Tag Archives: writers

Toilet Gator – Chapter 107

presentation01

“Buh bah buh buh bah bah….bah buh buh buh bah bah!”

In the cockpit of an Apache attack helicopter that just happened to fall off the back of a truck, Moses was having his very own Wilhelm Richard Wagner party, playing the great composer’s seminal work, “The Flight of the Valkyries” at full volume on a kick-ass stereo system.

The ex-military man turned gun range owner sang along, or rather, made instrumental sounds to distract his mind from the fact that he was flying straight into the crushing winds of a hurricane. “Buh bah buh buh bah bah….bah buh buh buh bah bah!”

Thick, heavy raindrops pelted the chopper’s windshield, mimicking the drops of sweat that rolled down Moses’ forehead. He had never been one to lose his cool, but he was growing ever more concerned by the fact that he was attempting to point his huey one way, but the wind was certain it should be going another. He gritted his teeth and gripped the stick and pushed as hard as he could, waging a one man battle against Mother Nature.

The chopper’s coms radio squawked. “Pssht…unidentified aircraft……come in…over.

Moses ignored the hail and kept right on singing his Wagner. “Buh bah buh buh bah bah….bah buh buh buh bah bah!”

“Unidentified air craft…this is Air Force central command…respond or you will be blown out of the sky.”

Moses turned down the music and responded. “Boy, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You sound like you’re knee high to a pig’s thigh.”

“Identify yourself,” the voice said.

“Sergeant Moses T. Malone, United States Marine Corps, retired,” Moses said. “Who the hell are you?”

“This is Captain Barry Bostwick, U.S. Air Force, active duty. Turn back and land immediately. You’re flying an unauthorized military grade helicopter into a civilian area.”

“I’m aware, Barry,” Moses said. “That toilet gator aint gonna blow himself up now is he?”

“Excuse me?” Barry asked.

“There’s no excuse for you,” Moses said. “Son I was running all kinds of special ops long before you had hair on your nuts. Snatch and grabs. Run and guns. You name it. I bailed out Uncle Sam out of more jams than I can count so I won’t hear any more of your insubordinate lip. Let me guess, you got yourself a pretty starched uniform without a speck of dirt on it because you used your connections to rise to the top without wading a single toe into the shit…am I right?”

Barry scoffed. “How did you…look, we’re not here to talk about me.”

“I knew it,” Moses said. “You brass types are all the same. Plenty of brass in the phony medals on your shirt, not one scintilla of brass in your balls.”

“Do you have any idea how many laws you are breaking right now?” Barry asked.

“Can’t say for sure,” Moses said. “Between state, federal and local laws and regulations, I’m willing to wager upwards of 1,098. Am I close?”

“I don’t know,” Barry said. “I didn’t count them all out myself either. How the hell are you flying an Apache attack helicopter?”

“Fell off the back of a truck,” Moses said.

“It fell off a…sir, land that chopper right now or we’ll blow you out of the sky,” Barry said.

“Oh yeah?” Moses said. “You and what Air Force?”

“The Air Force,” Barry said. “The real live actual air force will blow you to bits.”

Moses peered through the rain soaked cockpit window. “I’m calling your bluff, boy. I don’t see a damn thing and Lord knows you all aren’t going to send a couple of multi-million dollar fighter jets into the certain doom of a hurricane just to take out my sorry ass.”

Barry accidentally left his thumb on the call button as he talked to other Air Force personnel in the command center. “Shit, he called our bluff and…oh, shit…is this thing still on? Look man, I don’t care what you have to say, land that thing now.”

“Can’t,” Moses said. “Gotta gator to kill.”

“The toilet gator?” Barry asked.

“Is there another one?” Moses asked.

“Wow,” Barry said. “We’ve been watching Cole Walker fight that gator on TV all day. I put fifty bucks on the gator in the office pool.”

“Well son,” Moses said. “Prepare for your wallet to be fifty simoleons lighter, because I’m gonna rip that lizard a new one…maybe a hundred new ones. Now get off the squawk box and let an ex-marine do his duty.”

“I guess we can look the other way for awhile,” Barry said. “But you’re still in a metric shit ton’s worth of trouble.”

“You know son,” Moses said. “I don’t think I am. All those laws you say I broke? I got a defense.”

“Really?” Barry asked. “Let’s hear it.”
“The Second Amendment,” Moses said.

Barry laughed. “Please.”

“I have the right to bear arms,” Moses said.

“The right to bear arms, yes,” Barry said. “The right to an Apache attack helicopter? No.”

“Well,” Moses said. “I suppose that might be a namby pamby liberal pantywaist interpretation of the Second Amendment, the kind someone who wants to crawl up inside Hilary Clinton’s vagina and take a nap might make.”

“Don’t give me that,” Barry said. “I’m a conservative, sir. I just don’t think the Founding Fathers anticipated the invention of the Apache attack helicopter. If they had, they would not want them in the hands of private citizens.”

