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Aug 05 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #004 – Snubbed (Part 7) (Conclusion)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“Where the hell I was I?”

I was all alone, sitting in front of the library’s beep boop machine.

The lights switched off.shutterstock_71510056

“Oh thank God,”  Agnes said.  “You’re conscious again.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,”  the librarian replied.  “You were making me look up Nicki Minaj’s tweets and then you drifted off somewhere deep in thought, humming a song about someone named, ‘Honey.'”

“Ag, wanna help me wrap this mystery up?”

“Library’s closed,”  Agnes said as she pointed to the door, giving me the bum’s rush.  “Time to find a shelter, rummy.”

There was nothing I could do to convince Agnes that I wasn’t just one of an assortment of street people who wandered into the library all day seeking free shelter and wi-fi, constantly harassing her to cater to their every need and whim as if she was some kind of city employed maid instead of a trained researcher.

She handed me a stack of papers on the way out.

“Print-outs of everything else I found on the Nicki Minaj snub,”  the old lady said.  “I still think you need to find something better to do with your time than waste it on pop culture.”

“There’s 3.5 readers who disagree with you, doll.”

I pocketed the papers and shuffled my way out of the building, down the street aways until I found an all-night diner.

“How much for a water, sweetheart?”

“It’s complimentary,” the waitress answered.

“Then keep ’em coming.”

“Wow.  Big spender.”

I laid out the file full of info Agnes printed out for me.

The tacks were brass and it was time to get down to them.

1)  Was Nicki’s “snub” race related?

I understand I’m the wrong color to be saying that race relations have improved over the years.

However, I am the right age.  Though I stopped aging sixty years ago, I’m ninety-five and can tell you there was a time when interracial marriage was a sin, black people were denied access to basic opportunities taken for granted today.

I’ve seen black people shooed to the back of the bus, out of restaurants, chased away with dogs from the voting booth, you name it.

Society kept Peaches and I apart and that will always be a sore spot for yours truly, seeing as how society’s opinion was never asked for in the matter.

But, as an open-minded private dick, I get the flip side.  That folks aren’t openly treated like garbage just because of the color of their skin is all well and good, but the aftershocks of slavery and past oppression are going to be around for a long time.  Will black people ever feel truly welcome in the world?  Are there white people who hold certain biases, some of whom may not even realize it?

The President put it best:

It is incontrovertible that race relations have improved significantly during my lifetime and yours, and that opportunities have opened up, and that attitudes have changed.  That is a fact.  What is also true is the legacy of slavery, Jim Crow, discrimination in almost every institution of our lives, you know, that casts a long shadow and that’s still part of our DNA that’s passed on.  We’re not cured of it.

– Barack Obama on Marc Maron’s WTF Podcast

By the wayside, if any of you yahoos can explain to this gumshoe WTF a podcast is, it’d be appreciated.  All I gather is everyone and their brother has their own show now thanks to the wonders of modern technology.

Did MTV decide not to nominate Nicki for a couple extra awards because of the color of her skin?  Doubtful.

Could Nicki’s complaint be seen as a preamble for a discussion for a greater need for diversity in the entertainment industry?

Of course.

In my day, black singers were considered novelty acts.  Today, they’re widely accepted.

Still, you don’t see as many movies where the protagonist, i.e. the lead guy or gal, the one all the action is centered around, is black.  There’s some, but not many.

You’ll see a lot of supporting black actors.  I suppose that’s progress from my day, where if you were a black actor you were typecast as the maid, the butler, or some hoodlum the cops were rousting.

To paraphrase the Prez’s summation, things are better, but they could also get better.

2)  What about body-type-ism?

Hollywood is all glamour and pizazz.   Heavy on the style, hold the substance.

If you’re fat, or ugly, or you’ve got a crooked nose, or shingles, or a weepy eye, or facial fungus or any host of bodily issues, there’s a better chance of finding you on the Moon than there is in the next blockbuster.

Is that right?  Is that wrong?  Maybe that’s just how the cookie crumbles.

People listen to music and watch the boob tube to escape reality.  Average Joes and Josephines want to pretend their someone greater than they are and it’s hard to do that when the guy or gal on the screen looks like you.

But then again, perhaps that’s an indictment of today’s looks-conscious world, one that assumes the not hot folk have nothing to offer.

I’ve observed this problem since waking up.  You’ve got that Meghan Trainor gal and her All About That Bass song.

Not to scandalize you, 3.5 readers, but as a trained investigator, I’m able to read between the lines and I’m fairly certain “All About That Bass” is double-talk for Meghan’s corpulent posterior.

Therein lies the point.  The gal has an impressive set of pipes and can sing like all get out, but she’s a bit on the chunky side, so she has to address that fact in a song.

If you ask me, people should be able to appreciate a good voice and not give a toot about the size of the singer’s caboose.

To that end (no pun intended), Nicki might be onto something.

I feel sorry for today’s musical entertainers.

Do you know what a singer needed to make it big in my day?  A pretty dress and a fine set of vocal chords.  That’s about it.

I remember sitting in a grand hall, listening to Peaches fill it up, feeling blessed just to have known her.

She didn’t have to wiggle her butt to a beat like Nicki, or put on an Egyptian Princess outfit like Katy, or a meat dress like Lady Gaga or pretend to be an action movie star like Taylor.

Peaches sang.  The audience cheered.  That’s it.

Today, people have more choices on how to be entertained than ever before, and while that’s led to more artists working, the negative byproduct is that it also requires most of them to engage in some kind of goofy gimmick.

Alas, the music gets lost in the pageantry.

I see the manager is about to kick me out for ordering nothing but complimentary water, so I’ll close with a final observation.

Conclusions

It’s all about the evidence, ’bout the evidence, no speculation.

I see nothing that proves Nicki was snubbed due to race or body-type-ism and let’s face it.  Three out of five nominations is nothing to sneeze at.

However, in a world where people are often cast aside because of what they look like, there’s always room for a conversation about how that trend can be curbed.

Personally, as one of the most handsome and modest bastards around, I think that’s big of me to say.

