Werewolves. Books. You love them both, now get both…FOR FREE ALL THIS WEEKEND:
Werewolves. Books. You love them both, now get both…FOR FREE ALL THIS WEEKEND:
Hey 3.5 readers.
For a few weeks now, they’ve been playing this trailer for a horror film – “On the holiest weekend of the year, watch The Unholy.”
And each time it played, I was like, “What idiot thought it was a good idea to release a horror film on one of the happiest, most holy and spiritual weekends of the year? I mean seriously, what dummy is going to go out and sit by himself in a movie theater during a pandemic to watch a horror film on this, the anniversary of our Lord and Savior’s glorious resurrection?
Well, turns out, I was an idiot who set up a free promo for a book about werewolves on Easter weekend. I set it up weeks ago, back in February. You know how we are all then. We still haven’t bothered to look up whether Easter is in March or April yet.
So, listen, grab this free book, will you? You can wait to read it next weekend if you want, but just do your old pal BQB a solid and grab your free copy. Jesus would want you to because he was all about helping people. No, I don’t claim to know what Jesus wanted but I’m just saying, I think he’d want you to have free books.
Hey 3.5 readers.
#1 – Merry Belated Christmas. Sorry I did not stop to wish all 3.5 of you a Merry Christmas when it was Christmas. I have been busy. My bad. I hope it was a good one.
#2 – Happy New Year. I wished you a Happy New Year on time.
#3 – GET A FREE WEREWOLF BOOK!
Yes, one of BQB’s Twisted Shorts, “Quarantine” is totes free. That means you don’t have to spend any money. You probably just spent a lot, what with running up your credit cards to buy all those expensive gifts and gadgets that your loved ones didn’t need and honestly, aren’t going to make them appreciate you anymore anyway.
So, get yourself a FREE book. Remember, it’s free. Just go to the link below, get your free copy and if the mood strikes, feel free to leave me a review.
Hey 3.5 readers.
My book is FREE! So go on over to Amazon and get it today!
Maybe he’s a captive. Maybe he’s a werewolf. All the hero of this story knows is that he wishes this was someone else’s problem.
It’s the 1950s and down on his luck door to door salesman Chauncy Gladwell has been thrown out of his house by a wife tired of his gullible nature. The old boy has a long track record of falling for every scam in the book, to the point where his savings have been ravaged by every two bit con artist in town.
On the day when Chauncy vows to put himself over anyone with a problem, he stumbles across…a young man with a problem. While on a routine sales call to hawk a Suck-O-Matic vacuum cleaner, Chauncy meets Sam, an 18-year old lad who has been locked up in the lady of the house’s basement.
His grandmother, Ludmilla, a crusty old battle axe if there ever was one, says Sam is danger of turning into a werewolf, and thus must be kept in quarantine until the full moon passes.
Sam tells a different story, namely, that his granny is bonkers, and that she’s just trying to stop him from joining the Army and eloping with his high school sweetheart.
What a conundrum. If Chauncy releases Sam, he runs the risk of unleashing a monster upon the world. But if he does nothing and leaves, won’t it eat him up inside, to know that he saw someone being held hostage and did nothing?
Will our unlikely hero save the day? Is there a day to even be saved? Who can be trusted? And what about his pledge to his wife, that he will never again be taken in by someone with a sob story?
Gather around under the full moon and crack open the fourth installment of BQB’s Twisted Shorts. Do you like “The Twilight Zone?” Do you like “The Outer Limits?” Do you like “Black Mirror?” Well, BQB doesn’t have the budget to make shows as awesome as those, but his self-published journey toward creating an episodic anthology has begun.
“Disco Werewolf is a flash in the pan,” Boogiedown Barry said while sipping his fifth drink of the evening. “All these young up and comers to the disco scene. They’re all razzle and no dazzle, all trash and no sash, you know what I mean? They’re all about the kooky get ups first and the actual art of dancing comes in at a distant second, if that. You getting all this down?”
