Dames. It’s like the nicer you are to them, the more they want to knock you over the head. I swear, one day I’m going to do something nice for a female and when she replies with nothing more than a “thank you,” I’m going to be so shocked that I’ll drop stone cold dead from a heart attack.
– Jake Hatcher, Pop Culture Mystery Detective
To be fair, I assume there are women who feel the same way about the men in their lives.
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
Here, just read it nerds:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
Wanda was splayed out across my desk, practically begging me to caress her. I wasn’t sure what to caress exactly, since she didn’t have much in the way of the curve department, but she was a welcome sight just the same.
As I gulped the last drop of La Orina de Serpiente (or, “Snake Piss,” as the gringos call it), I knew it was time to cover her up and take her out on the town.
Good old reliable Wanda. Not much to look at but always there in a pinch.
Delilah K. Donnelly, Legal Counsel for a Website with 3.5 Readers
Next to her was a box of red roses. I pulled the posies out one by one and laid them out next to Ms. W.
A knock on the door.
“Mr. Hatcher?”
Delilah. I hated to do it but I stashed Wanda under the desk. After all, my old friend wasn’t a sight to be taken in by the peepers of a classy sophisticated dame like Ms. Donnelly.
“Come in, Ms. Donnelly.”
How did this gal do it? Every time I saw her she looked like she’d just stepped off a fashion show runway in Milan.
In her hand was an envelope, the contents of which I could only assume were yet another Pop Culture Mystery Question sent by my secretive employer, Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler.
“Pardon me for barging in unannounced but I’ve been positively swamped with case work and I wanted to…”
Delilah slammed on her brakes and stared at me like I was some kind of odd ball existentialist painting.
“Mr. Hatcher, are you well?” my demure visitor asked as she took a seat and locked one knee over the other. “You look…well…more like a hobo than usual.”
“I had a long night,” I said, ignoring the hobo crack. “Sometimes when I’m in the thick of a case I allow my hygiene to slip by the wayside. All part of the private dick game, ma’am.”
“A case?” Delilah asked. “You’re working for someone other than Mr. Battler?”
“You could say that,” I replied. “Though the client’s most likely been zipped up into a body bag by now.”
“Oh how dreadful,” Delilah said.
“Fella who worked at the…at the uh…”
Delilah knew I drank more than a thirsty fish with a straw in its mouth but my pride prevented me from admitting it. Just then, I noticed the empty bottle of Snake Piss and moved it off the desk, tucking it carefully on the floor, right between my legs, which coincidentally, was where Wanda was as well.
“At the intellectual book store,” I said. “Specialty shop, only sold volumes for high falutin’ thinkers. Sad business. I considered him a friend.”
Delilah clutched her pearls.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hatcher,” she said in a breathy tone. “I had no idea you even had any friends.”
Dames. They say it’s a man’s world yet some how I’m certain Delilah would have chewed me out royally had I lobbed such passive aggression her way.
“Once in awhile I meet someone who doesn’t assume I grow a pair of horns and a tail when nobody’s looking.”
I don’t know why, maybe it was the false courage brewing in me courtesy of the La Orina, but I decided to make like Babe Ruth and swing for the fences.
“Come paint the town red with me sometime, Ms. Donnelly, and you’ll find I’m not such a bad friend to have.”
The blonde’s eyes rolled like they were a couple of whitewalls on a 57 Chevy barreling down the highway.
“We have been over this subject, Mr. Hatcher,” she said, curtly. “There is no friendship to be had here. Our relationship is strictly business.”
“Of course, Ms. Donnelly, of course,” I replied. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Delilah grabbed one of the roses off my desk and studied it carefully.
“Mr. Hatcher, surely these roses aren’t intended for me?”
I yanked it out of her hand.
“Of course not,” I said. “Didn’t we just agree that our relationship is strictly a business one?”
It was the first time I saw Delilah come close to being flustered.
“Yes but…”
“Why would I get roses for a mere co-worker?” I asked. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Ahh,” Delilah said. “I take it you’ve found a candidate to become the fourth Mrs. Hatcher then?”
