Tag Archives: writers

Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Visit BookshelfBattle.com

Ahh, bookshelfbattle.com – it’s my virtual space, my online hangout, my digital stomping grounds.

If you’re reading this, you’ve already visited.  Congratulations.  You’ve shown excellent judgment and are no doubt a person of great wisdom and fantastic, upstanding moral character.

If you’re not reading this then…well, that’s messed up because if you’re not reading this then how could you be reading this?  #MindBlown

From BQB HQ in East Randomtown, USA, where all the BQB blog magic happens, its the Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Visit BookshelfBattle.com

#10 – You’re already here, so if you leave, it’s kind of rude.

Stick around awhile.  Take off your coat.  Have a drink.  Eat a cookie.  Click on a hundred links on this blog while you’re at it.

#9 – It Will Keep You Off Crack

Do I have any medical or scientific studies to prove the claim that visiting this fine website prevents people from taking crack?  No.

Are you taking crack while you’re reading this?  (Consults my Magic 8 ball.)  “All signs point to ‘No.'”

Therefore, whenever you read this website and don’t take crack while you are reading it…you’re welcome.

#8 – You Can Laugh

Or, learn what doesn’t make people laugh.  I mean, I think it’s all funny but I admit, I could just be stuck in my own personal bubble, oblivious to the opinions, thoughts and feelings of others.

It’s a good way to be, come to think of it.  Who has time to deal with the opinions, thoughts and feelings of others, especially when mine are the best and really, all that matters?

#7 – You Might Learn Something

Occasionally, this blog gets quasi-educational.  You might learn something but note the key word – “might.”

#6 – You’ll Be One of the First Few Humans to Make Contact with an Outer Space Alien

Alien Jones his no joke.  He’s from space.  Want to make all those losers who made fun of you in high school jealous?  Being one of the first few people to comment on an alien’s column is a good way to start.

#5 – Fart jokes.

So many fart jokes.

#4 – Nerds Welcome

No one can give you a wet willy, a wedgie, or a purple nurple here…because, you know, it’s a blog in an intangible written form.

#3 – BQB Will Think You’re Awesome

I really will.

#2 – You’ll Help BQB Save the World from the Mighty Potentate

The more clicks I get, the more likely the Potent One will get off of Earth’s back.

#1 – You Can Be One of BQB’s 3.5 Readers!

Truly, the most exclusive club out there.  Do you know of any other clubs with only 3.5 participants?

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People Want to Know My Secret!

People always ask me:

“Bookshelf Q. Battler – how did you become the best blogger of all time?  I too want to have 3.5 readers.”

Well, you’re in luck.  I wrote up a handy guide to blogging greatness and you can find it here.

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Toilet Gator Feedback


Hey 3.5 readers.

Stats indicate a lot of you have been checking out the most recent Toilet Gator chapters lately.  Cool.  If you have five minutes, I hope you’ll drop me a comment and tell me what you like and don’t like about it.  I’d love to hear the criticism, positive or negative.

Also, if you’d like to read it from the beginning, you can check it out over on Wattpad.  

If you’re not a Wattpadder, no worries.  You can still read it on this fine site.  You’ll just have to click where it says “Toilet Gator” in the left hand corner of this post (by the title) and then do a lot of scrolling to the beginning.

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BQB’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts Coming Soon!

Bookshelf Q battlers for Amazon

Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal, BQB here.

I don’t have an exact date yet but the finishing touches are being put on the epic book, Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts.

Can you feel the excitement in the air?  I can.  And I think it’s actual excitement and not just bad gas.

I’m thinking early June.  I’m not in a rush but assuming all goes well, I don’t see why it would have to be later than June.

So…it’s going to happen.  Huzzah!

It’ll be out on Amazon and you know, 3.5 readers, I don’t ask you for much but I’d love it if you could buy a copy and help fund my lifelong dream of buying a mansion in Malibu and filling the giant attached pool with beautiful women with loose morals.

Wait!  Did I say I wanted to buy a mansion and fill a pool with women with loose morals?  That was clearly a typo.  Silly me.  I meant to say I want to achieve my lifelong dream of being a writer and spread my love of the written word with the masses.

OK.  It’s a little bit about filling a mansion pool with loose women.