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Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.

All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jul 25 2015
6 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #004 – Snubbed

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

Pop Culture Mystery Question: Are Nicki Minaj’s claims of a VMA snub justified?

“You never should have come here.”

Women drivers...

Women drivers…

A granite slab doesn’t make for a good pillow, but I was exhausted and it was the only thing around to rest my head on.  I leaned back and stretched my legs over the green grass, noticing the tiny flecks of dew forming on the blades.

“I wish you’d of listened to me, kid,”  I said as I took a pull from the forty-ounce not so cleverly disguised by a brown paper bag.

Yes, I was one of those people who drank during the day.  Morning, afternoon, night.  Time doesn’t matter when you don’t age.

“All this town does is put stars in the eyes of young dopes too stupid to know any better,” I said.  “‘Shoot for the stars and you’ll land in the clouds,’ the dreamers say. They forget to tell you about the part where you might bypass greatness altogether and crash into the ground harder than a Mack Truck aimed at a brick wall.”

Crash into the ground.  

Poor choice of words.

I ran my fingers over the engraving that marked the head stone:

Roscoe J. Hatcher

1925-1952

“You thought I didn’t want you in LA,”  I said as I took another swig.  “That I didn’t want you cramping my style.  I was just trying to keep you away because this place is a haven for weirdoes and I didn’t want you to end up a two-bit bum like yours truly.”

I sat and sulked for awhile, interrupting my kid brother’s dirt nap with a one-sided conversation.

Suddenly, the sound of a finely tuned engine filled my ears.  I looked up to see a cherry red 1955 Cadillac winding its way through the lonely cemetery access road.

The sporty little number came to a halt in front of me.  Inside?  An even sportier little number – the object of my misplaced affection, Ms. Delilah K. Donnelly.

“Are you lost, ma’am?”  I asked as I sprang to my feet and pointed to the right.  “Rodeo Drive is that-a-way.”

“Apologies for interrupting your lunch, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said as her baby blues stared at the brown bag in my hand in a most disapproving manner.

I attempted a save.

“Can you believe degenerate winos use this place to get smackered?”  I asked as I threw the bottle into a trash can.  “Found this lying on the ground and Ma Hatcher always taught me if I see litter I should pick it up.”

“I’ll pretend not to notice your rampant alcoholism so that we might steer our attention to a most pressing matter,”  Delilah said as she popped the door lock.

“The nerd has another question?”  I asked as I sprawled out in the passenger seat.  It was nice.  Comfortably and roomy.  Not like the crap boxes they try to squeeze you in nowadays.

“Precisely,”  Delilah said as she drove away.  “And might I add a further apology for interrupting your mourning time.”

“No need,”  I said.  “Roscoe wasn’t much of a conversationalist anyway.”

As we hit the open road, Delilah turned on the radio.  A nice classic station.  Oldies all the time.

Legendary Jazz singer Ella Fitzgerald brought my mind back to the good old days.  There was a gal that didn’t need a gimmick.  Just a sweet tune about love and a set of superb vocal cords.

There’s a saying old, says that love is blind.
Still we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall find.’
So I’m going to go seek a certain lad I’ve had  in mind.

Looking everywhere,
Haven’t found him yet.
He’s the big affair
I cannot forget.
Only man I ever think of with regret.

– Ella Fitzgerald, Somebody to Watch Over Me, Pure Ella (1954)

“You have good taste, Ms. Donnelly.”

“I’m aware, Mr. Hatcher.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Ms. Tsang said you’re known to visit your brother’s grave know and then.  Perhaps it isn’t my place to pry…”

Ahh, here we go.  Once again, Delilah acts like she doesn’t care, but then cares enough to ask.

“But I’m surprised you’d visit your brother at all…after what he did to you.”

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the breeze as air rushed all around me.

“People say there are some things that can never be forgiven,”  I said, “But to them, I say they just haven’t lived long enough.”

“Time heals all wounds?”  Delilah asked as she took the highway onramp.

“No,”  I said.  “Time just gives those wounds more of a chance to fester.  But given enough time, you lose your ability to give a shit about them.”

“I’m not so sure I concur.”

Delilah sure had a lead foot.  She steered us into the passing lane and floored it.  It was like being chauffeured like a female Mario Andretti.

“I’m sorry,”  I said.  “Ma Hatcher taught me never to swear in the presence of a lady.”

“It’s quite all right,”  Delilah said.  “In fact, your obscenity reminds me of our next case.”

Delilah adjusted the radio dial and the following lyrics invaded my ear drums:

This one is for my bitches with a fat ass in the f*%king club
I said, “Where my fat ass big bitches in the club?”
F%$k them skinny bitches,
Fu&*k them skinny bitches in the club
I wanna see all the big fat ass bitches in the motherf*%king club…

– Nicki Minaj, Anaconda, The Pinkprint Album

I lit up a cigarette and shook my head.

“I don’t get it,”  I said.  “The nerd has me looking into pornography now?”

“Pornography?”  Delilah asked.  “This is one of the top songs of the past year.”

I choked on my own smoke.

“Get outta’ town.”

Anaconda and Somebody to Watch Over Me are Nicki and Ella’s songs, respectively.

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

Image courtesy of a shuttestock.com license.

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Jul 05 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #003 – Relationships (Part 4 – Conclusion)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

PART 1 – A late night visit from Ms. Donnelly

PART 2 – A later arrival by Ms. Tsang

PART 3 – Once again, our resident gumshoe has Agnes the Librarian do his homework for him.

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

The pages of research that Agnes had printed out for me sat on my desk, pieces of of a puzzle that I needed to sort and put together if I was ever going to make heads or tails of this mess.

Bookshelf Q. Battler’s question needed to be answered:

How did Doc Brown and Marty McFly know each other in Back to the Future?

THE CHARACTERS

Doc Brown and Marty McFly weren’t two individuals who would hang out together under normal circumstances, that’s for sure.

“What’s a jiggawatt?”