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
“I might be seeing someone,” I said. “But I don’t really discuss my personal life with business associates, Ms. Donnelly. I’m sure you understand.”
I had a hunch that I’d just caused Delilah’s mind to implode, but as expected, she didn’t show it. Just a simple nod.
“Indeed I do,” she said. “This is…good. Good for you, Mr. Hatcher. A female companion will surely help you adjust to life in the modern world.”
I reached into my desk drawer, pulled a cigarette out of a fresh pack, and stuck it between my lips.
“Please Ms. Donnelly,” I said as I lit up. “Stop sifting for details. You’re just embarrassing yourself now.”
Eh. Maybe that was overkill. She stood up and laid the envelope on my desk.
“I shall leave this for you and be on my way.”
“Tell the nerd it’s going to be awhile before I get to this,” I said. “I’m hot on the trail of a real humdinger.”
“Certainly,” Delilah said on the way out the door. “I’m sure Mr. Battler and his 3.5 readers will understand. Good day, Mr. Hatcher.”
“So long, Ms. Donnelly.”
Hot damn. She wouldn’t admit it even if faced with water torture but I could tell that dame was sweet on yours truly. When she found out those roses weren’t for her, that another broad was in the picture, it was like her little heart pulled out a tiny violin and strummed a sad, sad melody.
Unfortunate part for me was that there was no other gal in the picture.
I reached under the desk, pulled out Wanda, and cocked her good.
Then I…wait a minute.
Wanda was my father’s old double-barrel shotgun. The only thing Pa Hatcher left to me, besides his wit, wisdom, and a penchant for communicating through long, drawn-out monologues that were rife with exaggeration.
Who did you 3.5 degenerates think she was?
Get your mind out of the gutter. Giving a female name to our firearms was a longstanding Hatcher family tradition and I needed Wanda if I was ever going to recover Betsy.
Carefully, I set her down in the empty flower box, closed the lid, picked her up under my arm. It was the only way I could think of to walk around the city with a weapon that large without attracting suspicion.
I grabbed a few extra shells out of my drawer, tossed them into my trench coat pocket, and decided it was time to go.
Those flowers. Seemed such a waste to let them wilt and die without giving them the chance to make someone smile.
Had Ms. Donnelly not given me the old “there is no friendship to be had here” speech, I’d of gladly forked them over to her, though I doubt it would of won me any points.
That dame was harder to crack than a lead lined safe.
And besides, she’d gone to the opera with a gentleman caller recently, so there was competition of a variety more classier than this gumshoe.
Even so, Delilah’s inquisition filled me with a modest amount of hope.
Just a modest amount, mind you. I never allow myself to get too hopeful. Hope is the only thing I can think of that can mess with a fella’s mind more than alcohol.
I picked up the bouquet, headed downstairs, and cut through the kitchen, where Ms. Tsang was supervising three of her employees as they prepared lunch for a floor full of hungry paying customers.
“For you, sweetheart,” I said as I foisted the flowers my landlady’s way.
“Oh Jake,” Ms. Tsang said as she took them and sniffed them. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I know I’ve been a real pill to live with and you did take care of me for six decades so I figured the least I could do was…”
“Actually the least you could do is get a job that pays more than five bucks a case so you can help out with the bills around here but this is a start.”
Dames. It’s like the nicer you are to them, the more they want to knock you over the head. I swear, one day I’m going to do something nice for a female and when she replies with nothing more than a “thank you,” I’m going to be so shocked that I’ll drop stone cold dead from a heart attack.
“Where’d you get the money for these?” Ms. Tsang asked as she looked around her cupboards for a vase. “They look expensive.”
“An unexpected windfall,” I said as I snatched a piping hot egg roll off a platter and headed out the back door.
Honestly, I dipped into Karen’s thousand bucks. Whoever she was, I assumed she wouldn’t mind if I took a few dollars to help with expenses as I tracked down Lou’s killer.
And believe it or not, but a box to hide Wanda’s butt ugly mug from the world was a much needed expense.
Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
READ
AND NOW BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE CONTINUES…
“Welcome to the Third World International Airport,” the announcer said. “We’d tell you what country you are in, but we don’t want to offend the 3.5 people reading this story.”