Fine.  I’ll be honest.  It’s 5% spreading my love of the written word and 95% filling a Malibu mansion pool with women with loose morals.

At any rate, that pool isn’t going to be filled with women overnight.  The way I figure it, there’s 3.5 of you, so the way I figure it, if I charge $2.99 per book, and if all 3.5 of you buy one, then I have a cool $10.47 coming my way.

Huzzah!  Sunday night special at the Sizzler here I come!  Or maybe just an order of mozzarella sticks and a diet coke with free refills at Applebee’s.

Wait.  Jeff Bezos gets a cut to fund his army of delivery drones that will eventually be used to conquer the world?

Fine.  Cut out the cheese sticks.  It’s just a diet coke for me but hey, free refills!  Nice.  Gotta have dreams, 3.5.  Gotta dream big.  It’s important.

3.5 READERS: But BQB, we’re broke!  We can’t afford $2.99 for your fabulous book!  We just think you should entertain us forever for nothing!

I understand, 3.5.  The economy has sucked boku butt since 2008 and is only now just starting to show signs of coming back around.  But you’ve been forced to scrimp and save and pinch your pennies.  Maybe you lost your dough in the stock market.  Maybe you lost the job.  Maybe you lost your dream and now you’re cleaning bus station toilets.

I get it.  $2.99 doesn’t grow on trees, even if it is for an awesome book by one of the greatest and most humble writers of all time.

That’s fine.  Here’s some shit that you, my 3.5 readers, can do to help me, BQB, achieve my dream of spending 5% of my time spreading my love of the written word to the masses and 95% of my time in a Malibu pool filled with women of ill repute.

You know what?  Let’s make it a top five list:

#1 – Tweet a link to my book.  Or, share a link to my book on Facebook or your preferred time wasting social media site.

#2 – Write a blog post about my book.  Want to write a review?  I could spare a free copy.  I’ll just have to fill my pool with less morally challenged women.  Or better yet, it is a book full of writing prompts.  Take the challenge and write a little something based on one of my prompts and post it, making sure you tell everyone where you got this fabulous prompt.

#3 –  Tell a friend about my book.

#4 – I shouldn’t assume you have a friend.  Lord knows I don’t have any.  Make a friend, then tell that friend about my book.  It will be a good excuse for you to make a friend.

#5 – Pray for high book sales.  I hate to bother God because he’s got a back log of prayers, many of which are more important than my book sales, but you know, if you don’t get in the cue somewhere then you never get served.   Drop a prayer, mark it low priority and the man upstairs will get to it eventually.

In conclusion, 3.5 readers, I know you all have lives but you know, we all have to prioritize.  Are your jobs and livelihoods and family commitments and so forth more important than helping me promote my love of the written word but more importantly, helping me sell books so I can raise the funds necessary to fill a Malibu pool with morally bankrupt women?

I think not.

In seriousness, thank you for all you do, 3.5.  I’ll let you know when the book is up.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 42


“Man, this is going to be so amazing, Skippy.”

Buford sat in a cheap, musty room at the No-Tell Motel. Various stains of indeterminate origin were spread all over the walls, floors and bedspread. The overall decor was very disgusting, but Buford was willing to put up with it for fifty bucks a night.

“We’re gonna have to start pinching pennies now that Daddy is no longer subsidizing the lifestyle we’ve grown accustomed to, Skippy.”

Buford tapped the microphone attached to his headset. “Is this thing on? Skippy? Can you hear me.”

A few seconds passed before a low, guttural response poured into Buford’s headset. “Raarga, raarga.”

“That’s better, young man,” Buford said. “You better mind your manners and speak when spoken to, you understand?”


“Get your butt to the No-Tell Motel,” Buford said. “It’s going to be our home away from home until I can either get myself back into Daddy’s good graces or figure out a way to strike out on my own and become a wealthy, independent man.”

“Raarga? Raarga, raarga.”

“What?” Buford said. “Screw you and the horse you rode in on. I could too make it in the real world if I wanted to.”


“I’m not in the mood for your shit, Skip,” Buford said. “Just get over here.”

Buford stared at a series of computer screens. He’d managed to sneak into his room at his father’s mini-mansion and swipe all the computer equipment he could. Thus, his room at the motel was filled with all kinds of high-tech gear.