“Dancing…comes…in…second,” Claudette mumbled to herself as she jotted her interviewee’s words down in her notebook. “I got it, but you have to admit, Disco Werewolf can dance.”
Barry looked out at the dancefloor, where the furry funkmaster was matching the beat, note for note, with his big fuzzy feet. All kinds of sexy ladies pushed each other out of the way for a chance to shake their booties in the wolfman of the hour’s general vicinity.
“Bah,” Barry said. “I admit nothing.”
“Do you know who he is?” Claudette asked.
Barry raised an eyebrow. “Do I know who he is?”
“Yes,” Claudette said.
“Sure, I do,” Barry said.
Claudette looked at Barry with anticipation, pen at the ready.
“He’s the rat bastard who’s ruining my life,” Barry said. “Look at him. Hogging up the floor while the rest of us can’t get a foot in edgewise.”
The aspiring journalist frowned upon realizing that Barry didn’t know the secret to the question she was trying so desperately to answer.
Barry sipped, then belched, then sipped again. “What did you say your name again was, little filly?”
“Claudette Who?” Barry asked as he ogled the gyrating rump stuffed inside a short orange skirt just a few feet away.
Barry immediately snapped to attention, no longer interested in the aforementioned heiney. He looked the kid over. “Jenkins, huh?”
“Who are you with?” Barry asked.
“Freelance is what I should say to be honest,” Claudette replied. “With any luck, for the New York Courant.”
“Huh. You look a might underripe to be a reporter if you ask me. Then again, no one asks old Boogiedown Barry anything anymore. Oh, they used to. How they used to hang on my every word until that fat pile of…hey, don’t write this part. This part is off the record.”
“You hate Disco Werewolf,” Claudette said. “I got it.”
“I do,” Barry said as he watched the monster get freaky. “Then again, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t. I mean, does the lion hate the lamb? Does the hound hate the fox? Does the axe murderer in all those cheesy, bargain basement slasher flicks hate the horny teenagers he’s always chasing around? You see where I’m going with this?”
“Not at all,” Claudette replied.
“I know I’m good,” Barry said. “I know he stinks. I don’t have to prove nothing to nobody, you hear?”
“I hear,” Claudette said.
Barry swished the booze around in his mouth like it was mouthwash, then swallowed. “Now that, you can print.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. A pair of heavy feet cut through the crowd, trudging their way to the bar. Soon enough, Barry and Claudette found themselves in the company of a big ass werewolf, as well as his hangers on.
“You’re the best, DW!” one man shouted. “You’re far out!”
“Groovy, baby!” came another male voice. “Positively groovy!”
“Disco Werewolf, are you seeing anyone?” asked a female voice.
Barry was standing right beside Disco Werewolf now, but refused to acknowledge him. Disco Werewolf looked at the fella who used to be the club’s number one dancer and growled. “Grrr.”
“Huh?” Barry asked as he chewed on a toothpick and looked around the bar, anywhere but in the werewolf’s direction. “Somebody say something? I don’t know, because I don’t talk to nobodies.”
Disco Werewolf let the rude comment slide off and raised a finger. Ferdinand the bartender practically tripped over himself as he rushed over with an aluminum shaker in hand.
“I got your usual right here, DW, baby,” Ferdinand said as he opened the shaker and poured the contents into a glass. He popped a toothpick into an olive, inserted it into the drink and handed it over.
The werewolf sipped.
“How is it, sir?” Ferdinand asked. “Not too dry, I hope? You know what, Disco Werewolf, you just say the word and I’ll throw it out and make you another.”
Disco Werewolf guzzled the concoction down in a single gulp. Ferdinand waited in suspense for the verdict. The monster kicked his head back and howled in delight. “Ahhhh-wooo!”
Ferdinand smiled while the Looky Lous cheered. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Werewolf. I’ll keep those coming all night long. Free of charge. Totally gratis, on the house. Mr. Sugarshine told me straight up, his mouth to my ears, that I shouldn’t even dream of taking your money.”