Inside the airport, Vicky and I walked through the hustle and bustle.
A boy ran up to me with a bundle of roses and yanked on my shirt tail.
“Mr. American sir!” the boy said. “Buy some flowers for your pretty wife!”
I looked at Vicky. She giggled. I grinned.
“She’s not my uh…OK kid. How much?”
“Five hundred US Dollars,” the boy said.
“Get outta’ here!”
“OK,” the boy said. “You drive a hard bargain. Five US dollars!”
“One US dollar!” I said.
“What?” the boy asked. “Your wife isn’t worth five dollars?”
A notorious skinflint, Bookshelf Q. Battler (BQB) was so smitten with Video Game Rack Fighter (VGRF) that he shelled out five, count em, five big ones for some posies. He really did. Moths flew out of his wallet and everything.
Damn it. Trapped by a little street vendor’s logic. I pulled a fiver out of my wallet and handed it to him. He gave the rose to Vicky.
“Why thank you, Ed,” Vicky said. “I’m flattered.”
We found a table and sat down.
“So,” Vicky said. “I told you I’m going to visit the Great Guru so I can ask him about the meaning of life. You never told me why you’re going to Pango-Tango.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, funny you mention it, I’m also trying to visit the Great Guru.”
Vicky’s beautiful eyes blossomed.
“You are?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you want to know the meaning of life too?” she asked.
I didn’t want to lie. But I didn’t want another Blandie on my hands either.
“My company,” I said. “Beige Corp. They sent me to uh…make a sales call. Yeah. That’s it. The Great Guru wants to by some beige products and accessories for his sanctuary.”
“Wow,” Vicky said. “Beige?”
“Yeah.”
“The Guru must have really boring taste.”
“Yeah.”
Vicky scratched her head.
“You know,” she said. “This might sound dumb, but I have no idea what to do now.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I just bought a ticket to “Somewhere in the Third World” because that’s the closest the airlines will take you to Pango-Tango.”
“Me too!” Vicky said. “Oh good! At least we’re both flying by the seat of our pants!”
“I was hoping there’d be a boat or a connecting flight or something once I
Seems trustworthy,
got here,” I said.
I felt a tapping on my shoulder. I turned around to find a goofy looking man wearing a brown leather bomber jacket. His eyes were covered by a pair of goggles.
“Did I hear you and your wife say you want to get to Pango-Tango?”
Will BQB and VGRF ever make it to Pango Tango? And do they really want to trust this wacko? More BQB and the meaning of life to come!
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Nerds with flowers and wacky pilot images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Guten Tag, Herr 3.5 readers!
Dr. Hugo Von Science
It is I, Dr. Hugo Von Science, back to once again prove that if you try to argue with science, you vill totally lose. It’s impossible, mein leipshin. Try arguing with a microscope sometime. It can’t be done.
Perhaps you remember me from one of mein fabulous inventions:
And last but not least…
Anyhow, have you been reading along with Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life? Mein former student has undertaken quite an adventure, and has even met a fraulein! Good for him!
I know what you’re about to say. “Dr. Hugo, what do you know about love? Love has nothing to do with science!”
Malarkey, says I! It has everything to do with science. Think about all the scientific subjects that come into play when selecting a person to love:
Oh vell, I’m glad Bookshelf Q. Battler has found a fraulein but I hope he doesn’t screw it up the way he did when I allowed him to be my assistant on the Incredible Exploding Chinchilla project. Time will tell and we’ll have to read on before we find out.
But why not refresh our memories first?
READ PARTS 14-18
BQB’s epic adventure returns tomorrow, mein leipshin! Come back to the Bookshelf Battle Blog! Be there or be un square!
Dr. Hugo Von Science is a Distinguished Professor of Science at the Advanced Science Institute of Science University. He has patented over a bazillion inventions and may or may not be attempting to conquer the world in his spare time. His column, “You Can’t Argue with Science” is a recurring feature on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
Mad scientist photo courtesy of shutterstock.com
Bookshelf Q. Battler – By day, he’s the Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice-President of Corporate Assistance of Beige Corp, the World’s Premiere Producer of Beige Products and Accessories. By night, he’s the caretaker of a magical bookshelf frequented by tiny literary characters who constantly try to blow up BQB HQ.