The high tech hayseed punched one button on his keyboard and boom! Nudey pictures filled every screen in the room.

“At last!” Buford said. “I’ve finally figured out how to hack every porno site on the web with the stroke of a button! ginormobutts.com! Asstasticfantasies.com! boobstravaganza.net! It’s mine! All mine!”

Buford wrang his hands as he bursted out into a fit of maniacal laughter. “Muah ha ha ha ha ha!”

Boom! A loud commotion broke out in the bathroom. The toilet exploded, as did the pipe underneath. Water sprayed out onto the rug as an enormous, twelve-foot long angry alligator waddled into room and emitted a loud, menacing, “ROAR!”

Buford stood up and put his hands on his hips in the style of a disappointed parent. “Damn it! Skipford J. Dufresne! Look at the mess you done made!”

The alligator lowered his head in shame. “Raarga.”

“You’re damn right, ‘raarga!” Buford said. “I put on a deposit down on this room. You think I’m gonna get that money back now?”

Skippy shook his scaly head back and forth. “Raarga.”

“And where am I supposed to shit now?” Buford asked. “Next time use the front door like a normal person!”

Skippy waddled over to the bed and climbed on top. The box spring crunched and dropped under his massive weight. Half of his gargantuan reptile body was still on the floor.

Buford sighed and climbed into bed next to his buddy. “Move over, ya big lummox!”

“Raarga,” Skippy said as he attempted to make some room. Alas, the effort was in vain, for he was one big ass prehistoric reptile.

Buford barely even fit on the bed and he even had to keep one leg firmly planted on the floor. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Skippy.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Buford said. “I have been under a lot of stress but so have you. Hell, you’re the one who did all the dirty work.”


Buford tapped a microchip that had been implanted into Skippy’s ear hole. “This thing been working ok?”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“You can still hear me when you’re out and about?” Buford asked.

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“That’s good,” Buford said.

The unlikely duo lied there in silence for awhile until Buford piped up again. “Skippy?”


“I’ve been having second thoughts,” Buford said.

“Raarga!” Skippy said. “Raarga raarga, raarga raarga!”

“What do you mean, ‘You always knew I’d pussy out?” Buford asked.

“Raarga, raarga!” Skippy shouted.

“Them’s fighting words, Skipford!” Buford shouted. “I have half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap!”

Skippy belted out another loud roar.

“Shh,” Buford said. “Come on now, the neighbors might hear you. Roll on over.”


“Go on.”

The box spring creaked as Skippy shifted to his side. Buford rolled over on his side and draped his arm over the mega lizard’s big belly. Alligator and man then proceeded to lie there for awhile, enjoying the peace and quiet.

“I’m gonna sing you your special song,” Buford said.

“Raarga,” Skippy replied.

“No,” Buford said. “I know you’re not a kid anymore but we all get upset and need to be calmed down now and again.”

Skippy closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling as Buford stroked his hand up and down the alligator’s scaly tummy. “Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“Gonna bust off a switch and smack a bitch,” Buford sang.

Skippy looked as though he’d drifted off into a feeling of sheer ecstasy.

“Get in my way and you’ll get a stitch,” Buford sang. “Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

Buford patted the alligator’s head. “That better?”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“Good,” Buford said. “Now maybe you’ll hear me out.”

Buford kissed Skippy’s scaly head, the wiped the slimy residue from his lips.

“Look,” Buford said. “Last night was a lot of fun. Lord knows it was a long time coming, what with all the planning that went into it. But we pulled it off without a hitch and now I’m thinking we ought to quit while we’re ahead.”

“Raarga!” Skippy shouted.

“Come on, Skippy,” Buford said. “Every good poker player will tell you that you got to know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em. Just like that song by the immortal legend, Kenny Rogers, who was a triple threat when it came to signing, gambling, and mass chicken production.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“Just think about any criminal that ever got caught,” Buford said. “They always get brought down whenever they get too greedy. It’s time to step away from the table while we still got a pocket full of chips.”

“Raarga!” Skippy said.

“I know,” Buford said. “My personal growth and development was stunted by three terrible people. And those people got what was coming to them last night. But you know what, Skip?”

“Raarga?” Skippy asked.

“I always thought that when I turned you loose on my enemies, I’d feel a lot better,” Buford said. “But I don’t. If anything, I feel worse.”

