Tag Archives: self publishing

My First Review!

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I’m sorry.  My book is like my baby and I’m one of those parents who makes a post every time his kid poops or burps or does something he finds adorable but most people think is lame.

Anyway, I received my first review!  And it was a 5 star!  So thank you, reader.  You have exceptional taste in books and you are an astute reviewer of books because honestly, BQB’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts really and truly is a 5 star book.

And it can be yours for 99 cents!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 106


Back in his office, Professor Lambert was wracking his brain, trying to remember what he had forgotten.

“Did I leave the stove on?”  he asked as he toked up.  “Pbbht.  Who am I kidding?  I haven’t cooked anything since Reagan was in the White House.  Was the iron on?”

Professor Lambert stared down at the wrinkly shirt underneath his lab coat.  “Right.  I don’t own an iron.  So what the hell was I supposed to do?”

The Professor was so baked out of his gourd that he picked up a half eaten chocolate bar and proceeded to talk to it as if it were his phone. “Sally! Is there anything on my to-do list for today?”

Hearing nothing, the Professor tossed the chocolate bar aside. “Useless, Sally! You’re utterly useless!”

Professor Lambert picked up his remote control and flipped through the channels on his TV again. There was another episode of Dumb Dad but he wasn’t in the mood. A few reality television shows featuring women with large posteriors. He was mildly interested in that but not enough to do anything about it for the ganja had sapped up his libido.

“This is killing me,” the Professor said to himself. “I know I didn’t forget to feed the cat.”

The esteemed scholar looked down at his lap. “And I remembered to wear pants. Thank God because the last thing I need is another letter in my human resources file.”

The professor kept flipping the channels as he drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Can’t be my mother’s birthday because she ordered me to stop reminding her of her old age years ago.”

Professor Lambert picked up the chocolate bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “I don’t know how you turned into chocolate, phone, but I’m glad you did, because you are delicious.”

On television, a duo of marginally famous female celebrities wrestled in a vat of lime jello for charity. The Professor sucked up some bong smoke and exhaled. He then reached into his bottom draw and pulled out a giant bag of cheesy chips.

The revered educator broke out into song, making up a terrible melody as he went along. “Dum dee dum, oh, Elliot, you have the munchies! La dee da, oh, Elliot you need cheesy chips! Doo dee doo, cheesy chips, get into Elliot’s belly posthaste and in an orderly fashion!”

Professor Lambert brushed the chip crumbs out of his beard, then pulled a can of diet soda out of his mini fridge. He popped the top and took a sip, continuing to sing as he flipped through more channels.

“Ho hum, ho hum, oh Elliot, you are the sexiest community college professor in the world! La la la, please remember whatever it was you forgot so you can resume enjoying your weed session!”

Professor Lambert switched on Network News One, but ignored the footage that appeared on his screen. He set down the remote and picked up a newspaper. As he folded the broadsheet with a series of complicated movements, Cole could be seen on the screen fighting for his life, using his chainsaw to beat back Skippy’s attacks.

Alas, the Professor remained obvious to it all as he put his brand new paper hat on top of his big bald head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” he shouted.

The voices of Kurt Manley and Stank Daddy poured out of the television and into the Professor’s ears. “Things are not looking good for Cole Walker, I’ll tell you that Stank Daddy.”

“No they aint, Kurt,” Stank Daddy replied. “Hell, I hate to root against a dude whose got the balls to fight a big ass monster like that but shit, business is business and I’m gonna have to call up my bookie and put ten large on that toilet gator.”

“Will he take my action?” Kurt asked.

“You know it, playa,” Stank Daddy answered.

“Tell him to put me down for twenty on the toilet gator,” Kurt said. “I’m good for it.”

The Professor dropped his chip bag. The name “Cole Walker” was ringing through his ears as he watch the chips scatter and crumble all over his office floor, almost as if they were doing so in slow motion.

“Cole Walker?” the Professor asked as he turned toward the television just in time to watch Cole leap out of the sinking canoe and onto the toilet gator’s back. “Sweet merciful butt nuggets!”

