Tag Archives: sex

Millenial Strippers are the Worst

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

Just wanted to give you 3.5 readers a handy tip – if you’re thinking about going to a strip club, don’t bother.

Now honestly, that’s been good advice for a long time, no matter the time period.  You get sad, a strange woman briefly slaps you in the face with her knockers, you feel better for five minutes but then ultimately, you’d of been better of if you’d of saved your money.  That money in a bank account with compounding interest would have done more for you than using it to pay for a brief breast slap to the face, fun as that may be.

But according to my colleague, the Alleged Man i.e. the man that people think pretends to be me and all the other characters on this illustrious site, strip clubs are pretty much a big let down these days because millennial strippers are the worst.

AM used to visit strip clubs when he was younger and he advises that the Generation X strippers were really a bunch of go-getters.  You’d walk into the joint and within 5 minutes they’d be sitting on your lap, offering you lap dances, doing yeoman’s work to use their giant fake breasts to convince you to part with your hard earned cash.

Hell, many of them were even pests about it.  AM recalls many an occasion when he just wanted to hang out and not spend much money and ogle the stripper on the pole while nursing a drink all night.  Gen X strippers would pester him for lap dances.  AM would say no, sorry, he’s all out of money.  But the savvy, hard working Gen X strippers would be all like, “Oh, you know we have an ATM…oh, you know, we take credit cards, oh you know, there’s a place nearby that will cash a check, oh you know you could do this, or that…”

I mean really, the Gen X strippers went the extra mile.  Sometimes the AM felt like any second they were going to put on a green eye shade and pull out a calculator and like a used car salesman trying to close a deal, say, “What’s it going to take to put my butt on your lap today?”

AM stopped that though.  Too expensive.  Bad habit really.  He grew up and learned money in the bank is worth more than a brief dalliance with a skank.  (That rhymed.)

But he felt sad lately and visited one and he is sad to say that millennial strippers are the worst.

First, they all choose their stripper names based on pop culture.  “Chastity” and “Misty” and “Amber” are all gone.  Now it’s all, “Coming up on the main stage, Khaleesi!”  Seriously.  Khaleesi.  Oh and Elsa.  A lot of Frozen and Game of Thrones fans among the millennial stripper community apparently.

Second, the work ethic is gone.  While those Generation X strippers would descend upon AM and get him on his way in no time, leaving him briefly enticed followed by sad and broke, the millennial strippers just mill about on their cell phones.  They text, they do social media, they take selfies, they talk to each other, play phone games, everything but get out there and earn some green from all the losers who have come in willing to part with their cash to the first pretty face they see.

I mean, really, AM had half a mind to raise his hand and say, “Excuse me, what do I have to do to spend an absurd amount of money to get slapped in the face with a pair of bosoms around here?”

Yes, AM misses the days of the early 2000s when Generation X strippers really worked hard for those dirty, wrinkly, sweaty dollar bills.  Sadly, like every other group within the millennial generation, millennial strippers just think the dirty, wrinkly sweaty dollar bills are going to magically pop into their G-strings without doing all the leg work…or grind work or what have you.

Oh, FYI my lawyer says to tell you this is just a story, a musing, none of this happened.  AM is a teetotalling bible studier and he spends most of his free time studying the bible and washing leper feet.  The only way he’d ever go to a strip club would be to tell the strippers to repent, pray for their souls and beg for the Lord’s forgiveness and to find a more dignified means of supporting themselves.









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The Male Biological Clock is Real

Hey 3.5 readers.

My best buddy, “The Alleged Man” or the person everyone thinks is me but isn’t, has been pretty bummed as of late.

See, he’s 38, and since 35 the realization has been a slow trickle, now turning into a busted water faucet of a realization that his window to father children is getting narrower and narrower.

In theory, yes, if you can squeeze out some joy juice out of a one hundred year old man, you might be able to use it to knock up a chick.  However, that 100 year old still needs to get the go ahead from a young, fertile chick…because, you know, otherwise he’d be a centenarian rapist.

NOTE TO SELF:  “Centenarian Rapist” would be an awesome title for my next book.  TAGLINE: He raped his way through the Great Depression and two world wars, now he’s raping his way into the grave.  Begin plans for a 99 Design cover contest posthaste.

Back to the point.  Do things look grim for this stud muffin?  Should he just slap himself for not working harder to impregnate a chick in his early days, then forgive himself an accept his spawn-less existence?