DOC BROWN – Elderly wild haired scientist.  A genius to be sure and yet not all of his brain cylinders were firing at once when it came to mental stability.  What kind of a man makes a deal to build a bomb for Libyan terrorists with the intention of hoodwinking them and stealing their plutonium to use for his time machine?  I haven’t decided if that move made him certifiably bonkers, the owner of a big pair of brass cajones, or both.

MARTY MCFLY – Popular 1980s kid.  Liked trucks, music and his pretty girlfriend.  Doesn’t actually appear to be all that interested in science.

WHAT THE MOVIE TELLS US 

Not much.  The first film begins with the two already knowing each other.  Marty’s family don’t appear to know much or care about his relationship with Doc Brown.  There’s never any indication or clue as to how a teenage boy came to be the acquaintance of a mad scientist.

THE POSSIBILITIES

#1- They Were Friends

It may be hard to believe for a generation that’s glued to their beep boop machines, and their Facebooks and Twitters and social netwhatevers but there was a time when people actually walked around their neighborhood and got to know one another.

Even harder for you to believe is that there was a time when people actually gave a crap about each other.  You ever heard of the saying, “It takes village to raise a child?”  Used to apply.  Back in the day, parents would get reports on their kids from the teacher, the bus driver, the milk man, the barber, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, literally everyone who spotted the kid walking around town would notify the parents if the kid was acting like a jerk.

And more surprising to you folks is the fact that the parents would usually punish the kid appropriately rather than sue the adult reporter for offending them.

Times sure have changed.  There used to be a day when a kid could walk around with reckless abandon but today a youngster who does that risks having his face end up on the side of a milk carton.  (What, they don’t do the milk carton thing anymore?)

In simpler times, kids would knock on the neighbor’s door to say hello and they’d actually come back alive and well.  There were whole television shows about it.  Dennis the Menace was a late 1950’s/early 1960’s show about a boy who kept pestering his curmudgeonly neighbor Mr. Wilson, only for the lonely and childless Mr. Wilson to occasionally note that he appreciated the young lad’s friendship despite the hijinx that transpired whenever Dennis was around.

Hell, there used to even be a show on Nickelodeon called Mr. Wizard in which random kids would just stumble into a scientist’s house and conduct experiments with him.

And Mr. Rogers? He began each show by inviting the neighbor kids into his house with a “Won’t you please, won’t you please, won’t you be my neighbor?  Hi neighbor.”

And you know what happened back then?  Nothing.  Dennis the Menace returned to his parents no worse for wear, Mr. Wizard’s students returned to their homes with minds full of knowledge and Mr. Roger’s neighbors returned to the neighborhood, their heads full of stories and wonder.

Shows where kids and adults befriend each other have understandably gone extinct due to a multitude of news reports about adults doing evil, unspeakable things to children. As a lawman, I understand.  I trust no one and if I had a kid, I wouldn’t let it out of my sight for a second, let alone allow it to form a friendship with some random adult person.   There’s just too many freaks and weirdos out there today.

But keep in mind the 1980’s, like my own time in the 1950’s, was a less suspicious time period and it would not have been out of the ordinary back then for a teenager to befriend a mad scientist.  Today, Marty’s parents would probably call the cops on Doc Brown and file a restraining order.

Doc and Marty were pals to be sure, but that can’t be the end of it.

#2 – Employee/Employer

Could Doc Brown have hired Marty to help him out?  He was working on a lot of complicated experiments. Building a time machine isn’t a one man job.  It dawned on me maybe Doc gave Marty a few bucks to help him tote his plutonium and lug his capacitors and so forth.

The smoking gun that put this case to bed was right in front of my nose.  In an article on movieline.com, it is reported that Back to the Future co-writer Bob Gale has stated there was a backstory that never made it into the films.  Apparently, when Marty was 13 or 14, after hearing rumors that Doc Brown was a lunatic crackpot, Marty snuck into his lab, was in awe of all the gadgets and gizmos he found and Doc Brown decided to give Marty a part-time job helping out with the experiments.

Conclusion

I’m going to go with #1 with a side of #2 (coincidentally, my favorite order at Tsang’s China Palace.)

Marty was Doc Brown’s employee.  We don’t know how much moolah Marty made off the gig, but it makes sense.  Marty wasn’t a nerd and since nerds weren’t that accepted long ago, the movie probably would have tanked had Marty been some kind of geek who actually enjoyed learning about science from Doc.  Instead, Marty was presented as a cool kid, the kid that kids watching the movie wanted to be like.  A kid like that is only going to get interested in science if there’s money involved.

Still, there’s no doubt that a friendship was there as well.  Doc and Marty save each others’ hides throughout the film trilogy and a person doesn’t usually stick his neck out for another fella unless he cares.

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Pop Culture Mysteries – Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license

Got a lead on a Pop Culture Mystery?  Drop a dime.  Tweet to @bookshelfbattle  #popculturemysteries or leave it in the comments on this blog.  BQB will dispatch Attorney Donnelly to deliver your inquiry to Detective Hatcher posthaste.

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Jul 02 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

POP CULTURE MYSTERIES!

As we head into Fourth of July Weekend, it’s time to celebrate with another episode of…POP CULTURE MYSTERIES!

JAKE: If BQB posts the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries and you're not reading it, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but soon...and for the rest of your life. DAME: I doubt it. That nimrod only has 3.5 readers.

JAKE: If BQB posts the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries and you’re not reading it, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but soon…and for the rest of your life.
DAME: I doubt it. That nimrod only has 3.5 readers.

Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Blog Private Eye, has agreed to solve 100 pop culture mysteries and submit his findings right here on bookshelfbattle.com

Need to refresh your memory? Better check out the previous episodes, see?

Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blond

Pop Culture Mysteries: Case File #001: Here’s a Story (Question Answered – What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses aka Mike’s first wife and Carol’s first husband?)

Pop Culture Mysteries:  Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Question Answered – Han or Greedo, who shot first?)

Who better to solve a mystery than Jake Hatcher, a hardboiled film noir style detective who fell asleep in his office above an LA Chinese food restaurant in 1955, woke up in 2014, and spent a year trying to figure out what happened before Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Attorney, the delicious dish Delilah K. Donnelly, offered him the chance to make 500 smackers? (That’s a lot of dough in 1955, see?)