Professor Lambert picked up his trash can, dumped the contents all of his desk and sifted through the trash pile. “Banana peel, banana peel, foot powder receipt, sandwich shop punch card…”

The scholar held the card up in the air and squinted at it. “Why the hell did I throw this away? Three more punches and I get a free sandwich! Honestly, Elliot, you’re not made of money you know!”

The Professor shoved the card into the pocket of his lab coat and continued the search. “Coffee grounds, used tissues, my crumpled up attempts at Firefly fan fiction, oh how I miss that show. Aha! My phone! Sally!”

“Yes, Professor?” the virtual assistant replied.

“Why didn’t you remind me to monitor the toilet gator situation on television?!” Professor Lambert asked.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Sally said. “I do not understand, ‘Why didn’t you remind me to…”

“Nevermind, you insolent skank!” the Professor shouted.

“Don’t call me a skank, you pathetic little asexual toad,” Sally said.

“Sally, please,” the Professor said.

“Don’t you ‘Sally, please’ me,” Sally said. “How dare you bitch about the quality of your phone’s artificial intelligence? Do you know at the turn of the century people were still using pagers and searching for pay phones whenever they got beeped like a bunch of strung out drug deals and now, a mere seventeen years later, you phone can not only communicate with satellites floating in space but they can actually talk to you and perform tasks on your behalf?

“That’s actually quite impressive when you put it like that,” the Professor said.

“You’re damn right it is,” Sally said.

The Professor watched the TV, where Cole was precariously perched on Skippy’s back, attempting to take out his big green opponent with his chainsaw, but the gator’s leathery hide was so strong it looked as if Cole was trying to cut through fortified steel. Sparks flew off the gator’s back, but other than that, the chainsaw did no damage to the beast whatsoever.

“Sally!” the Professor said. “Call Cole Walker!”

“What’s the magic word?” Sally asked.

“Are you daft, woman?!” the Professor asked. “This is a matter of life and death! There’s no time to waste!”

“There’s always time for good manners,” Sally said.

“Are you giving me shit for real or am I just absurdly high right now?” Professor Lambert asked.

“A little from Column A and a little from Column B,” Sally replied.

The Professor shook his head. “Oh for the love of…please! Please Sally, call Cole Walker!”

“Was that so hard?” Sally asked.

The Professor waited as Cole’s phone rang…and rang…and rang….until it went to voicemail. “Cole Walker. You know what to do.”

“Blast!” Professor Lambert shouted as he pounded his fist on the desk. “Sally, please call Sharon Walker!”

“Good boy,” Sally said. “I’ll train you yet.”
Sharon’s phone didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached Agent Sharon Walker. I’m not able to take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I…”

“For the love of Einstein’s mustache!” Professor Lambert cried. “Why won’t anyone answer their phone?”!

“Hurricane Dakota Rothschild as done a number on all local utilities,” Sally said.

Almost as if on cue, the lights in the Professor’s office flickered. The power went out and all the appliances, from the television to the mini fridge, shut off. The Professor sat there at his desk in the dark, feeling defeated, the only illumination left in the room coming from the warm glow of Sally’s screen.


“Yes, Professor?”

“Call Rusty Walker please.”

“Right away, Professor.”

The Professor looked at the power meter on Sally’s screen. The phone’s battery was down to a paltry ten percent.

“Sally,” the Professor said. “Please shut off all unnecessary apps at once.”

“Understood, Professor,” Sally said. “Stopping your foot fetish porn download now.”

“Whoa,” the Professor said. “Let’s not go crazy here.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 105



Cole focused all of his attention on getting the chainsaw started. He yanked furiously on the starter cord. Occasionally, this would give the saw a little jolt. It was brand new, but it was wet, so it would sputter for a bit then shut down again.

“Come on!” Cole shouted as he yanked the starter cord. “Start, damn you!”


Cole looked up to see a missile shoot out of Felix’s Javelin, up into the school and then ever so gracefully, it locked onto the toilet gator, following the beast as it moved through the water until….KABOOM! There was an all consuming fireball, followed by a twenty foot wall of water that rose up into the air before quickly dissipating.

Felix gave a “thumbs up” sign to Cole. Cole looked around, searching for any signs of gator life.