I mean, our own 45th POTUS managed to knock up a hot younger woman at age 60 but, you know, he’s super rich and famous and also the POTUS and also has fantastic hair and I have heard rumors that he is often talked about on the news for some reason.

But do keep in mind AM not rich or famous or the POTUS.  That probably won’t happen until I release “Son of Toilet Gator” and then everyone will be all like “Oh AM you’re so super awesome, please impregnate all the women, yay.”

Yeah, yeah, forget pity and condolences about “Hey, Alleged Man, maybe you can adopt or maybe you’ll meet a babe with kids of her own and the Dad has skipped town.”

The Alleged Man is wondering about his chances of actually getting his swimmers past the fallopian goal line.

Sadly, the “Sell a Billion Copies of Toilet Gator and impregnate a gold digging supermodel” looks like it is still years away from coming to fruition.

Plus, AM recently read something about how the older you get, the worse your sperm gets.  AM is now highly concerned that a microscopic slide of his jism would bear a striking resemblance to a bunch of tiny tadpoles slapping each other around like the Three Stooges.  Nyuk nyuk.


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BQB’s Ultimate 1990s Fap List


Behold!  In no particular order, the list of babes I was tossing the old pickle around to while Bill Clinton was president:

#1 – Sarah Michelle Gellar – Buffy fap.

#2 – Britney Spears – Hit me baby one more fap.

#3 – Christina Applegate – Kelly Bundy fap.

#4 – Alicia Silverstone – Clueless Batgirl fap.

#5 – Jenna Jameson – First porn superstar fap.

#6 – Pamela Andersen – Baywatch fap.

#7 – Anna Nicole Smith – Ridiculously big bazongas.  RIP fap.  Too soon, too soon.

#8 – Britney Murphy – Another fap gone too soon.  Why, God, why?

#9 – Tia Carerre – Wayne’s World.  Deserved a longer career fap.  Should still be in movies now far.

#10 – Asia Carerre – Tia Carerre knockoff porn star fap.  Tia should have sued.

#11 – Jennifer Love Hewitt – Or as we called her in the 90s, “Jennifer Love Huge Tits.”  Ha! Now that’s good satire, fap.

#12 – Sandra Bullock – Speed fap.  Don’t let the bus slow down fap.  Hot chick but still approachable fap.

#13 – Drew Barrymore – Hollywood royalty fap.

#14 – Sharon Stone – First vagina in a major film fap.  Scares police detectives with her vagina fap.

#15 – Uma Thurman – Pulp Faption.

#16 – Kate Winslet – Killed Jack by hogging the board, got old, threw the necklace off the boat instead of selling it to help impoverished niece selfish bitch fap.

#17 – Jewel – Crooked teeth yet still hot fap.

#18 – Christina Aguilera – Hits the high notes fap.

#19 – Beyonce – I’m a survivor fap.  (Add in Kelly and Michelle for a Destiny’s Fap.)

#20 – Gwen Stefani – I’m just a girl fap.

#21 – Whitney Houston – I’m every woman fap.

#22  – Shania Twain – That doesn’t impress my fap much.

#23 – Reese Witherspoon – Cruel Faptentions.

#24 – Claire Danes – Romeo and Juliet.  “But soft, what light through yonder window faps?”

#25 – Michelle Williams – Town slut Jen Lindley fap.

#26 – The Spice Girls – “Oh, I’ll tell you what I fap, what I really, really fap!”

#27 – Winona Ryder – Goth fap.

#28 – Tiffani Amber Thiessen – Saved by the Fap Bell.  (We would have also accepted “Kelly Fapowski.”)

#29 – Katie Holmes – Girl next door fap.  Sigh, girl that got away fap.  Double sigh, girl wasted on Tom Cruise fap.

#30 – Cindy Crawford – Supermodel fap.

#31 – Jennifer Aniston – The Rachel fap.

#32 – Neve Campbell – Scream fap.

#33 – Paul Abdul – “Straight up now tell me, do you really wanna fap to me forever?”  SPOILER ALERT: Yes.

#34 – Julia Stiles – 10 Faps I Fap About You

#35 – Madonna – 1990s cone bra phase fap.

#36 – Julia Roberts – Steel Fapnolias

#37 – Fiona Apple – More like Fiona Fapple, am I right?

#38 – Monica Lewinsky – Brought down the leader of the free world with her fapworthiness.

#39 – Elizabeth Hurley – British fap

#40 – Yasmine Bleeth – Baywatch fap.

