Hey 3.5 readers.
I’m so happy to report that the second draft of Toilet Gator is complete. It will need a third draft, but there is a light at the end of this toilet.
Hey 3.5 readers.
I’m so happy to report that the second draft of Toilet Gator is complete. It will need a third draft, but there is a light at the end of this toilet.
Good day to you, noble reader.
You came back for more? Jumpin’ Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, seek psychiatric counseling, will you?
Look, the first book was called “Toilet Gator” and it was about an alligator who ate people while they were sitting on the toilet. I get it. We can chalk your initial interest up to morbid curiosity. Most people realize it’s wrong to gawk at an accident along the side of the road, but they can’t help it. They spotted it, so now they feel an innate need to find out what happened, what it the carnage looks like, who lived, who died.
But it’s one thing to rubberneck at a car accident while you’re driving past it and a completely different thing to make a U-turn, head back the way you came, then turn around and come back again just so you can take a second look at the mayhem. That’s sick, noble reader, and that is essentially what you are doing here. Be ashamed. Be very ashamed!
Will more people be eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet in this book? Yes. That’s a no brainer. You know this. If you read the first book, don’t pretend like you don’t know what lies in store for you. People will sit down to poop and as they are doing so, they will become a massive lizard monster’s lunch.
Did I mention that I’ve upped the ante and now there is a shark who eats people while they are sitting on the toilet in this installment of the ongoing Toilet Gator series? Yes. Sequels must always up the ante and this one is no different. Now, if people aren’t being eaten by an alligator while they’re sitting on the toilet, they’re being eaten by a shark while they’re sitting on the toilet. Basically, if you are a character in this book and you feel the urge to drop a deuce, there’s a fifty percent chance you will be eaten by an alligator and a fifty percent chance you will be eaten by a shark. Even the most carefree Vegas oddsmakers wouldn’t take a bet on the continued existence of a character in this novel who needs to pinch a brick.
Do you have any idea how precious life is? The best thinkers, scientists, philosophers, theologians and others have tried their best to explain how tenuous our grasp on our own mortality is but suffice it to say, you’re born, you do some stuff and then before you know it, you’re dead. Every single moment of your life is precious and you have now made the conscious decision to take your very limited time and use it to read not one but two novels involving people being devoured by an alligator while they are squeezing the cheese. For shame, noble reader, for shame.
Oh, what? You think I should feel worse for writing a book about people being eaten by an alligator (and/or a shark) while they are sitting on a toilet? Why would I? Someone has to warn the public at large about the dangers of being eaten by toilet animals while sitting on a toilet and that someone might as well be me. Is it my fault that all of the high falutin’ book award people refuse to give an award to a book about people being eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet? No, it is not.
In short, while it is a very worthwhile endeavor for me to write a novel about people being eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet, it is conversely, and some might say an ironically, useless waste of time for you to read a book about people getting eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet. After all, at the end of this, I can at least say I wrote a novel (and stop there without any need for further description whilst promoting myself at the various super fancy writer parties I am still waiting for my invitations to), whereas all you can say is you read a novel…about an alligator…who eats people…while they are sitting…on the toilet.
Still not convinced I’m better for writing this dreck than you are for reading it, noble reader? Consider this scenario:
SCENE: A FANCY WRITERS’ COCKTAIL PARTY
PARTY GOER: Hi, what have you two done recently?
ME: I wrote a novel and that’s all you need to know about that.
NOBLE READER: I read a novel about people who are eaten alive by an alligator while they are sitting on the toilet.
PARTY GOER: Yikes, noble reader! You sicken me so you must leave now! BQB you can stay though and have sex with my wife if you want because you’re an awesome person who has written a novel.
And there you have it. What’s that, noble reader? You could just tell people that you “read a novel and it’s none of their damn business what the novel was about?” True. You got me there. Plus, if you wanted to go the extra mile, you could say you read a novel about geopolitical intrigue and leave out the part about the epic battle for the fate of the free world between an American toilet gator and a Russian toilet shark.
Also, if you want to, you could just close this book and go expand your mind by reading a classic like “War and Peace” or “The Count of Monte Cristo.” Both are very long masterworks of fiction that will enrich your lives, expand your minds, open your hearts and broaden your horizons.
However, neither book features a scene that involves a person being eaten by an alligator while they’re sitting on the toilet. Ha! You actually thought I was serious before when I told you that you needed psychological counseling for reading this book? Well, I was…and you do. But that’s OK. Disturbed people need reading material too and I’m happy to provide it to you…and also to take your money.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…thank you for the money. And now, without further ado, please enjoy this second book about people who are eaten by an alligator while they are sitting on a toilet.