Do you have a question about popular culture? Is there a plot hole in your favorite TV show or movie you’d like explained? Is there a celebrity meltdown you’d like to know more about? An entertainment myth debunked?

Put Hatcher on the case!

Here’s how to drop a dime:

SUBMIT YOUR POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTIONS TO:

TWITTER – @bookshelfbattle #popculturemysteries

BQB’s Google Plus Page

Or just leave it in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com

Together, we can help Hatcher solve 100 mysteries and go back to his own time with a big bag of five dollar bills, which he will use to live like a king.

In the next episode of Pop Culture Mysteries –  How did Doc and Marty from Back to the Future know each other?

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

Film noir style old timey man and woman photo courtesy of a shutterstock.com license

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Jun 27 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Case Closed)

By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

Pop Culture Mystery Question – In Stars Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, who shot first in the cantina scene?  Was it Han Solo or Greedo the Bounty Hunter?

I was back in business.  Hot off closing my first case under the employ of Bookshelf Q. Battler, a nerd with an unquenchable thirst for entertainment.  His mind was lousy with questions about movies and TV and it was up to yours truly to sort them all out.

This time the nerd wanted to know all about a laser blaster battle between a rogue space pilot and a seedy green hoodlum.

An alien was dead and a human walked away like nothing happened.  This one was about to get messy.

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB's Attorney

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s Attorney

Part 1 – The case hit a little too close to home, reminding me of a similar encounter with mob underboss Tips Malone.  My partner Mickey Finn was about as helpful as a wet blanket on a cold day in that scenario.

Part 2 – Delilah K. Donnelly.  I thought of her as the apple of my eye but she no doubt looked at me like I was the stale cottage cheese sitting in the back of her frigidaire.  She came to see me with a pair of action figures to use in recreating the crime scene.

Part 3 – A limo pulled up to Tsang’s China Palace, the eatery above which my office is located.  Some rich fella drove off into the night with the gal that made my heart jitterbug.

Part 4 – I seek out the help of Agnes Abernathy, aka Agnes the Librarian, the only broad in this topsy turvy modern world with the patience to help me figure out how to operate confounding beep boop machines.

Part 5 – I recreated the crime scene to no avail:

Greedo pulls a piece on Han.

Greedo pulls a piece on Han.

Part 6 – I consulted various expert opinions.

Fire up your beep boop machines, 3.5 readers.  This tale’s a lot like Princess Leia.  You’ll want to gussy it up with a metal bikini and tie it to yourself with a chain.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All rights reserved.

Blonde woman image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 27 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 6 – Conclusion)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES:

Part 1        Part 4

Part 2        Part 5

Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

Like a snow cone in my underpants, this case was growing colder and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Hatcher ponders the possibilities.

I consider myself an expert marksman.  You don’t have to take my word for it.  Just ask any of the thousand plus Nazis I introduced to the undertaker.  Those fellas won’t be goose stepping anywhere anytime soon.

Yet, after watching the infamous Han vs. Greedo scene, I was plum out of luck and more mixed up than a cat in a blender.  (FYI Attorney Donnelly reminds readers to keep their cats out of their blenders.)

It was time to turn to the stack of research Agnes found for me.  I had the old gal print it out because I hate staring at those beep boop machine screens.  They’re creepy and like a trip to a discount gynecologist, they leave me feeling strained in more ways than one.

OBSERVATION # 1 – The Scene Has Changed Over the Years 

When I was a boy in Bayonne, a movie came out once and that was it.  Now, they’re re-released every so often.  The motion picture people change it around a little bit, maybe draw a mustache on a fella or put a hat on a guy or something and bammo, they feel justified to over charge John Q. Public to take in a flick they’ve already dished the dough out to watch the first go around.

Here’s what on site on the Interwhatever had on the topic:

“To say “Han shot first” is to refer, often with distaste, to George Lucas’s changes to the original trilogy. Often cited by film purists, this phrase more specifically refers to the changes made to A New Hope Special Edition, in the scene involving the characters Han Solo and Greedo in the cantina. In the original version, after Greedo says “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long time” (talking about killing Han), Han replies “Yes, I bet you have” and shoots Greedo under the table while Greedo was pointing a blaster at him (the phrase “Han Shot First” is thus misleading, since only Han shoots in the original version). In the special edition, Greedo shoots at Han and misses, without explanation, from point blank range, and then Han shoots him. Later, it was altered again to have Han and Greedo shooting at almost the same time (though Greedo still shoots first), with Greedo still missing from point blank range. With such a short time between each shot, it could be assumed that Han was already planning to shoot Greedo, rather than reacting to Greedo’s shot.”

“Han Shot First” – Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wiki

Funny, if that’s the case, maybe my brain was tricked because I swore I saw/heard two shots in the 1977 version but then again, maybe that’s what I was expecting since the “Who shot first?” debate was emblazoned in my brain like a rancher’s brand in a steer’s rump roast.

OBSERVATION #2 – Han Shooting First is Important for Han’s Character Development

Any good guy can take a shot at a palooka who knows it’s coming but it takes a real ice cold so and so to wack a guy without fair warning.

That’s just not sportsmanlike.

But Han Solo isn’t your typical white hat.  He’s an anti-hero.  He’s a man who starts out as being in it for himself but later grows a conscience and devotes himself to the rebel cause.

Thus, for fans of this rogue ne’er-do-well, the idea that Han got a shot off before Greedo knew what hit him is appealing.  Watering it down to make it look like Han gave the green guy a fighting chance is not.

OBSERVATION #3 – Lucas and Ford

George Lucas is the creator of this whole shebang, so you’d think his word would carry some weight.

Personally, I never trust a man who wears that much plaid.

As stated in one news story:

Lucas has insisted that the change was to clear up his original intent — which wasn’t to have Solo appear to be a “cold-blooded killer.” He told The Hollywood Reporter that the original version was not as cut and dried as fans remember. “I put a little wider shot in there that made it clear that Greedo is the one who shot first,” he said.