#41 – Lucy Lawless – Xena, Warrior Fap Princess

#42 – Jenny McCarthy – Singled Out fap.

#43 – Liv Tyler – Steve’s long lost daughter fap.  Also, Fappageddon.

#44 – Kerri Russell – Faplicity.

#45 – Shannon Elizabeth – American Pie fap.

#46 – Elizabeth Berkley – Showgirls fap.  (Seriously, like every 1990s boy including myself snuck out to the video store to rent that movie, secret it home under cover of darkness and slip it in the old VCR while Mom and Dad went to bed.)

#47 – Janet Jackson – Nasty boys, don’t even fap.  Oh you nasty boys.

#48 – Carmen Electra – Invented being famous for no reason long before Kim Kardashian did fap.

#49 – Charlize Theron – Gets more fappable with age.

#50 – Michelle Pfeiffer – Catwoman fap.

#51 – Cameron Diaz – There’s Something Fappable About Mary.

#52 – Denise Richards – Starship Fappers

#53 – Rebecca Gayheart – Noxzema fap.

#54 – Heather Graham – Roller Girl fap.

#55 – Alyssa Milano – Who’s the Boss of My Fap?  Charmed fap.

TO BE CONTINUED – Did I miss a fap worthy 1990s babe?  Add your favorites to the comments.



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Daily Discussion with BQB – BQB’s Crazy Dream

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

So I had a crazy dream last night.  Here’s how it all went down.

I dreamed there was a TV show where Tom Hanks was a billionaire.  Then there’s this woman who has been down on her luck a long time.  She’s gone to job interview after job interview and no one will hire her.

Finally, she somehow talks Tom Hanks into hiring her to run a start up Internet company.  Tom buys an old historic mansion with lots of charm to serve as the startup company’s headquarters.

The problem is that this woman knows absolutely nothing about the Internet or technology or anything.  She wonders if she’s in too deep but doesn’t say anything because she is dirt broke and needs the money.

But the problem is she doesn’t know what to do with herself while she’s at work because it’s not like she knows how to do anything, so she just starts having sex with her coworkers all day.

Meanwhile, her coworkers know about the Internet and technology and stuff but since their dumb, incompetent boss isn’t really making them do anything, they all start having sex with each other all day.

So it sort of descends into this dirty, cable dramatic sitcom where Tom Hanks is paying all these people to launch an Internet business for him but instead, they’re just all having sex in this fabulous mansion all day.

Occasionally, Tom will stop by the mansion and be all like, “Hey, how’s my new business doing?”

And all the sex perverts will be all like, “Yeah Tom, it’s all going great!”

Then he leaves and they all go back to having sex.

I didn’t dream far enough but I assume that either all these sex perverts eventually get caught by Tom when they fail at the business or maybe, by some miracle, they stumble into actually starting a great Internet business by accident, somewhere during the breaks between sex escapades.

By the way, in my dream, I was watching this show.  Like I was watching it all happen and my mind kept switching from its real to its a show.

And you know what?  It’s about as good as anything else that’s on TV so I’m just going to put this one out there.  If anyone wants to put this on television just drop me a comment and I’ll tell you how to back the Brinks truck up to BQB HQ for my TV development fee.

Have you ever had a crazy dream, 3.5 readers?  Discuss in the comments.

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Things I Worry About with Lloyd Bunson – Sex and Boogers


Lloyd Bunson, Professional Worrier

Hello 3.5 readers.

Are you a worry wart like me?  I’m so worried that don’t worry and thus you’ll find my worries trite and boring.  But then again, maybe you do worry as much as me and in fact, telling you about my worries will only add to your long list of worries!

Oh, so much to worry about!

Here are my latest worries:


I worry that one day, I will forget to drink enough liquids and will dry up like a sponge left out in the sun.  Worse, maybe I’ll just turn to dust and all of my little dust particles will fly away.

I once thought that carrying a bottle of water with me wherever I go would solve the problem.  That way, I never have to worry that I won’t be able to find a drink when I’m thirsty.  I’m a hundred percent certain that if I don’t get any water into me at the exact second I feel thirsty, I will turn into a dry sponge, or dust, or worse, a dry, dusty sponge.

But then I nixed the water bottle idea because, you know, what if I drink too much water and can’t find a bathroom?  Then my bladder will surely explode in a horrifying manner, raining bloody bits and pieces of my shredded bladder all over everyone in the blast radius.  I’ll be dead and everyone around me will be traumatized, all because I worried so much about dehydration.