Bookshelf Q. Battler
Video Game Rack Fighter – By day, she’s the Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice-President of Corporate Assistance for Drying Paint Media, the World’s Number One Streaming Site with Over 1 Million Hours of Drying Paint Footage. By night, she’s the caretaker of a magic video rack which, coincidentally, is frequented by tiny versions of video game characters who are constantly trying to blow up VGRF HQ.
Video Game Rack Fighter
These nerds have so much in common it’s uncanny. BQB’s head of security is Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog. VGRF’s head of security is Video Game Rack Fighter Cat.
BQB’s mortal enemy? The Yeti.
VGRF’s? The Sasquatch.
BQB died on the toilet from an acute case of Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death. (Help find a cure today.)
VGRF had a similar experience with a Lightning Infused Jelly Donut.
Alas, BQB is afraid to open up to his newfound nerd friend, but perhaps that will change as our hero’s story continues.
Love is in the air for this nerdtastic duo. Will it last with the strength of BQB’s one post a day for a year challenge or will it fizzle out and become as boring as one of Drying Paint Media’s videos?
What do you think, 3.5 readers? Do these poindexters have what it takes?
The paparazzi’s already referring to them as “BQBVGRF.” Catchy, isn’t it?
Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE
Dead on the can. Back to life in search of the meaning of life.
BQB talks to his bookshelf characters.
BQB leaves on a jet plane to Pango Tango in search of the Great Guru.
BQB learns he has a ridiculous amount in common with his new female acquaintance. Also, we learn BQB’s real name. What a bombshell. The press have been calling nonstop. Or is it nonstart? Oh, and Holmes and Watson are stowaways.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” I asked in a whisper to the pair of sleuths.
I let them out of the bag and they hopped out onto my tray table.
“I wonder if someone will make this character I’ve worked so hard on become a Pootie Tang fan.” – Thought that never crossed poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s mind
“Mr. Battler,” Holmes said. “You’re undertaking a dangerous journey, one that Watson and I had a hand in pushing you on. We could not in good conscience allow you to go alone.”
The stewardess tapped me on the shoulder. The detectives froze into position.
“Complimentary beverage sir?”
“Yes,” I said. “Generic brand cola please.”
She poured me one and then smiled at my stiff gumshoes.
“Cute toys,” the stewardess said. “You should really leave them in the box though. That’s the only way they’ll appreciate in value.”
“That’s good to know,” I said, hoping she’d move on.
“My son’s a big toy collector,” the stewardess continued. “Never plays with them. Just keeps them in the boxes.”
“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” I said.
“Not really,” the stewardess said. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Can I get one for my neighbor?” I asked.
“Sure.” The stewardess poured another generic brand cola and set it on Vicky’s table. She pushed her cart down the aisle.
Holmes and Watson gasped for air.
“You two didn’t think of that, did you?” I asked. “We’re in public, geniuses. You’re going to be gasping for air every two seconds.”
“Forget that,” Holmes said. “Mr. Battler, do you realize you’re screwing the proverbial pooch with your new female friend?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Ms. Stratenhaus!” Holmes said. “You have so much in common with her it is bloody well uncanny!”
“I concur,” Watson said.
“You both were interested in pie in the sky occupations,” Holmes said. “You and your desire to become a writer, her and her love of video game design. You both sold out your dreams only to find mediocre positions at boring companies. In fact, you both literally hold the same exact position at your respective places of business!”
“And you both have long, peculiar names,” Watson said.
“Precisely!” Holmes said. “But other than your name, and a brief reference to wanting to be a writer, you have not shared with Ms. Stratenhaus the many similarities you share with her. Tell her that you too quit your dream for a boring life and you now regret your decision! Tell her that a woman left you under similar circumstances! It will bring you both closer together!”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “It would be Blandie all over again.”
“Who?” Watson asked.
“Ms. Bland Life Settler,” Holmes said. “Consult your copious notes, Watson. Doing so will refresh your memory.”
