dignity, man! It’s been a decade since she cast you aside like a barrel of stale figgy pudding!”

“Quite right,” Watson added. “Not to interfere in your affairs, Mr. Bookshelf, but to keep her picture is a tad unhealthy.”

“Guys, I’m reaching my limit here,” I said.

“Watson!” Holmes said. “Take us back ten years ago! Take us all the way back to the day when Mr. Bookshelf’s old flame ripped out his heart and pierced it with a stiletto heel tip!”

“One moment,” Watson said. The doctor licked his finger tips and thumbed through the pages of his notebook. “I’ll find it.”

“You guys have notes about stuff that happened to me ten years ago?” I asked.

“I make Watson keep notes of all activities that transpire in this residence!” Holmes proclaimed. “One never knows when the most seemingly insignificant detail might evolve into a case cracking clue!”

“Ah!” Watson said. “I’ve found it!”

“Read it back to us, Watson.”

“Indubitably, Holmes,” Watson replied.

Feeling defeated, I rested my chin in the palms of my hands as I listened to the voice of a tiny British doctor rehashing one of the worst days of my life.

“In the year of our lord, two-thousand and five at precisely ten o’clock in the evening. Present one Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler. Present one Ms. Bland Life Settler.”

“OK Sherlock,” I said. “I get the point.”

“Read on, Watson!”

Statement from Bookshelf Q. Battler: No, baby, please, please do not leave me.

Reply from Ms. Settler – I am tired of wasting my life on a loser like you, BQB! I am not going to spend one more minute with a man who lives in a fantasy world! What kind of a man sits around reading books and writing stories all day? I want a real man! A doer! A provider!  A man who doesn’t day dream all the time with his head stuck in the clouds! We’re through!

BQB's ex-girlfriend, Blandie.  Actual photo he keeps hanging on his wall in the Bookshelf Battle Compound.

BQB’s ex-girlfriend, Blandie. Actual photo he keeps hanging on his wall in the Bookshelf Battle Compound.

I’d tried so hard to forgot those words, and yet there he was, a miniscule physician reading them back to me with perfect British pronunciation.

“And then Ms. Settler goes on to denigrate Mr. Bookshelf’s skills in the boudoir and so on,” Watson said.

“Read on, Watson!” Holmes said. “We need a full picture of the puzzle at hand!”

“No!” I said. “No. Fine. You got me. I quit my job as a writer at the Encyclopedia Factory because of her.”

“A confession!” Holmes said. “Splendid!”

“It was the right thing to do,” I said. “I enjoyed the job, but it paid hardly anything. I was barely scraping by.”

“And so what did you do next?” Holmes asked.

“I went to business school,” I said. “Got an MBA. Got an executive level job.”

“Really?” Holmes asked. “You really refer to what you do as ‘executive level?’”

“I’m an assistant,” I said.

Holmes glared at me with great disapproval.

“Fine,” I said. “I’m an assistant to the assistant of the vice-president in charge of corporate assistance at Beige Corp, the world’s premiere producer of beige colored products and accessories.”

“And this position pays?” Holmes inquired.

“About fifty cents more an hour than what I made at the Encyclopedia Factory,” I said.

“Where you were happy,” Holmes pointed out.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And you were at least working as a paid writer, or in other words, working in the industry you actually longed to be a part of?” Holmes asked.


“And you gave that up on the theory that entering the business world turn you into a man of great wealth, one who could perhaps one day win back the heart of Ms. Bland Life Settler?”


“Speak the truth, man!”

“Yes,” I replied.

“So to recap,” Holmes said. “You gave up a dream you held in your heart to pursue an occupation you hold little interest in on the pretense that doing so would turn you into a man of great means and then you would convince a woman who broke your heart to love you again?”

A voice from the other side of the table startled me. Completely unnoticed, The Incorrigible Monroe had managed to make his way onto the kitchen table. He was nibbling on a cornflake he’d snatched from my bowl and reading the newspaper that he was sitting on.

“I don’t know what these gum shoes are going on about, Young Duffer,” Monroe said. “That plan sound’s like the cat’s pajamas to yours truly.”

Umm…BQB?  Ten posts in and you’ve left to leave the compound?  Oh well, check back next time on BQB and the Meaning of Life!

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.  

(I’m sorry, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  I’m really sorry.)