So then I figured I’d split the difference.  I’ll carry a bottle of water AND I’ll pee in the empty bottle if I can’t find a bathroom.  However, I became concerned that I might be arrested for public lewdness.

Sadly, I don’t think I will ever find a solution to this problem.


I always worry that I might tip too much or too little.

What if the waiter is trying to make rent this month and I tip too little?  This person will end out in the street, turning tricks for cents on the dollar, all because of my lousy math skills.

But what if I tip too much?  Then this waiter will get used to it.  He’ll stop trying hard.  He’ll assume he can just coast by and everyone will give him a big tip.  He’ll never move up to management.  He’ll end up being a seventy year old waiter.

So, I just don’t go out to eat anymore.  I cook all my meals out home, then I serve them to myself.  Then I worry a lot about what I should tip myself.  Sure, it’s my own money, but I still want to do right by myself.

Picking Boogers

Sometimes I’ll feel a booger lodged in my nose.  I’ll start to pick it, but then I become very concerned that I’ll push my finger up my nasal cavity with so much force that I’ll end up stabbing myself in the brain.  So I stop.

Then I start worrying that the booger is cutting off my supply of oxygen and will surely cause me to suffocate.  So I start picking again.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Sexually Transmitted Diseases

I worry I’ll die alone, so I get out there on the dating scene and try to mix and mingle.

Once in awhile I’ll meet a woman.  She’ll invite me back to her place but I have no idea about this woman’s sexual history.  It’s rude to ask and even I were to ask, how do I know she’s not a pathological liar pretending to be clean and pure when in fact, she’s made her way through the entire NFL?

So, I always insist on wrapping my entire body with garbage bags, and then wrapping the woman’s entire body with garbage bags before we cuddle.  So there we will be, cuddling in our garbage bags and sure enough, she’ll want to touch my little Lloyd Bunson.

Am I really supposed to let her touch it with her vagina?  Do you have any idea how many germs are in one of those things?  It boggles my mind to think about it.

So that’s the point where I usually run out of the building and down the street, still wearing all those garbage bags with my arms flailing around while I’m screaming out of sheer terror at the top of my lungs.

Eventually, I get home and I sit there on the couch in complete solitude.  My concerns about STDs fade and my concerns about being alone return.

I suppose one of these days I will have to touch one of those vaginas.  I just hope I can find one that isn’t too germy.  Surely, the right woman will submit to a battery of invasive vaginal germ tests.

Your Worries

Do you have any ridiculous worries?  I’m really worried that you’ll share them in the comments and then I’ll have no idea what to say.

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Go Topless Day


Happy Sunday 3.5 readers.

Fun fact: today is International Go Topless Day.

I’m not sure I should link to information about this holiday because that would warp your degenerate minds.

Needless to say, there are women who believe it is discriminatory that men get to walk around topless and they don’t. So they have parades and events and stuff where they let their fun bags fly free.

Ehh…of all the causes out there I’m not sure there’s a whole lot of opposition.  I don’t think you’ll find a lot of men saying, “No!  No I do not want to see those boobs!  Cover up those boobs!”

Although personally as a man, I can tell you that we men often view easily viewed boobs as some sort of trap, kind of like Lucy holding the football only to yank it away and laugh when Charlie Brown runs up to kick it.

I assume (though don’t get mad at me if you think this is assumption is wrong because I don’t I’m just talking at random here) there are probably some women who’d whip the ole sweater cannons out only to be all like “How dare you stare at my sweater cannons?!” if a man stares at them.

Am I in favor of this holiday? Well, sure. I don’t mind free range boobs.  I’d probably still sneak glances because like I said, typically seeing boobs requires copious amounts of effort so when they’re easily seen my mind is trained to think something’s up, but at any rate if adult women want to let it all hang out, they won’t get any argument from me.

Then again, I can also see the argument many might have that this is a slippery slope.  Should men be allowed to let their junk hang out?  Should we all be able to go pantsless and let our cheeks flap in the breeze?

Maybe we should. Maybe thats how we were made. Maybe we should all revert to Garden of Eden pre-Eve apple munch days when we were all innocent and frolicked in the sun in our birthday suits.

Then again, clothes do serve a purpose.  They keep us warm.  They keep us from leaving skid marks on publicly used seats.  They keep us from getting our germs all over supermarket produce. I’m not sure how that works.  Germs leap off your butt and onto the cucumbers.  For a better explanation, you’ll have to conduct noted scientist Dr. Hugo Von Science.