Reddit Asked Harrison Ford Who Shot First, The Washington Post, April 14, 2014

One might think the fans would go with what the man who made the films they love but then again, it’s been made clear to me through multiple sources that the character known as “Jar Jar Binks” caused Lucas’ credit with sci-fi buffs to take a swan dive into the deep end of the pool.

Further, that same article reports that when asked who shot first, Harrison Ford, the actor who played Solo, responded, “I don’t care.”

Not surprising.  Agnes is a movie buff herself and she tells me Ford is a bit rough around the edges.  Happens to all of us when we get older.

CONCLUSION:  It doesn’t matter.

I hate to leave a case open-ended but this one is up for interpretation.  If you want Han to be a stone cold killer who puts himself over basic rules of fairness, then you’re happy to think he plugged a hole in an alien, catching said alien unawares. You want Han to have shot first (and also to have been the only shooter).

If you want Han to be a respectable type, you’d prefer that he got a shot in after Greedo missed, or that he shot second.

Personally, I don’t like it when history is revised.  We figure out who we are only by taking a good long look at where we came from, so if Solo’s the type of guy who’d sucker blast an unsuspecting alien, then so be it.  No use sugar coating it.

Mr. Lucas did his fans a disservice with his edits, in this gumshoe’s opinion.

But let’s face it.  My opinion plus five cents will get you a steaming cup of joe.

Races use words like “first” and “second.”

A gun battle is not your typical race.

Sure it’s a race to see who can squeeze off a precise, lethal shot first but first or second doesn’t really matter a whole hill of beans.

In this sleuth’s book, the dead guy left on the table lost and the guy who walked away won.

That’s all there is to it.

MOVIE DISCUSSED:

Star Wars

Originally released as “Star Wars” in 1977, later referred to as Episode IV: A New Hope once the prequels arrived.

shutterstock_278169329

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

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Do you have a Pop Culture Mystery?  Put Hatcher on the case.  Drop it in the comments on this site or tweet it to @bookshelfbattle #popculturemysteries.

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Jun 23 2015
4 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Crowdsourcing a Novel?

Happy Tuesday, 3.5 Readers.shutterstock_71510056

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.

Have I mentioned how much I love Pop Culture Mysteries?  These things write themselves.  I have plenty of ideas lined up, it’s just a matter of finding the time to write them.  (Er, I mean to have Jake write them.)

I’m thinking about writing a novel set in Jake’s world.

Actually, Jake would write it and I’d just take the credit for it.

The gist would be that a serial killer Jake hunted as a police detective in 1949 has found his way to 2015.  Jake has to drop his Pop Culture Mystery investigations for awhile and retrace his steps from long ago as the killer wreaks havoc in modern times.

Delicious Dish Delilah K. Donnelly would back our resident gumshoe up, naturally.

Or in other words – Mr. Devil Man.

If I go for it, I’d publish the novel here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog first in a series of posts, giving my 3.5 readers an early look.

Tell me if it’s good or not, what works, what doesn’t, how I could improve and so on.

Ultimately, you fine 3.5ers could give me the thumbs up or down as to whether it would be worth it to move on the next stages, i.e. finding an editor, putting an ebook together and putting it out there on Amazon.

PRO – It’d motivate me to actually write a novel.

CON – Would people outside of this blog’s 3.5 readership understand who Bookshelf Q. Battler is?  I suppose the novel could begin with a brief intro that Jake fell asleep for 59 years only to get a job as a Pop Culture Detective for a nerdy blogger.

I don’t know.  Like most ideas, could be great, could be not.

I’m itching to get something self-published though.

Who would want to be my test nerds?

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 23 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 4)

I pointed Betsy straight at my newfound enemy and made my demands known.

“You’re gonna cut the bullshit fella or I’ll send you first class on a one-way trip to the great beyond, see?”

Streaming Media has timed out.  Try again?

I wanted to fill the desktop beep boop machine Delilah had gotten for me full of lead but somehow I had a hunch these things were more expensive to replace than a night on the town with Gina Lollobrigida.

Even so, I wasn’t about to spend all day trying to figure out how to work that blasted contraption.

I holstered Betsy and made my way to the LA Public Library.  Upon my arrival, I looked around for Agnes the Librarian, the only person I’d met so far in this ridiculous time period with the patience to help me navigate modern technology.

“Agnes!”  I shouted as I saw the old bird returning a book to its place on a shelf.

Agnes the Librarian

Agnes the Librarian

She turned around and hit me with an annoying “SHHHH!” that gave me half a mind to reach for Betsy.

But God knows Ma Hatcher would not have approved.

“Agnes,”  I whispered. “I’m hot on the trail of a case and I need you to work your magic on a beep boop machine.”

“What do you need?”  Agnes asked.

“You ever hear of a flick called, ‘Star Wars?‘”

“Have I heard of it?”  Agnes asked.  “Oh Good Gracious, I saw it when it first came out in the movie theater.”

“Great story,” I said, though I was completely uninterested in hearing it.  “You got a copy of it here?”

Agnes ignored me and carried on.

“Oh, that was such a long time ago,”  she said.  “Herbert and I were on a date.  We’d been going steady for awhile and of course, my parents didn’t approve, him being a Presbyterian and all but somehow…”

I grabbed the ancient broad by the shoulders.

“Land sakes alive, woman!”  I shouted, forgetting I was in a studious establishment.

A nerd who reminded me of my employer pulled his nose out of a science book and glared at me disapprovingly.

“Hey buddy!  Do you mind?  Some of us are trying to read here.”

“Land sakes alive, woman,” I repeated in a softer tone.  “Skip the story and put the movie on for me already.  I’ve got five big ones riding on this!”

“Hmmph,” Agnes said as she stormed off and waved her hand in a motion that bid me to follow.  “All you young people are all the same, never concerned with anyone but yourselves.”

She hooked a left and opened a door marked “Media Room.”

The flick in question came out in 1977 according to Mr. Battler’s note.  Agnes and Herbert, Agnes’ now ailing husband, went to see it on a date.  I started doing math in my head.