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BQB and The Meaning of Life – Part 8 – Troublesome Characters


PARTS 1-5 – BQB dies after passing lightning from his posterior, visits God’s Waiting Room where Shakespeare tells him to seek the meaning of life.

PART 6 – BQB wakes up in the hospital.  His doctor, who bet against him, is out 100 bucks.

PART 7 – Tessa and Jean Paul apologize for the fracas that led to BQB’s unfortunate injury.  They freeze up when Aunt Gertie enters the room because BQB’s bookshelf characters trust no one but BQB.


One by one, over a hundred tiny lassos made out of dental floss were tossed up onto my bed, hooking onto various places – my pajama buttons, my fingers, the bed posts, and so on. And one by one, over a hundred tiny book characters climbed up on my bed, and then onto me, to check on my condition.

The Incorrigible Monroe, protagonist of a 1920’s novel of the same name, was decked out in his finest white linen suit.  With a martini in his hand and a cigar in the other, he looked me over.

“I say Young Duffer,” the diminutive Monroe said with an air of upper crust sophistication. “I’d hate to see the other fellow you exchanged fisticuffs with.”

“It was a toilet,” I said. “I died on a toilet.”

“And like I said, Young Duffer,” Monroe said between cigar puffs, “I’d hate to see it.”

I always felt a special bond with Monroe.  His novel was a heartbreaking tale of a man who spent his life as a notorious poser, accumulating wealth and spending lavishly on parties in the hopes that he’d win the heart of Jenny, a woman who had zero interest in him no matter how hard he tried.

I knew a thing or two about that.

The Three Musketeers plus D’Artagnan withdrew their swords, which at

D'artagnan should complain.

D’artagnan should complain.

their size, were about as lethal as toothpicks.

“Enough of the petty squabbling among the inhabitants of your bookshelf, Mr. Bookshelf!” D’Artagnan said in a thick French accent. “Just say the word and we shall proclaim your shelf in the name of the King of France!”

“Why would I want my bookshelf to be claimed in the name of the King of France?” I asked.

“Because the cardinal sucks big time!” D’Artagnan replied. “You do not want your shelf ending up in the hands of the Cardinal!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s safe from the cardinal,” I said.

“If it’s all the same, we’re going to find some of the Cardinal’s men and kick their asses anyway,” D’Artagnan said.

“Knock yourselves out,”  I said.  “By the way, learn how to count.  There’s four of you.”

I really need to get that book of my shelf.

I really need to get that book off my shelf.

Out of nowhere, a tiny zombie jumped up onto my nose and was about to sink its teeth into my schnoz when its head exploded. Behind him was Tiny Dirk Lane, holding a smoking pistol.

Dirk was the main character of The Shuffling Living.  Set in a post-apocalyptic world with zombies run amuck, it was one of my favorite shows.  I made the mistake of putting a book tied in to the show on my shelf and had been fending off puny one-inch tall zombies ever since.

“Thanks Dirk,” I said. “But if you’re out hunting zombies on the bookshelf tonight, can you keep it down?”

“What?” Dirk asked. “I’m supposed to just let the tiny zombies eat my friends?”

“No,”  I said.  “But you could grab a pencil off my desk and just slap them around with it instead.”

“I can do that,”  Dirk said.

Good old Dirk.  Always the voice of reason.  I must have had a book based on the first season.

A buzzing sound filled the air. It sounded like the wings of a fly, but in actuality, the sound came from majestically small pegasus.

A minuscule fantasy queen was astride the flying horse. She landed her ride on my chest and addressed me in a royal manner.

Queen Anara

Queen Anara “Annie” Mistwake, Keeper of the Legacy, Shimbala of the…blah blah blah.  Wow she has a lot of friggin’ titles.  This photo taken, of course, before her horse transformed into a damn pegasus.

“Akeeza doo walla walla chazza cho…”

“Please Annie,”  I said.  “Speak in the common tongue.”

“Very well,”  Annie said as she dismounted her pegasus.  “I am Anara Mistwake of the Family Zoovarin, Keeper of the Legacy, Shimbala of the Lowlands, Destroyer of Demons…”

“Oh my God,”  Tessa said.  “Not this spiel again.”

“Aunt of the Pegasus,”  Jean Paul muttered mockingly under his breath.