Watson pulled out his notepad and flipped through the pages.
“Ahh yes!” Watson said. “The woman who broke Mr. Battler’s heart.”
In case you forgot about BQB’s Ex-Girlfriend, Blandie
“There’s no mystery here,” Holmes said as he paced about the tray. “Mr. Battler poured his heart and soul out to Ms.Settler. He told her about his hopes, his dreams, his fears, his aspirations. He told her how he wanted to be a writer and rather than be loving and supportive, she turned around and used that fact against him, calling him an idle daydreamer before flying the proverbial coup.”
“She also made many assertions regarding his lack of prowess in the boudoir,” Watson said as he looked over his notes.
“Read them, Watson,” Holmes said as he chewed on the end of his pipe.
Total deja-vu.
“No,” I said. “We’ve already been through this, dummies. And put that pipe away. You know how many laws you’ll break if you smoke on an international flight?”
“Good Lord,” Holmes said as he tucked his pipe into his cloak. “This highly regulated police state you live in, Mr. Battler. It’s like Moriarty won.”
“Get back in the bag,” I said. “Vicky will be back any second and you guys can’t hold your breathe that long.”
My charges/pains in the butt complied and scurried into my bag just in time to avoid my new friend’s return.
“Aww!” Vicky said. “I love generic brand cola!”
“Me too,” I said. “I think it’s the extra generic-ness.”
“So, Ed! Tell me, if you don’t like air travel, why are you on a plane?”
“Oh,” I said. “You know. Just business.”
“Going somewhere special?” Vicky asked.
I coughed to clear my throat.
“Pango-Tango,” I said.
Vicky raised a surprised eyebrow.
“I know,” I said. “The war going on there. All over the news. Kind of a stupid place to visit I guess.”
“No,” Vicky said. “Not at all! I’m going there too!”
I didn’t even bother to ask, “Seriously?”
I just nodded.
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” Vicky asked.
“I promise,” I said.
“Pinky swear,” Vicky said.
We locked pinky fingers.
“Because you know you’ll rot in eternal hellfire and damnation if you break a pinky swear,” Vicky said.
I liked her. She was quirky, like me.
“So I hear,” I said.
“I died a few days ago,” Vicky said.
I couldn’t help myself. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Vicky replied. “I…oh, I can’t tell you this story. It’s so gross.”
“No judgments here,” I said.
“I’m still surprised this was even scientifically possible,” Victoria said. “But I ate a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut.”
Find out how Vicky died after eating a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut on the next episode of BQB and the Meaning of Life!
Sherlock and angry woman images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. (All Rights Reserved). (With my usual apology to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE
BQB dies. Lives. He must search for the meaning of life.
BQB and his bookshelf characters talk. Holmes and Watson want to help.
BQB flies Air Third World on a mission to visit the war torn nation of Pango Tango, where the Great Guru lives. BQB hopes to ask him about the meaning of life On the plane, BQB meets a nerdy female video game enthusiast.
“And so, in Monster Nightmare, if you chop up a thousand monsters with your chainsaw, you get a distinguished chainsaw valor award,” the pretty she-nerd explained.
“Naturally,” I replied. “I wouldn’t want to chop up all of those monsters for nothing.”
Vicky shows Ed her video game awards.
We talked for an hour. Actually, she talked. I listened. Occasionally, I tossed out a witty comment, but she had the floor.
“Listen to me babble on and on about video games,” the woman said. “I haven’t even bothered to ask you your name.”
She reached out her hand. I shook it.
“Book…”
I stopped myself. She was a stranger. Best to use my given name, not my chosen name. The magic bookshelf was a source of great power. Knowledge of its existence was not to be shared with just anyone.
“Eduardo,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Eduardo,” the woman replied. “I’m Victoria.”
Victoria popped a piece of gum into her mouth and offered me a piece. I took it and chewed it. I wasn’t a big gum chewer but it had been so long since I’d been in the company of a beautiful woman that I was ready to do anything she asked me.
“Is that your full name?” Victoria asked.
I laughed.
“No,” I said. “My full name is a bit of a tongue twister.”
“Let’s hear it,” Victoria said.