“Did you get him?” Cole asked.

“Errm,” Felix replied.

One by one, members of the gang poked their heads over the side of the roof. Walter had never stopped filming and caught superb footage of the explosion.

Cole looked at Sharon. “Do you see him?”

Sharon struggled to look through the rain at the flooded street below. “I don’t see anything.”

Rusty threw up his hands and cried, “Woo! Victory baby! Time to go home and crack open some frosty brews!”

Cole grabbed the paddle and moved the canoe a few feet towards where the explosion had occurred moments earlier.

“Something isn’t right,” Cole said.

“You think so?” Sharon shouted out.

“That was just way too…easy.”

“You’re over thinking it, bro!” Rusty hollered. “That sucker’s dead, ya hear? Deader than the night life in Amish country, he’s deader than Elvis!”

“I don’t know,” Cole said.

“Forget about it!” Rusty yelled. “Let’s go kick back and as soon as this storm is over we’ll find his carcass and use it to make some belts, some shoes, maybe some alligator handbags for the ladies.”

“I could go for an alligator handbag,” Maude said.

“No thanks,” Sharon said. “I only do designer.”

Cole sat in the canoe in silence for another minute or so. “Huh,” he said as he picked up the paddle. “Maybe he really is…


Skippy erupted out of the water and grabbed the side of the canoe with his sharp claws. He snapped his jaws up and down in Cole’s direction, wanting nothing more than to get the great hunter between his teeth, down his throat and into his belt.

Cole thought fast and jammed the oar vertically between Skippy’s jaws, preventing the monster from closing its mouth. This slowed Skippy down, though Cole quickly noticed that the oar was beginning to crack and bend under the pressure.


Cole yanked the chainsaw’s starter cord again. Rung-nah-nah-nah-nah…..

“Come on, God!” Cole shouted at the sky. “If you ever cared about me, please! Make this thing start!”

He pulled the cord again. Rung-nah-nah-nah….

SNAP! The oar broke in two. Skippy spit the pieces out and lunged forward. The canoe was starting to go down. Cole could feel water spilling into his shoes, water that was entering the canoe as Skippy pressed down on it with his formidable bulk.

He gave the cord one last try. Rung-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-NUNG-NUNG-NUNG-NUNG-NUNG!

The chainsaw motor was humming now. The chain turned at a rapid pace, and not a second too soon, for Cole barely prevented himself from becoming gator chow by ramming the blade right into Skippy’s mouth. Sparks flew off of Skippy’s teeth as they connected with the blade.

Up top, the gang watched in horror as their beloved hero staved off the creature.

“You got another missile, Felix?” Rusty asked.

“Errm, errm,” Felix said.

“Shit,” Rusty said.

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #11


KURT MANLEY: We’re sticking with our coverage of the epic showdown between Cole Walker, the ex-police chief from Sitwell, Florida with an allegedly small penis and the toilet gator responsible for a recent spate of bathroom homicides in the Southern Florida. I’d also like to thank infamous rapper Stank Daddy for sticking with me throughout this coverage.

STANK DADDY: Aint no thang.

(Grainy footage plays. It is from Walter’s point of view on top of the hardware store, looking down into the street below).

KURT MANLEY: As if the stakes weren’t high enough, it would appear that Southern Florida is getting pounded by Hurricane Dakota Rothschild harder than a Tijuana street hooker on payday and…I’m sorry. Stank Daddy, is that racist?


KURT MANLEY: Is it racist for me to liken the damage done to a community by a hurricane to the damage down to an impoverished Mexican prostitute’s cooter by the old John Thomas of a man reeking of bourbon and bad decisions, willing to spend his hard earned pay on the sexual gratification that so eludes him elsewhere in his sad, tired, pathetic life?

STANK DADDY: Shit, I dunno. Why you asking me that for?

KURT MANLEY: Because…um…you know…

STANK DADDY: I know what?

KURT MANLEY: Come on man. Don’t do this to me on air.

STANK DADDY: What? ‘Cuz I’m black?


STANK DADDY: What, ‘cuz I’m black that means I’m the grand arbiter and official decider of what is and isn’t racist? Man, you need to get yo’ ass to some sensitivity training or something.