“Aunt of the Pegasus,”  Annie continued, oblivious to the peanut gallery.  “Queen of the Kingdom of Wentzlendale, the Mountain Clifftops, and the Impenetrable Isles, Protector of the Enchanted Gems….

“Owner of a hundred green cloaks,” D’Artagnan added.

“Seriously,”  Tessa said.  “She needs to go shopping.  I’ve never seen her out of that green cloak.”

“Like you never wear anything that isn’t black,”  Jean Paul said.

“And the Oligarch of the Forbidden Fields,” Annie concluded.

“I’d add ‘Future Mrs. Monroe’ to her list of titles,” Monroe said. “But Jenny’s going to come around any day now.”

Tessa rested a hand on Monroe’s shoulder.

“Face it buddy,” Tessa said. “Jenny’s just not that into you.”

“Hello Annie,” I said.  “You know you really don’t have to announce all of your titles every time you see me but go on.  What’s up?”

“I come to propose a solution that will restore order to your bookshelf and prevent the various characters who dwell within your collection of volumes from stepping out and fighting one another while you slumber,” the fantasy queen said.

“Let’s hear it,”  I replied.

“You simply transfer control of your shelf to my creator,”  Annie said.

“Your creator?”  I asked.

“Yes,”  Dany replied.  “The old man with beard and funny hat.”

Annie, of course, hailed from my favorite fantasy series of books, A Dirge of Murder and Betrayal.  Her creator was none other than my hero, prolific writer and legendary uber nerd Joel LL Torrow.

He was known throughout the literary world for having no issue with wacking main characters left and right, often in unexpected ways.  In fact, I had a theory that he was going to end the series by having Annie defeat all her enemies and be named Supreme Super Queen only to die from a bad staff infection after stubbing her toe.


Good Ole Joel “Wack a Dozen Characters Before Lunch” Torrow, BQB’s hero.

I looked out at the sea of tiny book characters standing all over me.

Every one of them appeared positively petrified at the idea.

“Well,”  I said.  “I suppose your creator does know how to get rid of troublesome characters.”

“No!”  Tessa yelled.

“We’ll be good!”  Jean Paul said.

“Promise?”  I asked.

“We promise,”  Tessa said.

“Yes,”  Jean Paul said as he handed a stick of bubble gum to Tessa.  “In fact, Tessa, please accept this piece of gum as a token of our truce.”

“Is it any good?”  Tessa asked.

“It better be,”  Jean Paul replied.  “I double crossed the aardvark and sold out my siblings for it!”

Does BQB ever recover from his injury?  Stay tuned!

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved

(Though of course, The Three Musketeers belong to the ages)

Zombie, old man, fantasy woman and Three Musketeers images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Bookshelf Q. Battler and The Meaning of Life – Part 1 – A Toaster Pastry Too Far

My name is Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Bookshelf Q. Battler - World Renowned Poindexter, Reviewer of Books, Movies and Culture Happenings, Champion Yeti Fighter, Blogger-in-Chief of the Bookshelf Battle Blog

Bookshelf Q. Battler – World Renowned Poindexter, Reviewer of Books, Movies and Culture Happenings, Champion Yeti Fighter, Blogger-in-Chief of the Bookshelf Battle Blog

That’s not the name I was given. It is the name I have chosen, for it describes who I am and what I do.

I am the world’s foremost authority on bookshelf combat. I’ll give you a minute to let it sink in that such an activity even exists.

For as long as I am able to remember, going back all the way to the days when I was just a little Bookshelf Q. Battler in a pair of super hero jammies, I have been the owner of a mystical, magical bookshelf. It is a shelf that contains awesome power – power I have yet to fully comprehend.

Whenever I put a book on my bookshelf, the characters in the book gain the ability to step off of the pages of their tale and onto the surface of my shelf. These beings appear as miniature forms of themselves.  After all, a bookshelf can’t support the weight of a fully grown person. That’s just science.

You can’t argue with science.

One might get the impression that such a shelf is a wonderful gift, providing me with endless hours of entertainment and the chance to get to know beloved characters from classic and modern works of literature.

One would be wrong.

The space on my bookshelf is limited and these tiny characters know it. For years, they have been locked in a bitter, never-ending struggle against one another to claim and hold territory on my shelf.