“I’d rather not.”
“Come on,” Victoria said. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Eduardo Ricardo Papageorgio Von Finklestein.”
Victoria giggled.
“Yeah,” I said. “Book agents I queried laughed too. ‘Good luck selling books with that moniker pasted on the cover!’ they said.”
“You’re a writer?” Victoria asked.
“I was,” I replied. “I used to be. I stopped. I’d like to try it again. It’s complicated.”
“Well, pleased to meet you Eduardo Ricardo Papageorgio Von Finkelstein,” Victoria said. “I’m Victoria Gloria Somersby Stratenhaus.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously,” she replied. “But you can call me Vicky.”
“OK,” I said. “And you can call me Ed.”
“So tell me, Ed, why did you stop writing?”
“Um,” I said. “I’d rather hear about this video game fixation of yours.”
“Oh,” Vicky said. “Long story short, I used to design video games.”
I felt my heart skip a beat – in a good way. I was in the company of a fellow artist.
“That’s amazing,” I said.
“Yeah,” Vicky replied. “Have you ever heard of Sweet Destroyer?”
“Of course,” I said. “I used to have a mild addiction to it.”
“Most people do,” Vicky said. “I had an entry level job inputting the code that made the sweets shift around. It didn’t pay much, but at least I was working in the field I loved.”
“Why’d you leave?” I asked.
“The guy I was dating at the time dumped me,” Vicky said. “Said he wanted a woman who was more grounded, down to earth, not living with her head in the clouds.”
“He wanted a girl who preferred a bland life over daydreams about video games?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Vicky said. “How’d you know?”
“Just a wild guess,” I said.
“So I gave up on video games and went to business school,” Victoria said.
I broke out in a cold sweat. Vicky’s story was hitting too close to home.
“Got an MBA,” Vicky continued. “I figured there was so much competition in the video game industry that I might as well try my hand at a more practical career.”
“How’d that work out?” I asked.
“The best I could do was a job at Drying Paint Media,” Vicky said. “America’s Number One Producer of Drying Paint Videos.”
This episode of BQB and the Meaning of Life brought to you by Drying Paint Media
“Drying Paint Videos are in high demand?” I asked.
“Sure,” Vicky replied. “People who buy paint want to know how its going to look on their walls when it dries. Pretty boring work though.”
“At least you’re producing videos,” I said. “That has to involve some creativity, right?”
“No,” Vicky said. “I don’t even get to do that. I’m just the assistant to the assistant of the vice-president for corporate assistance.”
I felt like I was going to faint.
“Are you alright, Ed?” Vicky asked.
“Yes.”
“Your face just turned as white as a ghost,” Vicky said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m….I’m not really a fan of air travel.”
“Me neither,” Vicky said as she stood up. “In fact, excuse me for a moment, I have to go powder my nose.”
I sat back in my seat. I smiled. I felt my heart burst.
Finally, I met someone who could relate to what it was like to be me.
I was feeling euphoric.
And then that feeling came to a grinding halt when I heard two muffled British voices coming from inside my bag.
“Holmes, I don’t think this is a very good idea,” one of the voices said.
“Watson, stop being such a ninny!” the other voice replied. “Simply grab a pair of headphones when Mr. Battler is not looking and then we can revel in the comedic genius that is Pootie-Tang!”
Wow. A big reveal – Bookshelf Q. Battler’s real name. A juicy piece of information that our hero’s enemies would love to get their hands on. Thank God only 3.5 people read this damn thing.
Join us next time on BQB and the Meaning of Life!
Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE
Bookshelf Q. Battler, owner of a magical bookshelf where small versions of literary characters pop out of the books on said shelf and run amuck, dies on the toilet while crapping lightning, a condition which, as we learn, is very common.
In fact, you should do your part to help find a cure.
Our hero croaks, finds himself in God’s Waiting Room, where he’s told by his spirit guide, William Shakespeare, to seek the meaning of life.
BQB is given a second chance at life. Upon his return to BQB HQ, his book character charges are sorry for driving him crazy to the point where the aforementioned lightning incident occurred. Holmes and Watson are particularly interested in helping.