Heck, clothes probably even keep our junk from getting slammed in car doors more than we realize.

And there are probably some people who might get offended by the boobs.  Maybe they’re trying to take their kids for a walk and don’t want to cover their eyes the whole time.  Maybe there are enough boobs in Congress already that we have to see on the news 24/7.

Perhaps we could limit free range hooters to nude beaches.  Getting some sun on those things is the only real reason to turn them loose outside anyway, right?

Oh but then again if you limit it to certain beaches then that would be like creating boob internment camps right?  Never again, man. Never again.

And finally, I consider myself a philosopher.  During my many years of Shaolin training, my master used to ask me, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to see it, does it make a sound?”

That’s a question designed to train the mind to tackle complexity.  Very hard to answer.

Similarly, if boobs are hanging out, but men don’t stare at them because they don’t want to get arrested for First Degree Boob Staring, then were the boobs ever out to begin with?

I don’t know 3.5 readers. ‘Tis a question for the ages.

Women, if you’re celebrating this day, enjoy.

Men, don’t stare. It’s a trap.


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42 Condoms for Every Olympian

I read an article that every Olympian at the Olympics in Brazil is being given 42 condoms to prevent the spread of the Zika virus.

I have many questions.

  • 42? Really? Look I get it. You’re all young and in good shape. You all have a certain amount of fame, some more than others given what sport you’re in. But holy shit.  Don’t you need to be spending some time practicing your shot puts and javelin throws and thirty meter dashes and all that shit?
  • Who decided 42?  Why not 40?  Who thought of 40 and then was like “Well, better throw in two more!”
  • Why not 25?  I mean really, if you’re getting that much you must have some things going for you and at that point you must be able to afford your own condoms.
  • Is this where we’re at now? AIDS isn’t enough to worry about? Now we have to worry about a disease passed by a mosquito bite and then it can be passed further when people dance the horizontal mambo?  Crap. Holy Crap. It’s like there is a grand conspiracy to keep people from doing it.  I blame the mosquito lobby. Big mosquito most be stopped.
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You Can’t Argue With Science – Zika Virus Might Be Spread Via Oral Sex

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: Seeing as how his mind contains a wealth of scientific information that can be shared with my 3.5 readers, I have decided to let bygones be bygones and reinstate Dr. Hugo Von Science as a Bookshelf Battle columnist.

I’m nothing if not a turner of the other cheek.


Dr. Hugo Returns!

Guten tag, Herr 3.5 Readers!

Dr. Hugo Von Science here, finally out of zie dog house with mein old student Bookshelf Q. Battler and ready to educate you once again with mein column, You Can’t Argue With Science!

You really can’t, can you 3.5 readers? A meteor will always have the upper hand no matter what you do.

Perhaps you might remember me from one of mein many fantastic inventions:

  • The Taco-fier – Save the world by turning trash into tacos.  Yummy and delicious tacos? Nein. It just makes taco shells filled with trash. However, I’m confident that I will be able to turn used syringes and condoms into delicious taco meat by 2035. So many cows will be saved.
  • Hat in a Can – Did you forget your hat today? Just spray one on your stupid head. Mold it to whatever kind of hat you want. Spray yourself a derby, a bowler, or a fedora. The government demands I notify you that spray on hats have caused 999 out of 1,000 lab rats to die horrible deaths involving intense seizures and bowel eruptions but please. You’re a human. You’re much stronger than a stupid mouse.
  • Ninja Socks – Put them on your feet and you will be able to perform death defying ninja like kicks! However, you’ll inevitably lose one in the washing machine and then if you only wear one of them you will only be able to kick like a Rockette, which, though impressive, is not as awesome as kicking like a ninja. Don’t split up your ninja socks. They work best as a set.

Undt last but not least…

  • Das Sun Blocker 3000 – Ha ha.  Ha ha….Muah ha ha! Turn over the world’s riches to me or else mein latest invention will block out the sun for 3,000 years! The world will turn into a frozen wasteland and no one will ever wear a swimsuit ever again! (Let’s be honest many of you shouldn’t have been wearing one to begin with and…woopsie! I wasn’t supposed to mention this doohickey just yet.)

Anyhoodles, das Zika virus!

Those pesky little mosquitos have really been wreaking havoc across Brazil, threatening to even ruin the upcoming Olympic Games.