“Say Agnes,”  I said.  “How old were you when you and old Herbert saw this picture?”

The old gal handed me some kind of funny looking device.

“Stop it,”  Agnes said as she looked through a metal cabinet.  “You don’t need to pretend to care.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,”  I said.

“No no,” Agnes said.  “You young people just walk around checking your cell phones and updating your Facebook pages and if it isn’t about you then you could care less.  Except for you, somehow you’re a technological illiterate but you’re still just as self absorbed as the rest of them.”

Every generation feels like that about the ones coming up behind them.  Ma and Pa Hatcher used to give that same song and dance routine to my brother Roscoe and I way back when we were just a couple of kids in Bayonne.  Hell, I feel the same way about every Jackass I bump into today.

“Agnes,”  I said.  “I swear on a stack of bibles piled a mile high that I’m never going to feel whole if I don’t hear the story about how you and Herbert saw this movie together.”

The elderly librarian’s face lighted up like a Christmas tree with all the trimmings. She pulled a plastic case marked “Star Wars” out of the cabinet, removed some kind of funny looking circular thing, inserted it into the device she’d given me and led me to a table where we each took a seat.

“Well, since you put it that way,”  Agnes began.  “Herbert and I were both twenty-two at the time.  I’d just started working here and he was a student at UCLA.  My darling Herbie used to visit the library all the time, telling me that he was working on his thesis but between you and me, I think he just wanted to see me.  He always came up with some excuse to get me to help him.  Oh, such a sweetheart he was…”

I ignored all the yakkity yak and worked it out.  Twenty-two in 1977.  The broad was born in 1955, the same year I fell asleep in my office above Tsang’s China Palace.  She was sixty and looked like a decrepit old bag while I was ninety-five and still looked like a thirty-five year old.

I liked being perpetually thirty-five.  It was a good age.  Old enough to know a thing or two.  Young enough to do something about it.

Even so, it made me sad to think this gal that was younger than I was looked like she was going to meet her maker before me.

“It was so amazing,”  Agnes said.  “All of those special effects.  Things on the big screen neither of us had ever seen before.  Herb and I were blown away.  The whole audience was.  Everyone thought George Lucas was some kind of wizard.  Anyway, after the movie we went to…”

I tuned out the old hen’s clucking.  Suddenly, a terrible thought hit me like a truck running a red light.

Delilah.  Should I bother stoking the fire I had for in my heart?

Hatcher was worried that Delilah might grow old and ugly and hideous and oh yeah, that she might also die before he did. The dying before he did part was totally the part he was most worried about.

Hatcher was worried that Delilah might grow old and ugly and hideous and oh yeah, that she might also die before he did. The dying before he did part was totally the part he was most worried about, not her looks at all.

Wasn’t my favorite filly destined to one day grow as old and wrinkly and leathery and hideous as Agnes?

Oh yeah, and she might die before me too.  I wasn’t just worried about Delilah growing old and hideous and…

Wait, what was I thinking about?  I couldn’t remember.  The librarian was babbling incessantly…

“And so I bent Herbert over my knee and said, ‘This is what I do to people who don’t return their library books on time’ and then I grabbed my paddle and reached back for a good swing and…”

“Hey!”  I interrupted.  “Hey uh, yeah that’s a great story, Ag. Real great.  Say, howsabout you watch this flick with me and explain to me what the hell’s going on in it?  I’ve got a hunch I’m going to find it more confusing than a dance partner with two left feet.”

Agnes thought about it.

“Why not?”  she asked.  “I’ll put those books away later.  Kind of surprised you’ve never seen this though.  I thought everyone’s seen this one.”

“Yeah,”  I said as I leaned back.  “I’ve missed out on a lot of things.”

Editor’s Note:  It’s the official position of the Bookshelf Battle Blog that Agnes is a lovely woman and isn’t “hideous and ugly and so on.”  Hatcher can be kind of a dick sometimes, and not just a private one.

More to come…

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

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 21 2015
4 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

READ PART 1 – Jake receives a request from Bookshelf Q. Battler to investigate whether Han or Greedo shot first in the original Star Wars (1977) film.  Our resident gumshoe is reminded of a similar encounter he had with mobster Tips Malone.

The case had come to a standstill.  I had zero leads and even less patience.

“I give up,” I said as I put my feet up on my desk and drifted back to sleep.

“Who shot first?  Who cares?  Why does it even matter?”

Hatcher types his report.

Hatcher types his report.

The enchanting face of Delilah K. Donnelly filled my dreams but alas, it was all for naught.

My chances of getting up close and personal with that blonde bombshell?

About the same as a duck billed platypus walking into a room without anyone laughing.

An hour later, there was a knock on my office door.

I ignored it.  More knocks.

“Beat it, Jack!”  I yelled.  “I’m closed!”

Another knock.

“Mr. Hatcher?”

It was Delilah.  I jumped out of my chair faster than the 6:15 to Walla Walla, Washington.

I found a mirror and straightened my fedora.  I was a mess but then again, I always was.  Most private dicks usually are.  Par for the course in the criminal catching racket.

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB's Attorney

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s Attorney

I opened the door and there she was, my dream girl all decked out from stem to stern in a gorgeous dress.

Such a fashion maven. I doubt she ever took two steps away from home without gussying up and polishing herself shinier than a hay penny.

“Mr. Hatcher,”  Delilah said. “I dare say your mother would be appalled that you kept a lady waiting.”

“She would indeed, Ms. Donnelly, she would indeed,” I said as I showed her in and pulled out a chair for her.  “Unfortunately, I had to make myself presentable.”

“Are you still working on that?”  Delilah asked as she pinched her nose, oblivious to the fact that her insult struck my heart with the precision of an arrow shot by Robin Hood’s bow.  “It smells like a distillery in here.”

“Yes,” I said as I grabbed a flask off my desk and shoved it into a drawer.  “One of uh, my clients, left that here.  Poor drunk fellow.  Can’t get enough of the stuff.  Me personally, I rarely touch the devil’s juice.”