“Raarga?” Skippy asked.

“Yes,” Buford replied. “Much worse. I’ve come to realize that humans are just imperfect. They do dumb things without realizing how it will mess a fella up. But as imperfect as life is, all life is important and well…I shouldn’t have asked you to eat all those people for me. That’s my bad and I’ll accept it.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“I know you had a good time doing it,” Buford said. “You’re a damn alligator. Crunching living things between your jaws is what you were built for. I just think it’s time we put you back on your all goat diet.”

Skippy sprang off the bed and stared at his companion. “Raarga!”

Burford was on his feet now. “Oh come on! It won’t be so bad! I can even feed your more goats now because I found a guy who can provide me with cheap, discount goats.”

“Raarga!” Skippy said.

“That’s right,” Buford said. “I’ve got a goat guy.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“What do you mean, you’ll never go back to goats?” Skippy asked.

“Raarga!” Skippy shouted.

“Now that you’ve developed a taste for human flesh you’ll never go back?!” Buford asked.

Skippy waddled toward the bathroom. “Raarga!”

“You can’t mean that, Skippy!” Buford shouted. “Come on. I know it’s hard but maybe we can come up with a program to get you off of human meat.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“I’m a pussy for living in this motel?” Buford asked.

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“If I won’t stand up to Momma and Daddy you will?!” Buford asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Buford stood outside the bathroom door as his massive pet disappeared into the bathroom.

“Skippy!” Buford shouted. “You get back here this instant!”

“Raarga!” Skippy shouted.

“Skipford J. Dufresne!” Buford said. “You will not lay a single scaly hand on Momma and Daddy, do you hear me?”

No response.

“You get back in here and go to bed and sleep this off,” Buford said. “Maybe you’ll come to your senses in the morning.”

More silence.

Ever so timidly, Buford slowly stepped into the bathroom. The toilet was shattered to pieces. Water chugged out of the broken pipe. Even worse, the gator was gone.

“Lord have mercy,” Buford said. “I’ve created a monster.”

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Twelve Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

No turning back now.  So much of my life devoted to writing a book about a toilet gator.

I question my life choices.


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Toilet Gator – Chapter 40


A month later, Cole and Rusty found themselves sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. Broken windows. Cracked paint. Run down shops that were once hustling and bustling with customers, now gone the way of the dodo thanks to a burgeoning Internet economy.

“How do you this guy won’t just shoot you and take your money?” Rusty asked.

“He won’t,” Cole said.

“OK,” Rusty said. “How do I know he won’t shoot me?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Minutes later, a rusty old van pulled into the parking lot. A gruff looking man wearing a skull cap stepped out, holding a bright orange lock box. A hissing snake was tattooed on his neck.

“How do I know I’m not going to get man raped?” Rusty asked.

“Again,” Cole said. “A risk…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rusty said. “A risk you’re willing to take. Jay Leno’s got nothing on you.”

The duo stepped out of the car. “Are you Mr. Sagittarius?”

“Maybe,” the man said. “Maybe not. Who’s asking?”

“Mr. Pisces,” Cole replied.

“Hmm,” the man said. “That fits. Yes, I am Mr. Sagittarius.”

“Good,” Cole said. “Now let’s…”

“Whoa, hold the phone, Cochise,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “What’s the password?”

Cole pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and read the words on it out loud. “Crank That Soulja Boy.”

Mr. Sagittarius stared at Cole blankly, as though he was waiting for something.

“Oh,” Cole said. “Crank That Soulja Boy…69.”

“And?” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“Oh,” Cole said as he looked at the paper. “And the ‘C’ in Crank is a capital ‘C.’”

“That’s more like it,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “All passwords must contain a number and a capital letter. Mr. Sagittarius doesn’t mess around.”

“Can I see the piece?” Cole asked.

“Depends,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “Can I see the cash?”

Cole pulled three thousand dollars’ worth of crisp, one-hundred bills out of a manilla envelope and fanned it out. He waved the money around, then put it back in the envelope.

“Alright,” Mr. Sagittarius said as he unlocked the orange box. “Mr. Sagittarius can see you don’t mess around either.”

Cole looked inside and stared at the magnificently shiny hand cannon inside.

“Behold,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “The Angry Barracuda 500.”