Zika virus can even cause microcephaly which, long story short, can cause women to give birth to babies with small, deformed heads.

Undt now, das news outlets are reporting that scientists believe the virus may even be transmitted through the oral sexenheisen.

To prove that Bookshelf Q. Battler and I have buried das hatchet and set our differences aside, I shall now relay all the jokes that BQB told me when he heard this discovery:

  • Who would blow a mosquito?
  • Great, yet another excuse for women to avoid polishing the pickle.
  • A little head could lead to a baby with a little head. (What? Too soon? Oh stop it and get a sense of humor.)

Finally, 3.5 readers, scientists have even suggested that deep kissing could lead to the Zika virus.

So, as if you all didn’t have enough to worry about, watch out for those mosquitos and also, what you’re putting in your pie hole, you terrible, terrible perverts.

Dr. Hugo Von Science is the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s Science Correspondent, as well as an Esteemed Professor of Science at the Advanced Science Institute of Science University. Additionally, he may or may not be a mad scientist attempting to conquer the world through the power of science in his spare time.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 18


After lunch, Slade and Sarah took a constitutional along the banks of the Mississippi River, which flowed just outside Highwater, hence the town’s name.

They arrived just in time to catch “The Belle of the Ball,” a massive red and white steamboat, make its way down river. Happy passengers toured the deck, men in suits, ladies in full length dresses carrying parasols.

“I would love to take a journey on one of those one day,” Sarah said.

Most quick witted men would have seen that statement as an “in” to slip in an offer to take Sarah on a boat ride. Slade, on the other hand, just grunted.

Sarah took Slade’s arm and rested her head on her shoulder. “At the risk of sounding like a ninny I must say I’ve enjoyed the past few days with you, Rain.”

“Mmm hmm,” Slade replied.

“Have you as well?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I love your quiet confidence,” Sarah said. “Jebediah, oh how awful for me to speak ill of the dead, but he was different…”

Slade just kept watching the steamboat go by, its enormous paddle wheel turning around and around.

“…all he ever wanted to do was talk about his feelings, his worries, his burdens. I did my best as is the place of any good wife but it became so tiresome for me.”

Slade wasn’t sure he liked what he was hearing.

“Men really should be the rock that women lean on, shouldn’t they?” Sarah asked. “All that emotion, so unmanly, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh.”

Slade didn’t mean that “uh huh.” He found himself missing Miss Bonnie more than ever. Deep within his heart, a battle began, between his love for the only woman he was able to drop the macho man act around, and the woman who wanted that macho man. Miss Bonnie took him as he actually was, Sarah was enchanted by the brave face he put on.

But Sarah was there and as the old saying goes, a bird in the hand…

“What are your intentions?” Sarah asked.


“Rain I know we’ve only just met but time passes by so quickly,” Sarah said. “My child birthing years will soon be behind me, and it is rather unseemly for us to be seen carrying on around town without…”

Slade raised a quizzical brow. Sarah took her arm back.

“Perhaps I’m pushing too hard,” Sarah said. “It’s just that…I’m not a hussy, Rain. Handholding, picnicking…”

Sarah looked around to check if there was anyone listening in. Seeing no one, she whispered, “I’ve seen you shirtless!”

“All these things should mean something,” she continued. “I wouldn’t do them with just any man.”

“Uh huh.”

Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Whether its gunslinging or romance, there’s no room for hesitation.

Slade got down on one knee, took Sarah’s hand into his and what came next wasn’t exactly the most theilling proposal ever made, but it got the job done.

“Will ya’?”

Sarah’s eyes welled up. “Yes!”

Overcome with joy, she wrapped herself around Slade, smothering him with kisses, an act she quickly recoiled from.

“We shouldn’t be kissing outside of marriage,” she said. Then after a pause, she pressed her lips against Slade’s for more. “Lord, forgive me just this once.”

They found a rock and sat down. They kissed awhile longer then Sarah began laying out all her plans for the future. The wedding, the children, everything.

“We’ll need a ring to make this official,” she said.

“I got one,” Slade replied, thinking about the ring he once intended for Miss Bonnie. Now it was just gathering dust in his desk drawer back at the Marshal’s office.

Slade ran his off the cuff decision through his head. Was he an idiot? Had he just ruined any chance of ever being with Miss Bonnie or was he smart to shore up a sure thing rather than hold out for a long shot? He did feel affection toward Sarah, but he wasn’t sure if it was love or just appreciation for a woman making it clear she loved him.