A TV news story reveals that The Great Guru, a wise man who has consumed the knowledge of every book ever written, is cut off from the world in his sanctuary atop a mountain located in the middle of the war torn island of Pango-Tango. Ironically, Pangonians and the Tangonians have been hacking each other to pieces and blowing each other up for twenty years as the result of a dispute over which side is the most peaceful.
AND NOW BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE CONTINUES…
Ding.
The Captain’s authoritative voice came through the intercom.
“Thank you for flying Air Third World. Our motto? ‘If you wanna go there, who are we to talk you out of it? We are cruising at an altitude of 35,000 feet above sea level and we invite you to watch our in-flight feature film, Pootie Tang.”
“Pootie Tang?” I asked out loud. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” the Captain responded, apparently expecting someone to question the airline’s choice of in-flight movie.
Pootie Tang at 35,000 feet
For once in my life, I lucked out. The seat next to me was empty, so I kept my carry on bag on it. I sprawled myself out and was about to take a nap, when the voice of a pleasant sounding woman sitting behind me caught my attention.
“So this is the award I got for wasting the most aliens on Space Killer,” the woman said. “Oh! And this is the award I got for killing the most terrorists on War Shooter!”
“Uh huh,” responded a male voice.
“This is the award I received for selling the most crack on Car Thief Mayhem,” the woman said. “I’m not actually all that proud of that one. Maybe I should delete it off my record.”
“OK then,” the man said.
“Oh!” the woman said. “This is the special victory medal I got when I finished Interplanetary Roleplayer as a female and as a male Sgt. Sequoia!”
The man behind me reached up and tapped me on the shoulder. I leaned over to look back at him. He was a macho manly man, about my age, who looked like he might have been a frat boy in his youth.
“Dude,” the man said. “Can you switch seats with me? This chick is boring the hell outta’ me!”
I peaked up over the seat. Next to the man sat a beautiful she-nerd. Big blue eyes, bright red hair, green glasses, and in her hands, a tablet that displayed all of her video game victories.
I hated to give up the extra room, but damn she was cute. I grabbed my bag and switched seats with the man. The woman didn’t notice.
“They give you an award for every hundred thousand zombies you dismember on Shuffling Living: The Video Game Experience,” the woman said. “Not to brag, but I have ten of those bad boys.”
“That’s cool,” I replied.
The woman looked up.
“Where did the other guy go?”
“We switched seats,” I replied.
“Oh,” she said with a frown as she folded a cover over her tablet “I guess sometimes I get carried away.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’d like to hear more about your video game achievements.”
“Seriously?” she asked, flashing me the brightest grin I’d ever seen.
“Seriously,” I replied.
Is love in the air for Bookshelf Q. Battler? Tune in tomorrow!
P.S – in the next part, we’ll learn Bookshelf Q. Battler’s real name! You don’t want to miss it!
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Dames. Can’t live with ’em….and that’s it. You can’t live with ’em.
Jake Hatcher, a 1950’s era hardboiled film noir detective operating in 2015, has had his share of heartache, courtesy of these bodacious babes. Below and in his own voice, our noble detective gives us the straight skinny on the ones who got away:
Trixie Bordeaux
EX-WIFE #1 – Trixie Bordeaux – Don’t get me wrong. Trixie was a sweet gal and all, but it’s just that I’ve seen cacti with a better shot at passing a Standard Aptitude Test. When she took me up on my marriage proposal, the first thought to clunk around inside my roomy skull was, “Good for you, Hatch. You landed the skirt that every Tom, Dick and Harry is chasing.”
Lunkhead that I was, it wasn’t till a few weeks after the nuptials that I realized I was going to have to fight off every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Then again, I have no one to blame but yours truly. All you unwed fellas out there, here’s some free advice from your old Uncle Jake:
Marrying a woman is like buying a car. It’s a long commitment so you should walk right past the sporty number that will suck up all your gas and stall out when the first raindrop falls and plunk your cash down for the reliable one that’s going to get you where you need to be even when it snows.