“Umm,” Rusty said. “I think I’m going to go get a fro-yo with some extra gummy bears.”

Mr. Sagittarius looked at Cole, but pointed at Rusty. “What’s his problem?”

“Nothing,” Cole said. “He’s cool.”

“He doesn’t seem cool,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“I’m cool,” Rusty said. “I just like that fro-yo place across the street. They have great gummy bears.”

“Defeats the purpose,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“What?” Rusty asked.

“You’re going to get a frozen yogurt because it’s less calories than ice cream,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “But then you’re going to cover it with gummy bears and shit until it has as much or even more calories than ice cream. That defeats the purpose of getting frozen yogurt in the first place. You might as well not be a little bitch and just get a full blown ice cream.”

“Thank you for the nutritional tip, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said.

“No problem,” Mr. Sagittarius. “Mr. Sagittarius used to be a lot bigger, but he lost a hundred pounds over the past three years.”

“Wow,” Cole said.

“That takes a lot of commitment, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said.

“It’s all about taking it day by day and making the best possible health choices you can,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“You’re an inspiration to us all, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, that frozen yogurt calls…”

“Knock it off,” Cole said.

“Look,” Rusty said. “You guys do your thing, but I don’t want to be a party to an illegal transaction.”

“What illegal transaction?” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I’m a fully licensed and insured gun dealer, compliant with all aspects of state and federal law.”

“Bullshit,” Rusty said.

Mr. Sagittarius opened up the door to his van.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “He’s going for a gun.”

“Will you get your vagina under control?” Cole asked.

Mr. Sagittarius returned with a folder he handed to Rusty. “Here you go.”

Rusty inspected the folder. It was filled with documents, permits, and licenses, all bearing the name of…

“Sidney Weimariner?” Rusty asked. “What’s with all this ‘Mr. Sagittarius’ bullshit then?”

“Mr. Sagittarius prefers to go on the down low as much as possible,” the gun dealer said. “There are many reprobates out there who want what Mr. Sagittarius has.”

Rusty pointed at Cole. “Then why is he, ‘Mr. Pisces?’”

“Because I like fish,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I know who he really is. Who are you?”

Rusty gulped. “Mr. Blonde.”

“Mr. Blonde?” Mr. Sagittarius asked.

“We’re doing astrological signs,” Cole explained. “Not colors.”

“Oh,” Rusty said. “Sorry. I just really like Tarantino.”

Mr. Sagittarius took the folder back from Rusty. He pulled out some paperwork and handed it to Cole. “There you go, all fully registered, nice and legal like, to one Mr. Cole Walker.”

“Wait a minute,” Rusty said. “Isn’t there a waiting period?”

“You’re right,” Mr. Sagittarius said. He looked down at his watched and hummed a few bars of a catchy tune. “28…29…30 seconds. Enough waiting.”
“Har dee har, har,” Rusty said. “What about a background check?”

“Rusty, why are you trying to screw this up for me?” Cole asked.

“There’s just something off about this,” Rusty said.

“Mr. Pisces,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “Are you going to kill a bunch of people with this gun?”

“No,” Cole replied.

“That checks out,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

Rusty slapped his forehead in disbelief.

“Look,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I don’t need to perform a back ground check because technically, this is a gun show.”

“It is?” Rusty asked.

Mr. Sagittarius wiggled his hips and swayed from side to side. “Best dance show ever.”

“You call that a show?” Rusty asked.

“You want me to sing too?” Mr. Sagittarius asked. “What do want to hear? Marvin Gaye? Maybe a little Gladys Knight and the Pips?”

“Please,” Cole said. “Ignore my friend. He’s a ginger.”

“That explains it,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

Cole handed over the money. Mr. Sagittarius handed over the gun.

“It’s a magnificent weapon,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I put a lot of work into finding it.”

“Appreciated,” Cole said.

Mr. Sagittarius handed Cole the key to the lock box. Cole locked it up.

“Only owned by one previous owner,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “He only used it one time to shoot a rhinoceros in the face in self-defense.”

“Come on,” Rusty said. “How do you shoot a rhinoceros in self-defense?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I wasn’t there. I don’t judge. Good day, gentlemen. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but you made me drive into Redneck country and well, I’ve had nightmares ever since I saw Deliverance.”