The Marshal’s concentration was shot by the blaring of a train whistle. From his vantage point, he could see a locomotive chugging in over the Sturtevant Bridge, pulling a long line of cars behind it.

Emblazoned on the side of each car in bold black letters was one word. “LEGION.”

The door of one of the cars rolled open. Three men cracked open one barrel after another, dumping a steady stream of red liquid straight into the Mississippi.

Sarah was too busy dreaming to pay attention. She missed the whole spectacle.

“If it’s a boy, I’ve always been partial to ‘William.’ What do you think?”


Sarah kissed Rain again. “You’re overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Rain said.

The train headed to Highwater Station. Sarah carried on for awhile longer until Slade interrupted.

“You need to leave your spread for awhile,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?”

“Something’s going on,” Slade explained. “I’m not sure what but I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Sarah grinned and patted Slade’s hand. “You’re incorrigible.”


“You’re a man,” Sarah said. “You…desire…what all men desire but we aren’t married yet, Mr. Slade. Unmarried men and women living together under the same roof would be an abomination in the Lord’s eyes.”

“It’s not that,” Slade said. “There really is…”

Sarah put a finger up against Slade’s lips. “Shhh. I won’t have it. Not another word. Our special day will arrive soon enough and we will get together between the bedsheet and…”

Sarah’s face turned red. “It’s very inappropriate to talk about this.”

Slade felt the situation called for more words than he usually spared. “I’m not talking about that at all. Something sinister is in the works and…wait. Bedsheet?”

“Marriage is until death but there is an interpretation of the good book that indicates that…this is so embarrassing.”

Now Slade wanted to know more than ever.

“That my sinful parts still belong to Jebediah, but the Lord will always approve of a married couple engaging in sexual congress for the purpose of procreation…”

There was a momentary lapse in Slade’s cool demeanor. “Will you spit it out already?!”

Sarah bit her upper lip. “Hence, a hole in a bedsheet.”

Slade felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. A little voice in his head told him to back out of the proposal. Did he really want to limit himself to sex through a hole in a bedsheet for the rest of his life?

But then again, another voice in his head reminded him that sex through a hole in a bedsheet, bland as it sounded, would still be a lot more interesting than the zero activity happening in his boudoir at present.

He went with that voice.

“You’re displeased?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Slade replied.

Sarah’s head was back on Slade’s shoulder. “Such a wonderful man.”

Call it a failure to prioritize, but Slade became so focused on the bedsheet issue to insist any further that Sarah stay in town.

He sucked it up. Maybe in a few years he’d be able to talk her down to a hole in a pillowcase.

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 7 Interview – Gillian Zane – Alpha Male Lessons for BQB


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Today’s guest is Gillian Zane, author of the Nola Zombie Series. Follow the exploits of doomsday prepper Alexis Winter and macho ex-military man Blake Miller as they brave the streets of New Orleans in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, fight for their survival, and do it a whole helluva lot.

“Um…hey guys? Do you know there’s zombies outside and…oh what they hell, have fun you two.”

Filled with “zombies, sex, romance and carnage,” this is a series designed to titillate the senses of the adult reader and thus its only intended for those 18 years and over.

Hello Gillian. I can hear you loud and clear on Alien Jones’ space phone.


Q. I have to admit, when I first heard about the concept of blending the erotic and zombie genres, I was skeptical. How could anyone feel frisky whilst surrounded by hideous killer zombies? But after learning that my group of survivors and I have to go on a desperate, high risk mission to rescue my ex-girlfriend, my current girlfriend got so hot and bothered that she jumped my bones and now I’m a believer.

What is it about a zombie apocalypse that drives people mad with sexual desire? Is danger an aphrodisiac?

A.  The zombie apocalypse is how it takes its form in my world, but basically it’s death in general. Or more importantly facing death. Zombies represent death in it’s basic form. They are walking corpses trying to get you to join them. When faced with death around every corner it is human instinct to survive. This includes sexual reproduction. So, to put it literally, a brush with death is an aphrodisiac.

Combine this with the breakdown of societal norms, a person that was once restrained by moral or societal constraints might find themselves more free to express their sexuality in an apocalypse. There is no one to judge them, shame them for their behavior, even themselves. You have no time to worry if he’ll “respect you in the morning” if you are the only two people left on the planet because everyone else is a zombie.