“I should hope not,”  Delilah said as she sparked up one of her filtered cigarettes.  “I worry about the integrity of individuals with addictions, Mr. Hatcher.”

I thought about pointing out that smoking was, in fact, an addiction but the gears cranking away in my brain indicated to me that such a statement wouldn’t take me very far in my quest to separate Ms. Donnelly from her fine fashions.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”  I asked.

The lady lawyer plopped a plastic bag on my desk.  I opened it up and found these fellas inside:

The Suspects

The Suspects

“What in the name of Dwight D. Eisenhower is all this then?”  I asked.

“Research,”  Delilah said.  “Mr. Battler sent me to a store to purchase these toys and asked that I deliver them posthaste in the hopes that they will help you solve your second pop culture mystery.”

“I don’t get it,” I said as I held one of them up.  “What am I supposed to do with these guys?”

“Well,”  Delilah said as she blew out a smoke ring.  “They’re toys are they not?  You simply play with them, Mr. Hatcher, and see what happens next.”

Will Hatcher crack the case?  The story continues tomorrow…

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

Detective and blonde woman images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Jun 20 2015
9 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 1)

By:  Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTION:  Han or Greedo: Who Shot First?

It was early morning. My five o’clock shadow had become a midnight blackout. I needed a shave like a madman needs sanity.

A ray of sunlight kissed my face but I was too tired to pucker. I closed the blinds and leaned back in my chair, my trusty fedora covering my face, leaving me in my own little world.

I drifted off in a space between slumber and reality, hovering on the verge of both but not quite entering into either. It’s nice when you’re too sleepy to care, but not too tired to enjoy it.

The sensation was short lived. I heard the scraping sound of an envelope being pushed underneath my door.

It was from Delilah. My new employer’s attorney had my heart twisted in knots though I’m sure the feeling only went one way.

Isn’t it strange how quickly we become attracted to that which we can’t have?

I opened up the envelope and read it.

Detective Hatcher,

A rogue pilot and a green alien walk into a bar. They shoot at each another. One lives. One dies.

That’s not the setup of a hilarious joke. It’s the beginning of your next pop culture mystery.

“Who shot first – Han or Greedo?” That’s been a question on the minds of geeks, dweebs, nerds, and assorted poindexters since the original Star Wars graced the big screen in 1977.

Some think Greedo shot first. Others believe it was Han. Both sides have their arguments. Both have their critics and detractors. It’s a question that has raged through the geekosphere for years with no resolution in sight.

I want you to provide that resolution, Hatcher. Did Han shoot first? Did Greedo? My 3.5 readers want answers!

Sincerely,

Bookshelf Q. Battler,
Blogger-In-Chief
Bookshelf Battle Blog

I crumpled up the paper and tossed it into my waste basket. Green aliens and space pilots shooting at each other. Who cares?

During my World War II days, over a thousand Nazis had taken shots at me. I’m still here. They’re not. It never mattered to me who shot first as long as I was the last man standing.

First? Second? Doesn't matter. Betsy always comes out on top.

First? Second? Doesn’t matter. Betsy always comes out on top.

Delilah’s men had set up my office with fancy new fangled beep boop machines.

There was a big one on the desk and a little one I was expected to carry around with me.

Of all the phony baloney cock and bull inventions of this new world, the “cell phone” is the one I least understand.

Seriously, I walk out the door and I still have to be reachable by every Tom, Dick and Harry from here to Kalamazoo? In my day, if a fella wasn’t around when you called him, you’d just call him back later.  There wasn’t anything so important it couldn’t wait.

Now everyone wants to call everyone else all the time, day or night and the ironic part is that few people ever have anything important to say.

“Who shot first?”

That very question took this old gumshoe’s mind back to late 1948.

I was around three years in on the job as an LA cop and had been promoted quickly to Detective. My partner was the irascible Mickey Finn. Believe it or not but back in those days, I actually liked the guy. Of course, that was before I caught him playing doctor with the first Mrs. Hatcher.

The Gilded Lilly. What a dive. I’d seen city trash dumps with better character and more respectable clientele.

Mugsy

Mugsy “I’m Just a Legitimate Businessman” McGillicuddy

It was owned by one Mugsy McGillicuddy. Back then, Old Mugsy was the boss to end all crime bosses in the City of Angels. The man was bald as a cueball, uglier than original sin, and was so fat that he bared a striking resemblance to three hundred pounds of crap stuffed into a one hundred pound bag.

Mickey and I strolled through the front door, dressed in our finest business attire. The bird on stage tickled our eardrums with her high notes while waitresses peddled cigarettes and cheap hooch. The whole place stunk with a mixture of smoke and dime store perfume. Kind of reminds me of my second ex-wife, come to think of it.

In the back corner booth, there was a rogue’s galley of ne’er-do-wells. It was a veritable who’s who of LA scumbaggery.

There was Ratface Wally. He wasn’t actually that bad looking but he’d squealed on his old New York Boss, Carmine Labrazza, singing a song for the coppers like he was auditioning for the opera. Mugsy had taken Wally under his wing, giving him protection in exchange for underworld secrets regarding his East Coast competition. That was one of the many reasons why Mugsy was universally despised, even by his fellow wiseguys.

Then there was Handsome Hank. It was an ironic nickname, like calling a fella Lefty when he’s a righty or Slim when he’s fat. That chump looked like the Gestapo had goose stepped all over his money maker, then turned around and did it again.

Sitting in between them was Tips Malone. They called him “Tips” because he was always generous with his billfold, doling out the cash to every dame that smiled at him. Tips was the man Mickey and I had come to see. After all, he was Mugsy’s second-in-command.

“Officers!” Tips said. “I’d offer you a drink but I know fine upstanding law men such as yourselves wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You’re right,” I replied.

“Speak for yourself,” Mickey said. “Whiskey, straight up.”

Tips snapped his fingers to get the attention of a short, perky waitress who immediately ran off to get Mickey’s drink.

Boozing on the job. The warning signs of Mickey’s dirt bag ways were there. I just wish I’d seen them before it was too late.