“Damn,” Rusty said. “That movie sure did give the south a black eye.”

Mr. Sagittarius hopped into his van and drove away. Rusty and Cole returned to their car.

“Well,” Rusty said. “You got two more weeks of leave left. What are you going to do know?”

“Get drunk and shoot a shit ton of animals,” Cole replied.

“That sounds healthy,” Rusty said.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 34

The dead college student on his watch. The return of his ex-wife. The threat from the Mayor to do away with the Sitwell Police Department and now, the Mayor publicly accusing him on live, international television, of having a small penis. Cole couldn’t take it anymore.

In the parking lot of Freedom Firepower, Cole lost control and threw a massive temper tantrum. He screamed. He yelled. He hurled various obscenities. He pounded his fist into the passenger’s seat over a hundred times.

Finally, Cole wore himself out. He closed his eyes and tried to take a a nap, right there in his police cruiser. Unprofessional? Sure. Did he care? Absolutely not. He had reached his breaking point.

His slumber was cut short when his phone beeped. He flipped open the phone and learned that he had seven messages in total. Six were from Sharon:

9:00 a.m – Cole, it’s Sharon. Thought you’d be in the office by now. I’d like to run some things by you. Call me.

10:17 a.m. – Hey Cole? Sharon. Just…you know…I hope you don’t think what Rusty said last night was true. I’m not trying to run you off this investigation or anything. I could use your brains on this. We’ll talk more when you stop by the station.

11:45 p.m. – Real mature, Cole. Real mature. Fine. Be that way.

1:42 p.m. – Cole. Just saw that report on NN1. That was horrible. I hope you’re ok. We need to talk because I do not want you thinking that they got that information about your penis from me. OK. Bye.

1:47 p.m. – Cole, Sharon again. I just ran what I said on that last message in my head and I think I could have said that better. I’m not saying you have a small penis. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t think I ran around telling people that you had a small penis or something.

1:51 p.m. – Cole, Sharon. Just to explain further, I would not run around telling people that you have a small penis because you don’t have a small penis. But I mean, even if you did, which you don’t, I wouldn’t run around telling people that because I’m not that kind of person. In conclusion, I am trying to establish that a) I never said anything about your penis to anyone, b) I wouldn’t tell people your penis is small because it’s a perfectly fine penis and c) even if it were small, which it isn’t, I don’t go around talking about people behind their backs like that.

The seventh message was from Rusty:

2:03 p.m. – Cole. The Cole-ster. Cole-o-rama. Coca-Cole-a. Cole-miner. Nat King Cole. It’s Rusty. Look man, we have got to get a tag team together and knock that bitch ex-wife of yours off this case. This is our case. Not her case. She should haul her ass back to Miami and investigate Countess Cucamonga and you and I should be all over this Chad Becker situation. You know she assigned me, a twenty-year veteran police officer, to stand guard over the crime scene? All day I’ve been holed up in this bathroom, Cole. All day. My talents are going to waste. And look, I’m sorry I called Sharon a bitch. I know you still love her and shit even though you won’t admit it but I knew what you were like before and after the divorce and what you are like now and there’s no question you were a much happier person before that bitch did what she did to you. Go on. Call her a bitch. You’ll feel better. Say it with me, Cole-Slaw, “Sharon is a bitch! Bitch, bitch, a-bitchitty bitch bitch ba bing bong bitchitty boo!”

Cole flipped his phone shut, then closed his eyes again. As he drifted off to sleep, the thought that Sharon was a bitch did cross his mind, as it had for many years, but in the decade since the divorce, he was never able to bring himself to say a nasty word about his beloved. Not a single one.

Meanwhile, the memories he had of the events that lead up to her departure were always on his mind.

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BQB’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts is On the Way

Don’t have an exact date, but my wonderful book of badass writing prompts is rounding the bend and nearing completion.  It will probably be out sometime later this summer.

Question – does anyone out there want to review it?  As with anything I write, if you like it, I encourage a good review and if you don’t…do you know there are lots of fun cat videos on the Internet to watch?

But seriously.  I’m new to self-publishing and will need all the help I can get so if anyone wants to hook a nerd brotha up with a review it would be appreciated.


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Are You a Nerd?

Then you should become one of my 3.5 readers…

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