Happy Easter, 3.5 readers!
I’ve decided that Toilet Gator Sundays (where I wrote a new excerpt of Toilet Gator every Sunday last year) worked so well, that I’m now going to give you, “Son of Toilet Gator Sundays. Yes, now each week you will get a new chapter in the sequel, “Son of Toilet Gator.”
This will allow me to keep fresh but still devote most of my time to getting the draft of Toilet Gator itself together, which I truly hope will be published by the end of the year.
Let’s keep our fingers crossed. Anyway, I’m not paying this lady to do a new video for “Son of Toilet Gator” though she’s excellent so seek her out on Fiverr if you need a lady in a doctor outfit to read your copy:
I think this thing actually has a legit chance of making it’s way to your Amazon Kindle. God bless you, Jeff Bezos:
…where Book Three of the Toilet Gator series is going:
3.5 readers, I am so excited to tell you that I have begun the long, hard slog toward finishing a second draft of my beloved novel, “Toilet Gator,” which really and truly is the best novel ever written about toilets, gators, or toilet gators.
My goodness, 3.5 readers. Isn’t that a wonderful cover? Anyway, this is the first time I have begun a second novel draft. It seems like it will be a long, arduous process. The novel is approximately 140,000 words and so far I have rewritten 7,000 of them. It is nice to be able to start solving problems I saw as I wrote the first draft but felt it would just slow me down to fix them, so now the time to fix them has come.
I hope when this book comes out, you will all support it and tell your friends, because if Toilet Gator is a success, then I can really bank some cash on the sequel, Son of Toilet Gator:
You don’t even want to see what the cover of Book 3 will look like.
3.5 readers, I’ll be honest. I’m no spring chicken and the older I get, the more I just want to stop and smell the daisies, then lie down in the dirt and wawit for the moss to grow over me.
So, if this blog makes you happy, and you think that being able to read wonderful books like Toilet Gator and Son of Toilet Gator would bring joy to your life, then please, do what you can to support my little enterprise here.
Read this fine blog. Tell your friends. Help get me some traffic. If I can make money off this, then I can put more time into entertaining you, my beloved 3.5 readers, who I would never want to see be eaten by a toilet gator.
Do watch out for toilet gators, 3.5 readers. They’re everywhere and in greater numbers than you’d think. Frankly, I have taken my life into my hands by publishing their secret, so much so that I get scared every time I sit on the throne to poop now, and not just because I’m a burrito fan.
Stay tuned, 3.5 readers.
Dirk and Natalya had settled into a cozy, private bedroom in the Imperial Honcho’s estate. Together, they eased back onto the bed and engaged in a rousing game of big league tonsil hockey.
“Oh Mr. Smegma,” Natalya cried as she ran her hands through her new lover’s hair.
“Please. Call me Dirk.”
“Oh Dirk! Your scent it’s so…manly.”
“Nothing but one hundred percent Eau de Dirk, baby,” Dirk said. “I find that the more cologne I put on, the more I mask my naturally macho odor and when I do that, the ladies are left disappointed.”
“I’m sure you do all you can to avoid being a disappointment,” Natalya said.
“In life and in the bedroom, baby,” Dirk said as he went in for another kiss, only to be rebuffed when Natalya pressed her finger up against his lips.
“Hold that thought, darling. I must tinkle.”
“I understand,” Dirk said. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to lose bladder control in my presence and I doubt you’ll be the last. Do hurry back my dear.”
As Natalya retreated to the bathroom, Kendra squawked in Dirk’s ear. “Dirk! What are you doing?!”
“Uh,” Dirk whispered into a tiny microphone implanted in his shirt collar. “What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m about to get my pickle tickled, duh!”
“Have you placed the tracker on the Imperial Honcho’s toilet yet?” Kendra asked.
“Not now, K-Diddy,” Dirk said. “I’ve got a piece of fabulously wealthy Russian cooze to attend to.”
“We’re on a tight schedule here!” Kendra said.
“Oh I know it’s going to be very tight,” Dirk said. “But don’t worry, I’ll squeeze it in.”
“Pervert,” Kendra said. “Do I really have to go over the mission particulars with you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Dirk said. “But you will anyway…”
“Damn right I will,” Kendra said. “As we speak, Skippy Jr. is waiting in the septic tank. We have twenty minutes before the guards on our payroll bury the tank so they can avoid being caught. You need to get to that toilet, mark it, get the hell out of there and leave Skippy Jr. enough time to chow down on the Honcho, and exit out of the tank just in time to be snatched by the skyhook.”
“Which leaves me roughly five minutes to plant my skyhook in some snatch,” Dirk said. “Plenty of time.”