Needless to say, the battles on my bookshelf have not been pretty. I hate to admit it, but the characters who call my bookshelf home do not exactly follow the rules of the Geneva Convention.

My home is constantly filled with the sounds of beloved book protagonists turned warlords, terrorists, and dictators. Tiny bazookas, mini-cannons, diminutive machine guns – if it fires little projectiles, these minuscule beings will use it against the books of their rivals. They know I only have so much space, and they’ll stop at nothing to keep the book they call home from being culled off the shelf and tossed into my trash can.

I try to tell them that will never happen.  I’m an easy going critic and rarely give books a bad grade.  I understand that most authors bleed their soul out onto the pages of their works and for that reason I hate to be judgmental.

These tiny characters refuse to listen.  They will never adopt the age old adage of “sharing is caring.”

I suppose I should be flattered that all of these characters are seeking my approval. However, my position as caretaker of the bookshelf can, at times, be a tiresome burden.

You see, when it comes to my bookshelf, I am the UN. The book characters fight and fight, but when they cross the line, I have to get involved and reign their shenanigans in.

I command a contingent of green Army men who hail from my books about World War II. In exchange for listening to them tell me how they’re all going to “marry Peggy Sue” as soon as they get state side, they take up residence in the middle of the shelf, acting in their role as peacekeepers in a demilitarized zone.

The green army men on a peacekeeping mission.

The green Army men on a peacekeeping mission.

When this happens, the characters relent, retreat, the Army men are dispersed, and then the characters start fighting again. It is a vicious cycle, to say the least.

Sometimes I send in humanitarian aid – little care packages to help the book characters who have been cut off from food supplies. Unfortunately, a tiny Machiavelli just steps out of my copy of The Prince, steals all the packages, then turns around and sells them to the other characters at extortionist, highway robbery prices.

God I hate Machiavelli.  He’s so himself-ian.

I love all of the characters on my bookshelf equally. I wish they could love each other as much as I love them. I yearn for the day when they might learn to live side by side in perfect harmony. Until then, all I can do is keep them from murdering each other.

Tessa Fireswarm, heroine of the YA hit book series

Tessa Fireswarm, heroine of the YA hit book series “Arrowblast.” Catch her this summer in Arrowblast 5 – Cashgrabber Supreme.

One morning, I woke up to the sound of high impact explosions.  I knew it had to be the handiwork of Tessa Fireswarm, or at least the tiny version of the young adult fiction heroine who calls my shelf home.

If you haven’t read Tessa’s series, Arrowblast, you totally should.  It’s a harrowing tale of a corrupt dystopian future, in which a vicious totalitarian government led by the cruel Overlord Kwazlo is somehow easily overthrown by a band of plucky teenagers with literally no prior military training or battlefield experience.

I jumped out of bed and ran into my office, where I found a tiny Tessa launching explosive arrows at my collection of Tales of the Lost French Children.

You’ve never heard of Tales of the Lost French Children?  Oh those books are classics.  They’ve entertained countless generations of youngsters for many a moon.

Surely you remember being a young lad or lass reading a copy of

Surely you remember being a young lad or lass reading a copy of “Tales of the Lost French Children” in your local lending library.

I don’t want to spoil the plot, but essentially what happens is the Croissantiers, a group of wayward French youngsters, discover a hatch hidden underneath the laundry hamper kept in the bathroom of their modest Parisian home.  They crawl through it to find a magical land of mystical make believe in which a saintly aardvark and a butt ugly crone fight for control.

Oddly, the kids decide to stay but before you judge them, remember they were from 1940’s France so their choices were live under the control of a crone or under Hitler’s Nazi rule. Arguably, the crone was a step up.

Wow, that was a longwinded explanation.

Anyway, Tessa’s act of aggression was in direct violation of the Fireswarm/Croissantier Accord of 2014, a treaty I skillfully brokered between the hero of Arrowblast and the children who are always getting into hot water in their magic land.

Up until Tessa whipped out her bow and arrow, the agreement had held strong for a year.

The Aardvark, the Crone and the Hamper Hatch is the only book in that series worth reading!” Tiny Tessa yelled up at me. “Clear the rest of those trash books off the shelf or I’ll do it for you, Bookshelf Q. Battler!”

“It’s a box set,” I replied. “You’d miss Arrowblast 2: Big Box Office Returns if I threw it away, just like the Croissantier kids would miss Journey of the Tedious Plotline.”