Disco Werewolf nodded and patted the barkeep on the shoulder.
“Oh wowie, zowie!” Ferdinand said. “I’ll never wash this shoulder ever again!”
“Like you’ve ever taken a bath in your entire life, spazoid,” Barry said.
“Pipe down, has been!” Ferdinand replied. “And you’d better make good on your tab, Barry! It’s already $108.57 and counting! Mr. Sugarshine can’t be expected to subsidize deadbeat rummies forever!”
“Bah,” Barry said. “Mr. Sugarshine can subsidize both cheeks of my ass.”
Disco Werewolf was about to walk away when he felt a tug on his paw. He looked down to see Claudette. He locked eyes with her and for a brief moment, looked as though he were in a daze.
“Disco Werewolf?” Claudette said as she held up her notepad and pen. “Claudette Jenkins, hopefully for the New York Courant. Do you have a minute?”
They say that canines can’t smile because they have no lips, but on some level, the club’s resident dance hound looked happy. He patted the girl on the head, tussling her hair. Then, he took the pad and pen, scribbled something down, and handed it all back to Claudette before returning to the action.
Ferdinand leaned over the bar. “Hokie smokies! What’d he write?”
Claudette looked at the pad, then showed it to Ferdinand:
Stay in school.
“Wow,” Ferdinand said. “If I were you, I’d have that framed.”
Barry felt the need to interrupt. “Pbbht! If I were you, I’d have my head examined.”
“Stick a sock in it, lush!” Ferdinand said. “No one asked you!”
“Bah, your mother wears combat boots,” Barry replied.
I’ve been in a funk all year, 3.5 readers. I’m hoping for a day when I can really sit and concentrate, put in all my hours on crafting books.
In the meantime, I need stories that have that special ability to flow out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the keyboard.
I’ve been starting new books and getting stuck all year until recently, for some reason, the next story that has apparently chosen to use me as its vessel appears to be:
Hey 3.5 music fans.
I’ve been carrying some disappointment for a week or so now but have been waiting to comment until I process my emotions.
Now that I’ve had time to calm down, I must say the Grammys were quite remiss in not offering a nomination to the Bookshelf Battle Rap.
Honestly, if there was a better rap song about a fat ass yeti getting roundhouse kicked in the face by a magic bookshelf caretaker offered up in 2017, I did not hear it. Did you?
Now that I’ve had some time to process my disappointment, I must say the #GRAMMYs were remiss in not offering a nomination to the Bookshelf Battle Rap.
#rap #rappers #music #youtube
Depression. It’s the pits. It’s even worse when you’re a werewolf.
I mean, if you’re just a guy, the world isn’t missing much if you lock yourself up and cry over anything.
But if you’re an awesome werewolf and allow those powers to fester over depression, that’s a waste.
Are you a werewolf? That’s cool. Please don’t eat me.
Are you a clinically depressed werewolf, like my blog’s columnist, “Clinically Depressed Werewolf?”
You won’t find out until you read this list. From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Warning Signs You Might Be a Clinically Depressed Werewolf:
#10 – You Must Be a Werewolf
If you’re not a werewolf but you’re sad all the time, then you are merely a clinically depressed human. Still, seek professional help, but all you need to worry about is the depression part, not the werewolf part.
#9 – You’ve Lost the Will to Howl at the Moon
Werewolves love to howl at the moon as if the moon will respond to them. Idiots. Still, if you’re not able to muster up even the briefest of “Arwoos!” then you need to consult a werewolf psychiatrist posthaste.
NOTE: This can either be a werewolf who doubles as a psychiatrist or a human who knows how to treat the mental illnesses of werewolves.
#8 – You Don’t Want to Eat People Anymore
I mean, you shouldn’t be doing that anyway but if you were eating people a lot and now you aren’t, that’s a bad sign.
#7 – Your Fur is Falling Out
It could just be werewolf pattern baldness but if you’re worrying about a lot of random stuff, then it could be a sign of werewolf depression.