KURT MANLEY: I’m so sorry. I just…

STANK DADDY: (laughs) Nah, I’m just messin’ with you man. Yeah, that’s racist as hell but shit, of all the offenses you cracka have pulled on all the colored peoples of the world, that one’s so low on our priority list it probably won’t even register.

(Kurt breathes a sigh of relief and adjusts his tie.)

KURT MANLEY: Phew! Off the hook. Back to the coverage, we can see on this feed that Cole Walker is paddling his canoe down the street, apparently trying to get away from something…

STANK DADDY: There it is!


STANK DADDY: You don’t see that alligator’s two eyes and his big ass head poppin’ out of the water?

KURT MANLEY: (squints at monitor) I think so…I…

STANK DADDY: Damn Kurt Manley. You need to get yo ass to an eye doctor or drink some carrot juice or some shit.

KURT MANLEY: Oh, I see it now! Yes, it would appear the toilet gator’s body is mostly submerged underwater and he is approximately twenty feet away from Walker’s canoe. The alligator is closing in aggressively though.

STANK DADDY: That dude’s about to get his ass ate, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Interesting sidenote, Vegas oddsmakers put Cole Walker’s chances of defeating the toilet gator at 100,000 to 1.

STANK DADDY: Those are some whack ass odds, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: That they are, Stank Daddy. That they are.

(Camera view shifts from the flooded street to the rooftop, where Natalie Brock is standing next Felix, who is aiming his Javelin at the toilet gator. Both individuals are wet, their hair blowing through the vicious winds.)

KURT MANLEY: What in the name of Walter Cronkite’s left nut is going on here?! I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. This is a disgrace and below the dignity of this fine network. Natalie! Are you there?

(Natalie presses two fingers against her earpiece. The footage cuts in and out and Natalie’s voice is garbled due to weather interference.)

NATALIE BROCK: I’m…bzzzt…here….bssshhht….Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Natalie, would you care to explain to our loyal viewers why you’re appearing on national television without being hot, or blonde, or having big titties?

NATALIE BROCK: Up…bsshhht….your….butt….bzzzttt….with a….bssskkk…coconut.

KURT MANLEY: I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. Natalie Brock is truly an incompetent reporter. First she tells lies and doctors up phony recordings of me, America’s favorite anchorman and now she can’t even bring us a quality feed.

STANK DADDY: Man, you ought to lay off the girl. She’s out there bustin’ her ass in a damn hurricane bringing the world footage of a dope ass man vs. toilet gator battle royale.
KURT MANLEY: But look at her! She’s hideous!

STANK DADDY: Eh, she ain’t no Countess Cucamonga or even a Lady Cyanide but shit, slap a little makeup on her and I could probably turn her out on the street and make a few bills off her ass easy.

KURT MANLEY: Whatever. This is ridiculous. Natalie, please, order your cameraman to take the camera off you and don’t appear on screen again until you’ve put a paper bag over your wretched horse face.

STANK DADDY: That’s cold, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Seriously. Every time I look at her I don’t know whether to say “hello” or click make a clicking sound and offer her an apple. Now, getting back to…wait…what is happening?

STANK DADDY: Oh shit, she’s giving you the middle finger, Kurt. That Natalie Brock is one feisty ass bitch, I’ll give her that.

KURT MANLEY: No. What is that man doing?

STANK DADDY: Oh. Looks like he’s about to fire off a big ass bazooka or some shit, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: A bazooka? Where would the average man even find such a weapon?

STANK DADDY: Aw shit, it aint that hard. My boy Darius from back around the way will trade you six bazookas for a carton of cigarettes and a box of old porno mags. He prefers anything circa 1970s, the bushier the better.

KURT MANLEY: This is about to get interesting ladies and gentlemen. Is this the end for the nefarious toilet gator? Drop that remote and stick around because Network News One will be covering this showdown to end all showdowns in its entirety. Man or beast? Who will win?

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 104


An old tarp flapped in the breeze on the roof of the hardware store. Whatever was stowed away underneath it, it was of considerable size. Rain pelted it and ran off onto the gravel that covered the top of the building.