Q. On Twitter, you state “I write really sexy novels & novellas, with lots of angst and plenty of alpha males.” Are alpha males born or can they be made? I ask this because presently, I’m about as alpha as a puppy dog, but I wouldn’t mind becoming one of those perfect haired muscular stud muffins who grace your book covers. Is there anything I can do to alpha myself up or is it just a lost cause and maybe I should just embrace my usual nerdy demeanor?

A. Even a nerd can be an Alpha male. It’s not about muscles or waxed chests, in fact, most men that I’ve met who have perfectly chiseled abs and waxed bodies are as insecure as they come. The key to becoming an Alpha Male is confidence. Taking charge of a situation instead of sitting back and letting someone else run the show. The reason muscles and chest hair come into play is usually because of the strength aspect. Most alphas are stronger, faster, and bigger than their beta brethren. This is because in the animal world, bigger usually translates for a win. But, a faster, smarter man can always take down a big, dumb, slow loser.

Think David and that Goliath dude. You don’t think David got hoisted up to Alpha status after he took down the Giant? I betcha he never waxed his chest. So, basically there is hope. Pump up that confidence, do a few chin-ups, don’t let people push you around (but don’t be a hot-head) and if you want to be the star of a Romance – it helps to be really good in the sack.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE:  Well, I’m screwed then.

Q. Your series takes place in New Orleans, a city rich with culture and history. When they aren’t killing and/or humping, do your characters get to pass by any of the sights? One of the reasons I’m intrigued is that a New Orleans setting seems like a fun, unique idea.

A. Well, it takes place in New Orleans, because what better place to have a zombie apocalypse? Or really, it’s because I know this place much better than any other place on the planet and New Orleans people are preppers by nature because of those pesky hurricanes. Do my characters get to check out any of the sights in New Orleans? Not really. A guy gets eaten by a zombie on Bourbon Street and that is shown on the news, but my characters are local, so they aren’t going to go around checking out the city. They hit places that aren’t very famous, but it does give you a unique view of the city from a local’s perspective. You might recognize some names, but I took great detail in going to places that I thought were logical for a group trying to escape zombies and actually ran the route a few times to make sure it was logical.

Q. Your character, Alex, is a doomsday prepper and on your Amazon page, you mention you’re a prepper yourself and that your past times include stockpiling Meals Ready to Eat and researching how to build a cistern on a budget. As a world renowned poindexter, I already knew that a cistern is an underground water storage tank that can be connected to sink or toilet and didn’t have to look that up at all. I interviewed another prepper earlier this month so I’ll ask you the same question. What’s up with the prepping? Are we all doomed or is it just a better safe than sorry thing?

A.   As I mentioned in the earlier question, as a New Orleanian, I’m a natural prepper. I have to be. I feel like I survived one apocalypse already, Katrina. I lived right where the levees broke, in a neighborhood called Lakeview. So, we had to bug-out very quickly and live like transients for about a month, until we finally had to rely on the government to get us a FEMA trailer. I don’t ever want to do that again. I usually prepped for about a week, to survive without electricity and water. But, now we have to prep to actually leave the city or bug-out AND I never want to rely on the feds to help me and my family–because it comes when they are ready, not when you need it. It is a way of life down here because it’s inevitable that another hurricane will happen.

Will it have the same impact as Katrina? Maybe not, but do I want to take that chance? Fifty years ago, Americans could can their own food, knew how to grow their own gardens, knew how to mend their clothes, had water stored…because, being self-sufficient meant the difference between life and death. We’ve become spoiled, our food is delivered to us, the majority of us couldn’t tell you where their banana came from, much less what fruits are grown regionally.

Should we be worried about an impending apocalypse? I don’t think there is one on the horizon, at least not a BIG one that destroys the world. But, I do see regional issues, droughts, more hurricanes, those sort of things, which being prepared for will really help. And in my world, it is always better to be safe than sorry.

Oh, and BTW – we use an above-ground cistern, can’t do below ground in New Orleans because of the water table. We actually have a raised cistern and we use gravity, almost like a water-tower. You would use it for watering your plants, or in an emergency for showering etc. You would have to treat it for drinking water, but that can be a simple filtering process. We get so much rain down here, it is logical to collect rain water for the plants.

Q.  Gillian, thanks for taking a few minutes to talk zombies with me. Before I go, do you have any last minute advice to help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A.    Take to the water. Zombies can’t swim. But, shoot for deep water, they can float.

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