I knew that Tedious Plotline stunk worse than a pile of moldy rotten cheddar, but all of these book characters had become like my children. As their adopted father, I was constantly lecturing them on the need to love one another, faults and all.

“Easy for you to say when you’re not living on a cramped bookshelf,” Tessa replied as she fired off another exploding arrow at my copy of Tedious Plotline.

“You are in direct violation of the treaty, Tessa!” I said.

“They started it!” Tessa whined.

She pointed to my copy of Return of the Crone, over which had been placed a sheet of typing paper, likely swiped off my desk by the mischievous Crossantier children in the middle of the night. On it were the words, “TESSA STINKS!  OVERLORD KWAZLO 4-EVA!”

I crumpled up the note and threw it away.

“I’ll talk to them later,” I said. “But for now, it’s bed time. Back in your book, Tessa!”

“Awww!” Tessa stomped her foot. “You always side with the Crossantiers!”

“Right now, young lady!”

“Fine. Hmmmph!”

And with that, Tessa opened up my copy of Arrowblast 6: The Final Blastening, walked into one of the pages, and disappeared.

Kids. These characters had traveled to breathtaking lands that exist only in our imaginations, fought vicious creatures, and saved the day more times than I could ever count. But once they were on my bookshelf, they resorted to acting like a bunch of cranky toddlers.

I couldn’t sleep. And I knew that Tessa’ explosions must have jostled Ralph Waldo Emerson, who was sleeping somewhere in my copy of his book of essays about the need for man to get back to nature.  I knew if I didn’t leave soon, Ralph would wake up and give me a long lecture about the need to move outdoors.  I was too tired to argue about how I’ll never live anywhere I can’t plug in my numerous electronic devices.

I was hungry. I walked downstairs and headed for the kitchen. I popped a frosted cherry toaster pastry into the toaster. Don’t judge me. Those things are delicious and with all of their preservatives, they will be here until the next ice age. When the apocalypse comes, I’ll be the one laughing, and you will all be my slaves, doing my bidding for the low wage of one toaster pastry per week.

No. I haven’t thought about this to great extent at all.

I plugged in the toaster. With the help of an enormous wall outlet adapter, I also plugged in the following devices:

  • Tablet charger (to allow me to stream TV shows while eating my toaster pastry)
  • Cell phone charger (in case I needed to call someone to tell them about my toaster pastry)
  • Nose hair trimmer (I like to look good at all times because you never know when you might bump into an elegant lady)
  • My belt sander (my belt had been looking a little rough around the edges)
  • My electronic toothbrush (cherry toaster pastry residue is not a substance you want to leave on your teeth for too long. Just ask my cousin, Gummy McGee)
  • My automatic bass finder (because it’s all about the bass, bout the bass, no sturgeon)
  • My e-reader (I like to read indie authors’ books while I eat pop tarts)
  • My super e-reader (I like to watch tv and read books on the same device)
  • My television (on which I only display a video of a pile of wood on fire. I find it relaxing.)
  • And at least 10 other appliances I’m too lazy too mention.

“When in doubt, add another plug.”
– Bookshelf Q. Battler

In addition to being an expert on bookshelf military maneuvers, I am also a distinguished scientist. I hold a Prestigious Degree in Science from the Advanced Science Institute of Science University. It was presented to me by my mentor, Dr. Hugo Von Science.

Dr. Hugo Von Science A

Dr. Hugo Von Science
Advanced Science Institute of Science University Faculty Photo

I am very proud of my Prestigious Degree in Science.  (If you wanted to get fancy, you could refer to me as BQB, P.D.S.)

Sometimes I wear my degree on a chain around my neck when I go out clubbing. Women come up to me and are all like, “Wow! Is that a Prestigious Degree in Science??!!” And I’m all like, “What? This old thing?”

Anyway. Since I am a scientist, I am fully qualified to explain to you what happened next. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming and saved myself. Alas, hindsight is 20/20 and I was too focused on the warm cherry goodness percolating inside my toaster to pay attention to the storm that was brewing outside.

High in the skies above the Bookshelf Battle Compound, the sprawling fortress I call home, the clouds belched out buckets of rain. Claps of thunder shook the surface of the earth and lightning streaks brightened up the normally pitch black sky.