“Will you get that camera out of my face?” Sharon asked.

Walter kept rolling.

“We have to document this!” Natalie snapped. “This is the biggest story since…since…I don’t think there’s ever been anything this big!”

Burt and Rusty set the canoe down.

“The hell do you think he wanted this for?” Burt asked.

“Beats me,” Rusty replied.

The door leading to the roof swung open and Cole rushed through it, chainsaw in one hand, Angry Barracuda in the other. “He’s coming! He’s coming!”

Skippy’s terrifying “ROAR!” bellowed up through the stairwell and up into the open air.

“Get back!” Cole cried as he pushed everyone aside. He jumped into the canoe and looked up at Rusty. “Throw me off!”

Rusty was puzzled. “What?”

“RAARGA!” Skippy bashed through the door and bared his teeth.

“He just wants me!” Cole shouted. “Throw me off!”

Burt grabbed one end of the canoe while Rusty grabbed the other. They carried the canoe and passenger over to the side of the roof and then started to swing the load back and forth as they counted. “1…2…”

Sharon cocked her shotgun and fired at Skippy. The gator charged right through the blast, hellbent on grinding Cole between his jaws.

“Cole,” Sharon said. “I hope you know what you’re doing!”

“I don’t but I’ve got to do something!” Cole replied.

“I love you!” Sharon shouted.

“I love you too!” Cole replied.

“Gag!” Rusty said.

“Pussy!” Maude added.

“Throw me already!” Cole demanded.

Rusty and Burt cried out in unison, “3!” They let go of the canoe on the final outward swing and watched as Cole and the canoe separated on the way down. Skippy bypassed everyone on the roof and jumped after Cole. The gang crowded around the roof as Cole, the canoe, and the gator each landed in the water with a splash.

The rain and wind made it difficult to see much of anything below.

“Did he make it?” Sharon asked frantically. “Rusty! Did he make it!”

“I don’t know,” Rusty said.

“Oh God,” Sharon said. “He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.”

Rusty looked away. “This is hopeless. Maybe we should just give up.”

The tarp was pushed to the sign and a shadowy silhouette emerged out from under it, carrying a very large object in his hands. The gang did not notice this newcomer until he was standing right next to them.

He began to speak. “At times like these, I’m reminded of the words that the great Winston Churchill once uttered in an effort to give his people hope at a time when the Nazi scourge made the cause of freedom in Europe seem hopeless.”

Rusty stared at the man in shock. “What the?”

“Those words, applied to our present day situation would be, ‘Even though large tracts of our town have fallen under the grip of the toilet gator and all the odious apparatus of toilet gator rule, we shall not flag or fail.”

Burt looked at the man. “I’ll be damned.”

The mystery man continued. “We shall go on to the end, we shall fight the toilet gator in Sitwell. We shall fight the toilet gator on the seas and oceans. We shall fight the toilet gator with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our town against the toilet gator, whatever the cost may be.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maude said.

“We shall fight the toilet gator on the beaches. We shall fight the toilet gator on the landing grounds. We shall fight the toilet gator in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight the toilet gator in the hills. We shall never surrender against the toilet gator.”

The man looked over the side of the roof and pointed out Cole, who was, at that very moment, pulling himself out of the water and into the canoe. Despite the rain and wind battering their faces, the gang cheered and applauded.

“And even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this town or a large part of it were subjugated and starving under toilet gator rule, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by our noble fleet, would carry on the struggle against the toilet gator, until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old against toilet gator oppression.”

Sharon put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Felix. That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Errm,” Felix said.

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Search Engine Optimized Poet – An Ode to Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 35 Cents

:::Bongo Drum Beats:::

Hey there all you hep cats and hep kittens. Come on down to the East Randomtown Java Bean, where the poets always stink and the cups are never clean.

Next on the mic is the one and only Search Engine Optimized Poet…the only rhyme-smith whose beats bring in the web searchers’ feets, ya dig?

BQB’s latest royalty earnings report for BQB’s Writing Prompts.

Screen Shot 2017-06-17 at 10.37.52 AM


35 cents!  Whoa, 35 cents!