#6 – You Spend All Your Time Listening to James Blunt’s “Your Beautiful” Song in Your Werewolf Lair
This song is the saddest song ever written. Personally, I think James Blunt consulted with the CIA to produce a song that makes people so sad they want to off themselves just to control the surplus population. My lawyer says I must stress I have no evidence or proof of this so as far as I know, James is just a good singer who apparently likes to use his vocal powers to make people sad as fuck.
Anyway, if you’re a werewolf, you should be enjoying your great strength and powers, using them to do badass shit and bang all that bomass werewolf pussy. So, if you’re just listening to James Blunt instead, them I’m sorry to inform you that you are a clinically depressed werewolf.
#5 – You Keep a Silver Bullet Around Just in Case
If there’s one thing a werewolf hates, it’s a mail man. If there are two things a werewolf hates, it’s a mail man and a silver bullet. Silver bullets are the only thing that can kill a werewolf, so if you’re a werewolf, you want to keep them far away from yourself as possible, unless, of course, you’re thinking about ending it all and you’re keeping that silver bullet for when you are ready.
Please, whether you are a human or a werewolf, if you are having suicidal thoughts, please seek professional help immediately. Suicide is never the answer.
#4 – You Cage Yourself During the Day
You’re only a danger to others at night, so that’s the only time you need to be caged to keep yourself from wolfing out and eating humans. If you’re caging yourself during the day, then you’re cutting yourself off from the world. So sad.
#3 – You’re Preoccupied with Death
We all have to go someday, but with a little luck and some hope, that day is a long, long time away. Don’t focus on it or you’ll think of nothing else, especially if you’re a werewolf, because you’re stronger than most. I mean, nothing can kill you but a silver bullet so, holy shit, just stay away from silver bullets and you’ll be fine, bitch. Stop worrying.
#2 – You Smell Worse Than Usual
Werewolves always smell bad, but if you smell worse than usual, you’ve let your hygiene go because…you are a clinically depressed werewolf.
#1 – You Think You Might Be Depressed
Holy shit dude, if you think you are depressed then you might be. Seek professional help.
Oh my God, 3.5 readers. Oh my God.
Sit all 3.5 of your butts down for this.
So, as you know, back in the day I was one half of the rap duo known as The Funky Hunks. My partner MC Plotz and I were a hit with the late 1990s/early 2000s soccer moms what with our squeaky clean lyrics.
Alas, time moved on and my rhyme spinning days are long behind me, but my lyric writing game is still pretty sweet, so I found a rapper on artist who goes by the handle I_Will_Rap. He’s got mad crazy skills and he’ll rap whatever you want for a reasonable price.
Anyway. Without further ado, I present to you the debut of the new hit single, sure to take the hip hop world by storm and it’s so good that it may even unite East and West Coast rappers together in a new era of peace, love and understanding: Droppin’ Monsters.
DROPPIN’ MONSTERS (A Bookshelf Q. Battle Rap)
Lyrics by: Bookshelf Q. Battler
Beats Dropped and Rhymes Rapped by I_Will_Rap
Yo. 2017. Time to make the green.
Bookshelf Q. Battler droppin monsters like a bad habit.
Let’s do this thing. Time to get paid, ya dig?
You roll up to your crib and there’s a vampire inside.
Call on BQB to do the wooden stake slide.
But oh my god a zombie wants my brains!
Better get BQB to make it rain the pain.
What’s that in my yard? A chupacabra goat sucker?
BQB grab your nine, pop a cap in that mother (bleep).
When it comes to fighting evil, BQB is the best.
Forces of darkness don’t even try it, this is a nerd you do not want to test.
East Randomtown is the dope ass hood where this bespectacled pimp resides.
He’s chillin in his headquarters, the fly ass hunnies won’t be denied.
BQB is a badass monster hunter, you know that is a fact.
So if you’re a demon straight outta hell, he’ll put you on your back.