“Where’s Mugsy?” I asked. “We’re here to serve an arrest warrant on him on a silver platter.”

“You’d run in a fine, respectable businessman like Mr. McGillicuddy?” Tips asked.

“We’re gonna lock up that big lug and bury the key smack dab in the middle of the Great Mojave,” I answered.

Tips clapped his hands, feigning applause.

“Bravo, Detective Hatcher,” Tips said. “Bravo. What a boy scout you are. I’m afraid I can’t help you, though. I haven’t spoken to Mr. McGillicuddy in days.”

“Hold on while I hitch up my boots,” I said. “Sounds like it’s going to get pretty deep in here, see?”

Mickey Finn - Hatcher's Ex-Partner and Self-Declared Life of the Party. Hatcher and Finn were friends before Mickey danced the horizontal mattress mambo with Trixie, Hatcher's First Wife.

Mickey Finn – Hatcher’s Ex-Partner and Self-Declared Life of the Party.

The waitress brought Mickey’s drink. Old Mick sucked it down like it was liquid gold. Irony is a bitch in blue suede shoes, isn’t she? Back then, I was the sober one and Mickey was the palooka who was three sheets to the wind and ready to set sail to any port in town.  Today, I’m sad to say it’s vice versa.

“Fellas,” Tips said. “Why don’t you leave us a moment?”

Wally and Hank got out of dodge while the getting was good. Mickey was buzzed but not too plastered to realize that the other shoe was about to drop. Gutless coward that he was, he didn’t want to be anywhere around when it happened.

“Pardon me while I visit the little boy’s room,” Mickey said. “You two behave now.”

As soon as we were alone, I heard the unmistakable sound of a clicking revolver coming from Tips’ direction. He’d had it pointed at me underneath the table the entire time.

“I think you’d better get back on the horse you rode in on, copper,” Tips said.

I opened up my trench coat and gave the felonious goon a peak at Old Betsy. She was sitting snuggly in her holster, just itching for a fight.

“I have a toy too and I came to play, see?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Tips replied. “But surely you realize I have the drop on you. I’ll have you deader than a doornail before you can even reach for your shooting iron.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’re such a lousy shot that I’ll paint the walls with your brains before you know what hit you, see?”

Things were getting heated. The “sees” started flying back and forth across the table like a squad of supercharged geese.

“Maybe you I’ll shoot your schnozola off your stupid face to remind you not to poke it where it doesn’t belong, see?” Tips said.

“Yeah?” I asked. “Well, maybe I’ll fill you full of so many holes you’ll be able to do commercials for the Acme Swiss Cheese Company, see?”

“See?”

“See.”

“See?”

“See.”

It was a see-off.

“You ‘aint a bad guy Hatcher,” Tips said. “But you’re in over your head. Maybe you ought to learn a little something from your
partner about how to play ball. We’ve had Old Mick on the payroll for quite some time now. You can get a little bit of the green stuff for looking the other way too.”

“I could do that,” I said. “But I’d never be able to look the other way from my soul and it would ache worse than a monkey stuck in a meat grinder if I sell out to a two-bit hood like you, Malone.”

Tips Malone - Gentleman Gangster

Tips Malone – Gentleman Gangster

Tips nodded and raised his left hand in a “stop” motion.  With his right, he sat his revolver down on the table.

“Sportsmanship Hatcher,”  my adversary said.  “Let’s start with our steel on the table.”

I had to admire the guy.  He had the drop on me and he gave it up to play fair.  I retrieved Betsy and sat her on the table in front of me.

“Is that a Schotzenhauer?”  Tips asked.

“Sure is,”  I replied.  “Model P58.”

“What a beauty,”  Tips said.  “She see a lot of action in the war?”

“Lost count after I sent a thousand Nazis to meet their maker,”  I said.  “They had a lot of explaining to do.”

“Won’t we all?”  Tips asked.  “Won’t we all.”

“On three then?”  I asked.

“On three.”

I said one.  Tips said two.

There was no three.

Just two loud BLAM BLAMS!

Tips was stone cold dead with a hole in his forehead deeper than the Grand Canyon. I was fine. Tips had always been a notoriously bad shot and I knew it. Hell, I used it to my advantage.

To this day, I’m not sure who shot first. It was possible that I’d popped Tips’ head open like a ripe casaba melon only to have him squeeze off an errant round in the last reflex movement of his pathetic life.

Then again, as I looked at the hole in the wall just a few inches away from my head, it dawned on me that Tips might have squeezed off the first round and missed, his lousy aim giving me the chance I needed to get the drop on him.

Good Old Betsy. After an all Nazi diet for years, she was hungry for any degenerate she could find.

And LA had an endless supply of them.

I walked to the bar and found Mickey.  He was working on round number three.

“Hatch my boy!” Mickey said as he patted me on the back. “Have one with your partner!”

I plopped a one-dollar bill on the bar as an apology to the barkeep for the mess I was about to leave him with.

“Sorry Mac,” I said. “Big pile of trash back there for you.”

“Happens once a day in this joint, copper,” the bartender said as he ran a white cloth up and down the bar for no apparent reason. “You might want to skeedaddle before Wally and Hank come back though.”

I plopped my hand down on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Just one more,” my partner said.

“For Christ Sakes, man!” I said, giving Mickey a taste of my backhand. “You’re an officer of the law! Get ahold of yourself!”

“Well excuse me Father Hatcher,” Mickey said with slurred speech as he walked out the door with me. “I didn’t know you’d joined the priesthood.”

“Stuff it, Mick,” I said. “I think we need to have a talk about proper police procedure. You’re due for a refresher, see?”

My mind drifted for awhile. Finally, the flashback was over and I was concentrating on my 2015 life again.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever figure out which one of these space weirdos shot first,” I said, staring at Mr. Battler’s letter in my hand. “Same thing happened to me and I’m not sure myself.”

Who shot first?  Han or Greedo?  Star Wars fans, stop by bookshelfbattle.com tomorrow for a discussion of this vexing question!

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

All images in this post courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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