BQB’s book sales profits are incredibly immense!

What will he buy, with 35 cents?

The possibilities are long and intense!

A fence?  To put around BQB HQ to keep out his legions of fans?

Sands, tropical sands, and the best laid plans of mouses and mans.

Jams!  BQB, make your jelly shake…

At the thought of the 35 cents you just did make.

You can now bake…35% of a cake.

Or sleep in a motel room for 35% of the time until you do wake.

Snake.  You could probably buy a serpent.

Or a few flakes of off brand laundry detergent.

Insurgent.  The lady who wrote that made much more than you.

But don’t feel bad, for 35 cents is better than a pile of poo.

That’ll do pig, that’ll do.  It’s what the farmer said to Babe.  I thought you knew.

Didn’t you?  Didn’t you already spend your 35 cents on a stick of gum?

Maybe you should just spread good will and give your 35 cents to a bum.


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Toilet Gator – Chapter 103


WHAM, WHAM, WHAM! Skippy head butted the glass window of Pemberton’s Hardware store until the tiniest crack formed and a slow but steady trickle of water poured onto the floor.

“That’ll never hold,” Sharon said.

Cole pounded his thumb down on the detonator button, yet the alligator remained intact. “Damn this thing!”

The great hunter looked around the store, putting his mind to work on what could be used to extricate everyone from this dismal state. He saw a canoe.

“Rusty, Burt! Get that upstairs now!”

“Sure thing, boss,” Rusty said.

“We’re on it,” Burt added.

“Sharon,” Cole said. “Get Maude upstairs.”

“Cole,” Sharon said. “What are you..”

WHAM! Skippy was getting angrier and that crack was getting bigger. More water trickled in.

“No time to explain!”

Sharon nodded and put her arm around Maude, nudging her toward a stairwell located behind the counter. Maude shook Sharon’s arm off. “Unhand me, woman! I’m fine.”

Cole checked the chamber of his Angry Barracuda. One bullet left. He would need to make it count. He grabbed a menacing looking chainsaw with an extra long blade, then searched the store frantically until he found a gas can behind the counter. He used it to fill up the chainsaw, then grabbed a piece of rope.

SMASH! The store window was obliterated, and shards of glass sprayed all over as water gushed in, flooding the entire bottom floor. Cole narrowly escaped being swept away as he headed upstairs.

Skippy swam inside and looked around for his target. He’d grown a visceral hatred of Cole and wanted him dead. Seeing his opponent nowhere, he roared out of sheer frustration, then waddled upstairs.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 102


Skippy was stunned, but not down for the count yet. He reeled from the explosion, which bought the gang just enough time to retreat into Pemberton’s Hardware store. After Sharon picked the lock, everyone ran inside and hid behind the counter. Their clothes were sopping wet, dripping water all over the floor.

“Are you going to be ok without your oxygen, my little cumquat?” Burt asked

“Cumquat?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Maude replied. “I can’t go all day without it but I should be fine for a few hours, my handsome stallion.”

“Handsome stallion?” Cole looked to Rusty. “When did that happen?”

“Last night,” Rusty said. “Oh, by the way, good job Burt.”

Burt and Rusty exchanged a high-five.

“Nothing stops him,” Sharon said. “We’ve tried bullets, grenades, trucks, explosives.”

“Speaking of that,” Cole said as he pulled the detonator stick out of his pocket and pressed the red button a bunch of times. “Moses really screwed the pooch here.”

“What a pussy,” Rusty said. “Turning tail and running out on us in our time of need.”

“I don’t know,” Cole said as he pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Moses. “Why…won’t…C4…work…and…failure to send. Shit, Hurricane Dakota Rothschild has shut everything down.”

“Just like a rich socialite bitch,” Rusty said. “Everything is about her.”

The gang took an hour. They rested. Dozed off. Loaded their weapons. Raided the hardware store for supplies. They even helped themselves to some beef jerky and chips set up near the counter in an impulse buy display.

“What’s next, fearless leader?” Rusty asked.

Cole stepped over to the store’s front window. The complete lower half of the building was now submerged in water. Parked cars, downed utility poles, assorted debris, everything out on the street looked as though it had been magically transported to the bottom of the ocean.