“Five minutes?” Kendra asked. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Bshh bzzt,” Dirk said. “Oh no, Special-K, you’re breaking up…”
“Don’t you cut me off, Smegma,” Kendra said.
“Bzzt bshhk,” Dirk said. “Oh my God I’m just going to have to enjoy some meaningless, gratuitous sex with a beautiful woman and then go save the day.”
“Dirk,” Kendra said. “Gamble with your own life all you want, but you’re putting Skippy Jr. at risk.”
“Skippy Jr.?” Dirk asked. “Who cares? He’s just a dumb alligator. If we lose him we can just get that crazy professor to make some more.”
A third voice entered Dirk’s earpiece. “Raarga.”
Dirk’s eyes widened. “Oh…hey Skippy Jr., how are you doing buddy?”
“Gee whiz,” Dirk said. “I didn’t know this was a party line.”
“Don’t mind him, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said. “He knows not what he does.”
The bathroom door opened. Natalya stepped out. She had changed into a skimpy, silky piece of lingerie. She’d let her hair down and removed her shoes.
“I’m sorry I took so long, Dirk,” Natalya said. “I had to change into something more comfortable.”
Dirk gulped as he checked out Natalya’s body. “Mind? No, I don’t have a mind at all.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” came Kendra’s voice into the earpiece. “You think women just walk around with a sexy outfit to change into? The bitch is probably a spy.”
Dirk ignored Kendra and patted a spot on the bed next to him. The lady sat down, kissed Dirk passionately, then lifted her leg up into the air, landing the foot on Dirk’s right shoulder.
“Tell me, Dirk,” Natalya said. “Are you a leg man?”
“I’m actually an ass man,” Dirk replied. “Though I’ve never been one to sneeze at a pair of getaway sticks as lovely as these.”
“Getaway sticks?” Natalya asked.
“Just a fun term we use for legs in the U.S.,” Dirk said. “Because they’re a couple of sticks a woman can use to get away.”
Natalya used her foot to push on the side of Dirk’s head until he laid back on the bed.
“I love my legs, don’t you?” Natalya asked.
“Oh sweetheart,” Dirk said. “I love everything about you.”
“Gag me,” came Kendra’s voice.
“Tell me, Dirk,” Natalya said. “Do you enjoy the taste of a woman?”
“Meh,” Dirk said. “I prefer to receive than give, baby, but I’m always down with a little cunnilingus if the favor is returned.”
Natalya straddled Dirk’s face, leaving a panty clad vagina to land right on his face.
“Oh,” Dirk said. “Hello there, that’s quite a…mmpphh!”
“Dirk,” came Kendra’s voice. “I’m reviewing Natayla Snatchatova’s file and it’s no good. You need to get out of there right now.”
Natalya pushed herself further down onto Dirk’s face, leaving the agent so he could barely breathe. “Mmpph!”
“Her father is Anatoly Popov’s number one campaign contributor,” Kendra said. “She’s involved in all sorts of black market dealings…”
“How’s that, my love?” Natalya asked.
Dirk’s muffled cries for help grew more serious. “Mmmph!”
“She’s a top hit woman for the FSB,” Kendra said. “Interpol suspects of her murdering fifty men with her vagina alone.”
Dirk grabbed hold of Natalya’s legs and pushed up with all his might. Finally, he gasped for air and was able to speak. “Do…you…expect me to…lick?”
“Muah ha ha!” Natalya said. “No, Mr. Smegma. I expect you to die!”
Natalya clamped her legs down around Dirk’s head, leaving the hero feeling as though his cranium was trapped in a silky smooth vice. He gasped for air as he stood up. He flailed about the room but it was of no use, as Natalya refused to release her snatchtastic grip.
Dirk ran into a wall, hoping the blow would knock his assailant off, but she simply grinder her lady business into the agent’s face harder.
“Dirk?” Kendra asked. “Are you alright? Jesus, you’re literally going to be killed by a pussy, aren’t you? No surprise there.”
Completely blinded by vagina, both on a personal but more importantly, on a physical level, Dirk felt around the room until he found the bathroom door.
“Muah ha ha!” Natalya cried. “Die, Mr. Smega! Die by the lips of my vatrushka!”
Dirk stumbled into the bathroom. He pulled a small black box out of his pocket and flipped a switch, causing a light on the device to blink red. He then tossed the gadget into the toilet.
Crack! Dirk thrashed his attacker into the mirror, smashing it into pieces. Natalya was unfazed, her sole focus on murdering Dirk with her beaver.
“Poor Mr. Smegma,” Natalya said as she tightened the grip of her legs around the back of Dirk’s neck. “I’m so sorry you must leave but you must admit darling, there are worse ways to go.”