Muffy Sinclair
EX-WIFE #2 – Muffy Sinclair – She was a crack shot who could pick a flea off a blood hound’s backside at fifty paces, yet after blasting yours truly six times with the business end of a Saturday Night Special, she managed to miss every vital organ. Keep your cards and candy, folks. That’s real love.
Last I heard, she’d hightailed it to the Caribbean faster than a jackrabbit with an extra set of legs. And with all that ill-gotten loot, who can blame her?
Want some more words of wisdom?
Never trust a broad named “Muffy.”
Connie Connors
EX-WIFE #3 – Constance “Connie” Connors – The best and most loyal of all my ex-wives, the “car that will get you where you need to be even when it’s snowing” if you will. (Don’t tell her I called her a car.)
Naturally, this gumshoe fouled things up with this sweetheart worse than a bathroom stall after the ninth inning of an LA Dodgers game on free chili dog night.
I hit the hooch harder than Max Baer’s fist against the face of an unsuspecting pugilist.
I didn’t want to but I needed to dull the pain caused me by Ex-Wives 1 and 2. Alas, I didn’t realize I was driving away the best wife I ever had until it was too late. After one too many nights of seeing her man passed out on giggle juice, she hopped the first train to Albuquerque and never looked back. Can’t say as I blamed her. I kick myself harder than a karate sensei wearing a steel tipped boot whenever I think about it though.
One final kernel of truth for you palookas:
When you find the dame who makes you a better man, chuck that bottle faster than a Whitey Ford curveball.
What? You don’t know who Whitey Ford was? Damnation, I’ve been alive for too long.
Hatcher gets down to business on the Bookshelf Battle Blog in June.
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
EAST RANDOM TOWN, USA – The blogosphere is atwitter by reports that Bookshelf Q. Battler, World Renowned Poindexter, Reviewer of Books, Movies, and Cultural Happenings, Champion Yeti Fighter, and Blogger-in-Chief of the Bookshelf Battle Blog will find romance in the upcoming serial, “Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life.”
BQB’s 3.5 readers, especially his Aunt Gertie, want to know who the lucky (or unlucky) lady is!
ALIEN JONES: My intelligence indicates that BQB has been trying to build a woman in a lab for years. Perhaps he’s finally figured it out. Then again, I’d already know if he has, since I know everything.
DR. HUGO VON SCIENCE: Silly alien, BQB has known how to build women in a lab for years! “How to Build a Woman in a Lab 101” is a required course at the Advanced Science Institue of Science University, of which BQB is a prestigious alum. Nein, if it were that simple to find love, BQB would have built a woman for himself years ago.
THE YETI: ROAR! Whoever she is, I feel sorry for her. BQB is a loser!
UNCLE HARDASS (GHOST OF): I agree with that furry whatever-it-is. My good for nothing nephew will never be able to support a woman until he gets a job at the SALT MINES!
REPORTER: With a news story this big, we went straight to the horse’s mouth and asked Bookshelf Q. Battler himself.
BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER: Well, I’m still hoping it’s going to be Katee Sackhoff.
REPORTER: Really?
BQB: I realize she’s a famous actress and stuff and I only run a low budget book blog, but I’m fairly confident she’ll make an appearance when she realizes that this blog will give her exposure to 3.5 readers, one of which is my Aunt.
REPORTER: If she passes?
BQB: Ultimate Fighter/Actress Gina Carano. I’ve always wanted a woman who can defeat my enemies.
REPORTER: We’ve read an advance copy of your story. It’s not Gina Carano.
BQB: Damn it! Black Widow?
REPORTER: You mean Scarlett Johannson?
BQB: No! I mean the actual Black Widow! I need a woman who can defeat my enemies!
REPORTER: What enemies? The Yeti is the only one we know of.
BQB: And he must be defeated!
REPORTER: You heard it here, folks. This summer, Bookshelf Q. Battler finds love when he least expects it.
(It’s not Katee Sackhoff or Gina Carano or Black Widow.)
BQB: But it’s totally a Katee Sackhoff robot!
REPORTER: It’s not a Katee Sackhoff-bot.
BQB: You just like raining on my parade, don’t you?
Alien, mad scientist, old man and yeti images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license)
Bookshelf Battle 