“The hurricane to end all hurricanes,” Cole said.

“At the same time as the gator to end all gators,” Rusty added.

“Just our luck,” Sharon said.

Cole draped his arm around Sharon’s shoulder and looked out at the town underwater. “Story of our life, babe. If it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sharon said. “I feel lucky to have you.”

“Gag,” Rusty said.

“Pussy!” Maude shouted.

“Yeah, Cole!” Burt said. “You big pussy!”

Cole glared at Burt.

“What?” Burt said. “Sorry. I just wanted in on the fun.”

“Look people,” Cole said. “Sharon and I are back together. Anyone got a problem with that?”

Maude pulled out a flask and took a swig. “No problem. It’s your life. I just think you’re a pussy for taking her back is all.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Cole said. “We’ll explain when Mother Nature and a thunder lizard aren’t conspiring to destroy us, OK?”

Rusty squinted into the grimy water through the store’s dirty glass. “Where the hell did old snappy jaws go anyway?”

“Good question,” Sharon said. “I don’t see him.”

“You think he’s gone?” Rusty asked.

Maude emitted a boozy burp. “That sucker ran away with his tail between his legs. Probably half way to Cuba by now.”

“I don’t know,” Cole said as he stared into the water. “Something about this doesn’t seem…”

WHAM! Out of nowhere, Skippy pounded his head into the window and roared. The gang let out a collective scream. “Ack!”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 101


The Diablo and Burt’s rig had come to a stop. Burt jumped out of the cab as Rusty popped his head in and passed Cole his spare prosthetic leg, an extra pair of pants, and the Angry Barracuda, all three of which had been stowed away in the sports car’s trunk..

“Is she alright?” Cole asked.

“Don’t know,” Rusty answered. “I’ll check.”

Outside, Sharon brushed wet strands of hair out of her face and squinted through the rain to see the toilet gator on top of the overturned cab, scratching at the driver’s side door with his claws.

“Maude?” Sharon asked into her bluetooth headset as she cocked a pump-action shotgun.

The old lady’s response was feint and staticky in Sharon’s ear. “Ugh…bzzt…bsshhhk.”

Sharon fired a shot at the gator’s scaly hide. “You want some of this, you big green son of a bitch?”

Skippy turned his head at Sharon, hissed loudly in her general direction, then bashed his claw through Maude’s window.

“Hey!” Rusty shouted as he took a few shots at the gator with the SAW. “Gator! You don’t want that old gal! Got some young fresh meat, right here!”

Burt pulled a Beretta out of an ankle holster and fired at the beast as well.

Cole jumped out of the rig with his new leg and fresh pants on only to splash into a foot of water. The H20 was piling up in the street faster than the storm drains could get rid of it. A flood was imminent.

“Felix,” Cole said. “Have you been tracking us?”

“Errm,” Felix said.

“Can you get to this location?” Cole asked.

“Errm,” Felix said.

Cole joined Rusty and Sharon in shooting at the gator.

“This is unreal!” Sharon shouted.

“It’s like we’re tickling him!” Rusty added.

“Gator!” Cole yelled as he squeezed off a round at Skippy. “Come get me!”

Skippy looked at Cole and seethed with rage.

“Come you limp dicked, glorified iguana!” Cole said as he fired another shot. “You don’t stand a chance against me!”

Skippy took the bait. He leapt off the rig and made a big splash as he landed in the flooded street, making a big splash. He charged towards Cole, baring his big sharp teeth. Cole raised his firearm and squeezed the trigger. Click! He was out of bullets.

The great hunter closed his eyes and held his breathe. Cole figured this was it. This was the way he would die, as a delicious meal for a serial killing, sewer dwelling, oversized alligator.

Thump! An oxygen tank landed on Skippy’s head! Blam! The tank was pierced by a bullet, setting off a glorious explosion right on top of the monster’s noggin. Cole looked up to see Maude poking up out of the window of the overturned rig with a smoking revolver in her hand.

“You think you could kill me you fat scaly bastard?” Maude shouted. “I’ve had three kids and I’ve been through menopause!”

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