The toilet rumbled.
“Dirk,” came Kendra’s voice. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
Dirk grabbed the woman and pushed her away from his face with all his might. Natalya was strong, causing Dirk’s muscle’s to strain as he pushed.
Boom! The toilet exploded, sending porcelain shards everywhere. Dirk managed to hurl the woman off of his face just in time for her to land inside…the jaws of a hungry toilet gator.
Skippy Jr. was just a big as his father – fifteen feet long and over a thousand pounds. His sheer bulk pushed Dirk right out of the bathroom, leaving him to land on the floor. As he caught his breath, he could hear Natalya’s blood curdling screams, followed by the sound of bones snapping between a pair of gator jaws.
“That is the absolute last time anyone ever talks me into giving a little mouth to the south!” Dirk declared.
Skippy Jr. waddled out of the bathroom. “Raarga.”
Dirk patted the gator on the head. “That’ll do, gator. That’ll do.”
“Dirk,” Kendra said. “Please don’t tell me you just wasted the one and only tracker you had on a toilet not being used by the Imperial Honcho.”
“OK,” Dirk said. “I will not tell you that.”
A fist pounded on the bedroom door. “This is the Imperial Honcho’s Select Guard! What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Dirk said. “Hey there, fellas. Everything’s fine.”
“We heard strange noises,” the guard said.
“Oh yeah,” Dirk said. “You know me. I can get kind of wild in the sack.”
“We’re coming in,” the guard said.
“What are you going to do now, doofus?” Kendra asked.
“Now?” Dirk asked as he climbed onto Skippy Jr.’s back. “I’m going to improvise.”
A set of twin jet engines propelled the metal container downward. Once the box was 20,000 feet above the surface of the earth, it broke apart, leaving the gigantic alligator inside free to twist in the wind.
“You need to roll fifteen feet to the right,” Kendra advised through the earpiece in Skippy Jr.’s ear.
“Raarga,” Skippy replied as he obeyed the command.
“I’m worried about Dirk, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said.
“I know, I shouldn’t,” Kendra said. “But it’s like he refuses to grow up. Sure, he’s having a good time chasing tail now but if he never grows up and finds a stable relationship, he’ll eventually grow old and die alone.”
“Raarga, raarga,” Skippy Jr. said as he zoomed downward, scaring the crap out of a flock of birds with his hideous face.
“Well, that’s awfully presumptuous of you, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said. “No, I’m not saying I want to be the woman who fixes him. I prefer my men to not be broken when I find them, thank you very much.”
“You see the way I look at him?” Kendra asked. “You are imagining things.”
“Of course I might stare at him once in awhile while he’s not looking,” Kendra said. “He’s a very good looking man but that doesn’t mean I want to hook up with a serial philanderer. Do you know how many women he’s been with?”
“Add a hundred to that and you’re in the ballpark.”
“I’m sure he is compensating for something,” Kendra said. “But I hardly need a man whose genitalia is a walking petri dish of disaster in my life. You missed the point.”
“The point is someday there will be a brave woman who doesn’t care how much strange has touched Dirk’s junk and I fear he’ll be so obsessed with finding his next female conquest that he won’t see what he has right in front of him until it’s too late.”
“Will you stop it? I’m not talking about me. At all. That will never happen.”
“OK good talk, but time to get your head in the game. Assume the position.”
Skippy moved his head downward.
“Brace for impact in 3…2…1…touchdown!”
Splash! A wave of dirty poop water poured up out of the Imperial Honcho’s septic tank as Skippy Jr. landed deep within his intended target.
“You OK buddy?”
“OK. Hang tight. As soon as Dirk comes up for air, I’ll let you know.”
I just breezed through reading the full first draft and I’d forgotten a lot of what I wrote. Yeah, this book is funny as all get out. I should win like a thousand awards for this thing. Surely, if there is a “Best Book Ever Written About Toilet Gators” then that award should be mine.
5 months. 147,373 words.
And now, the first draft of Toilet Gator is complete.
I learned from the mistake I made last year. I wrote a great first draft of “How the West Was Zombed” but that story turned into a multi-volume series and right now, I just need to get a few one and dones up onto Amazon just to start building that fan base.
As you can see from the Epilogue, the door is open for a Toilet Gator sequel, but also, shut just enough in case there isn’t a resounding demand for Toilet Gator 2.
I learned a lot. Specifically, comedy is my best stuff, because it keeps me interested, makes me laugh, have fun, and most importantly, I can break the rules, rules that can never be broken in other genres.
Now all I have to do is get it polished up and edited. Thanks for reading, 3.5 readers.