One day while BQB was writing,
On his blog called bookshelfbattle.com
There was a sound that was oh so frightening
So he said, “what’s going on?”
He ran downstairs to his living room and what oh what did he see?
A fat ass yeti sitting on his couch, eating his food and watching TV.
“I live in your house forever now,” the Yeti said.
“I’m taking over this fabulous place.”
But that idea filled BQB with dread
So he round house kicked the Yeti right in the face.
Yeah, BQB is droppin monsters.
Ghosts and goblins and werewolves too.
That nerd is gonna do a drive by.
On anything that dares to shout, “boo!”
But when BQB’s not dropping a monstrous reprobate,
He’s writing a dope ass story.
He’s gonna save the world from the Mighty Potentate,
And get his ass some glory.
So don’t forget to check bookshelfbattle.com
For news of BQB’s daring do.
And if you are a monster,
BQB is coming for you.
Damn. That was some sweet ass shit.
3.5 readers my ass. Bookshelf Q. Battler should have all the (bleep) readers.
By: Clinically Depressed Werewolf, the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s Official Sad Lycanthrope Correspondent
Arr…arr…arr..wooo….oooo…ooo…oh who am I kidding?
Seriously. What’s the point of howling at the moon? It’s just going to rise again.
Hello, I guess, or whatever, 3.5 readers. Clinically Depressed Werewolf here. I’ve been playing in Video Game Rack Fighter’s Super Violent War Shooter league for awhile and well, I don’t really play. I just log on and steer my character into a corner and listen to other people play. I’m so lonely that if I don’t do things like that then sometimes my mind begins to wander and then I begin questioning whether or not I’m really like, real, you know?
I mean, think about it. Do any of us actually know if we are really real? We think we’re real but maybe we’re just a figment of someone else’s dream. That’s why I don’t even bother to bite people anymore. Where’s the fun if I’m just going to disappear when the person dreaming about me is eventually going to wake up, thus shattering my branch of reality?
Anyway, Video Game Rack Fighter told me she won this blog in a divorce. Sigh. Divorces are so sad. Why do people even get married in the first place when divorce is such a real possibility?
Then again, I don’t understand why people even leave their homes when getting run over by a truck, falling down a well, or being eaten by a happy, non-depressed werewolf are all real possibilities.
Don’t worry about me. I don’t eat people. Too much effort. I’ll just get hungry again.
Moving on, VGRF said I should try my paw at being a columnist for her blog. She felt there aren’t many columns written by clinically depressed werewolves and that immediately made me sad. I mean, the idea of a column written by a clinically depressed werewolf can’t be that great if no other clinically depressed werewolf has ever written one before, am I right?
Yikes. Why do people even blog? Why do people read? I just want to lie down in my cage, lock the door and take a nap. Don’t even bother letting me out once I turn back into a human and the full moon is over. I might as well stay in here seeing as how next month’s full moon will be here before you know it.
I’m sorry. I’m not a very exciting columnist. I will try to lighten the mood with some Clinically Depressed Werewolf jokes:
#1 – How Many Clinically Depressed Werewolves Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?
None. Clinically depressed werewolves prefer the dark. The light allows us to see everything that disappoints us. Also, why bother to change a lightbulb when the new one will blow out sooner or later?
#2 – Three Clinically Depressed Werewolves Walk Into a Bar…
…and there they sat, nursing their beers and commiserating over days gone by, talking about dreams deferred and yearning to turn back time, to get a do over at life yet accepting that just isn’t in the cards.
#3 – Why Did the Clinically Depressed Werewolf Cross the Road?
He didn’t. He knew that sooner or later he’d have to return to the other side again, so he just stayed put and it was as if he never left.
Conclusions, I Guess, Whatever
I’d say I hope you enjoyed this column but really, hope is just a form of delaying the inevitable dissatisfaction that we all experience sooner or later. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to gnaw on a dead water buffalo carcass and listen to some Coldplay. Clinically depressed werewolves love Coldplay.