I ignored it all. I wanted that toaster pastry. And at the exact moment when said tasty treat popped out of the toaster, a bolt of lightning, attracted by all of the energy surging through my overburdened adapter, launched itself into the wall of my headquarters, through my adapter, and into my toaster. With nowhere left to turn, the lightning jumped out of the toaster and into my late night snack.

Before my very eyes, my toaster pastry grew to a tremendous size – six feet tall and three feet wide.

Most men would tremble in terror at the sight of a colossal toaster treat. Me?  I laugh in the face of supernatural baked goods.

I ate the whole thing…and it was delicious.

An hour later, I was binge watching one of my favorite shows.  I felt intense pain in my bowels, a pain no human being had ever felt before.

And then it dawned on me:

I had eaten concentrated lightning.

The bolt in my belly scrambled to and fro in my gut, tearing my insides apart as it desperately searched for an escape route.

And we all know the path of said escape route.

I ran to the bathroom, dropped my trousers, sat on the throne and….


Darkness. I was surrounded by nothing but darkness. I walked around for what seemed like forever until I finally discovered a light.

It was the light at the end of the tunnel that we’ve all heard so much about. It was finally my turn to see it.

I did what anyone would do. I walked toward it.

What happens when Bookshelf Q. Battler reaches the light at the end of the tunnel? Find out in the next episode of “Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life!”

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Bow and arrow woman, French kid, adapter and mad scientist images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Attorney, a lovely woman you’ll meet in June, advises “Any resemblance to other literary works/characters is purely coincidental and/or for parody purposes only.”

Hooray for lawyers!

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Game of Yetis – Part 7 – House Yeti

PREVIOUSLY ON GAME OF YETIS – Lord Alien of House Jones crosses the Narrow Sea after the Khaleesi tweets him a question about how to train dragons.

(By the way, did you know Alien Jones loves to promote Indie Self Publishers?  Read all about it in his latest “Ask the Alien” column.)


Lord Yeti and his banner yetis crossed the icy tundra to meet the white walkers on the field of battle.  Prior to engaging in sword play, the leaders of both parties decided to hold the following parlay:


WHITE WALKER:  Errrghhh!

LORD YETI: Roar roar!

WHITE WALKER:  Ergh. Errgh?

LORD YETI: Roar! Roar. Roar.

WHITE WALKER:  Ergh.  Ergh?


Sorry, here’s the English translation:

LORD YETI:  Why do you white walkers approach Yetifell as though you are prepared for war?

WHITE WALKER:  We wish to breach The Wall and march to Shelftopia so that we may steal all of Lord BQB’s Dew of the Mountain!

LORD YETI:  We’ve already stolen it!  It’s in my castle as we speak!

WHITE WALKER:  Oh.  Can we have some?

LORD YETI:  Of course.  Any enemy of Lord BQB is a friend of mine.  However, Lord BQB no doubt marches for Yetifell, so you must help us protect my castle from his attack.

WHITE WALKER:  Agreed.  Can we watch Scandal while we wait?

LORD YETI:  Why wouldn’t we?

I know.  It's a bear.  It was the only large dumb furry animal the HBO GOT sigil creator had.  The Yeti has complained vigorously.

I know. It’s a bear. It was the only large dumb furry animal the HBO GOT sigil creator had. The Yeti has complained vigorously.

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Game of Yetis on Wattpad

Dear 3.5 Readers,

I hate to call it fan fiction, but I suppose there’s no other label.  Game of Yetis is basically me just goofing around and having fun with my favorite TV show.

I posted the first part on Wattpad, mainly out of an experiment to discover the process of posting something over there.

I had no cover other than the “House Bookshelf” banner from the GOT sigil creator.

But it turns out, it’s fairly simple to put up a story.

Even better, I was able to pull it up on my phone – it felt very “e-bookish” and for good or ill, seeing something I wrote in a mobile digital format, no matter how trivial, caused that little old self-publishing bug to sink its teeth into me that much harder.

Crap.  I might actually have to start doing some work around here.

We’re 5 parts in on Game of Yetis here on bookshelfbattle.com, but should you desire to read Game of Yetis while out on the town (and let’s be honest, if that urge hits you, you must be on a real lousy day), then head on over to Wattpad:

Game of Yetis on Wattpad

Join House Bookshelf!

Join House Bookshelf!

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