“Yeah, well,” Moses said. “The Founding Fathers didn’t anticipate that there’d ever be a thousand pound toilet gator running amuck through downtown Sitwell, Florida, being all impervious to regular gunfire now did they?”

“I suppose not,” Barry said.

“The Founding Fathers wanted us to be able to protect ourselves with force commensurate to the attack being waged upon us,” Moses said. “If you’ve been watching that toilet gator in action, then you know this fabulous flying machine of death, destruction and mayhem is a more than reasonable option to defend against that surly beast.”

“Be that as it may…”

“Son,” Moses said. “Just thank me for doing that job for you. You all are watching the news. You’ve seen what that gator could do. You all should be sending all the fire and are power you got at that thing, hurricane be damned. But you’re all pussies, so just sit back and let a real man show you how it’s done.”

“But I….”

“Shh,” Moses said as he switched off the call. “No more talking.”

Moses turned up his Wagner. “Buh bah buh buh bah bah….bah buh buh buh bah bah!”

Tagged , , , , , ,

Literary Poop with Professor Nannerpants – Analysis of “The Old Man and the Sea” by Ernest Hemingway

shutterstock_282195503

By: Professor Horatio J. Nannerpants, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Literary Correspondent

Ahh, there’s nothing quite like Paris in the summer, 3.5 readers.  The streets are awash with with inspiring sites, the cafes are filled with delectable aromas and my poop?  Why, it sticks to the wall effortlessly whenever I fling it, the warm weather makes it extra sticky, you see.  It’s all science, really, and as my former colleague, Dr. Hugo von Science has been known to say, “You can’t argue with science.”

Now then, good people, and also you people reading this here…have you ever been down on your luck?  I should assume so.  After all, if you were a very lucky person you wouldn’t be spending much time reading this pitiful excuse for a blog now would you?

But seriously.  Have you ever been stuck in a rut?  Down for the count?  Perhaps you’ve felt like the world has turned its back on you, that life isn’t going your way, that it would just be easier to lie down and give up rather than keep trying and failing?

Balderdash!  Whenever my poop misses its intended target, do I give up?  Nay!  I just fling another poop and try, try again.

And you should too.  In fact, when you are down in the dumps, you should peruse a copy of Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.”  It’s a short read, but full of powerful inspiration.

If you’re very obtuse, you might see it as a tale about a crusty old bastard who caught a fish, but it’s so much more than that.  Let us discuss the various takeaways, shall we?

Getting Out of a Rut Takes a Lot of Work and a Long Time

At the start of this tale, the old man has gone eighty-five days without catching a fish.  That’s a long time to try and fail at something.  His fellow Cuban villagers have begun to see him as hopeless.  Don’t misunderstand – the old man is loved by his people.  They would gladly feed him and look after him, but he is too proud not to at least try to fend for himself.

Whenever you face any kind of problem, be it the inability to catch a fish for eighty-five days, or perhaps to put it in real world terms, an addiction that’s killing you, or perhaps the inability to find a job, you can’t quit.  You must always keep trying, even when things look bleak and it seems foolish and useless to continue to try.

Know two things.  To get out of your rut, it will a) take a long time and b) take a lot of effort.

After his eighty-five days of failure, the old man hooks a big, fat ass fish, a thousand pounder.  Over the course of several days, the old man and the fish struggle against one another.  It’s hot.  The old man is far out at sea, isolated, little food, little water, exhausting himself physically and mentally just to catch this fish.

At any time, he could have just cut the line and set the fish free but no, he didn’t.  He was tired of being a failure.  He wanted that victory, to feel like a somebody again.  So he didn’t bail out when opportunity presented itself.  He fought the fish and he won.

Apply this to real life.  If you’re an alcoholic, it’s going to take a long time and a lot of effort to get off the sauce.  The effort might come in the form of attending Alcoholic Anonymous meetings, finding more kosher pastimes outside of the bar – working on your body and mind, getting yourself in better physical and mental condition.  You’ll have to tell your enablers to shape up or take a hike.  You’ll have to stay away from whatever triggers you to take a drink.

It will also take a long time.  Don’t feel depressed if it’s been a couple of days without a drink and you still feel like you’d give a hand job to a hobo for a sip of beer.  Maintain hope that the longer you stay off the hooch, the less you’ll want it.

Can’t find a job?  Same idea.  Work for it.  Put out those resumes, applications and cover letters.  Go forth and seek out key figures in your field and find ways to get your foot in the door.  Network.  Seek volunteer and intern opportunities to boost your resume.  Seek the necessary education and credentials.  Take some job, any job, just to have money coming in and to be able to say you’re doing something other than playing video games all day when you finally land that interview for the job you really want to do.

Whatever the problem is, your opportunity will come one day (i.e. the fish).  Will you puss out and cut bait and run from that opportunity, or will you be like the old man and wrestle the shit out of that fish until you can finally bonk it on the head with an oar and tie it to the side of your boat?

Haters Gonna Hate

Sharks.  The buttholes of the sea.  Once the old man bags his fish, sharks swim up to his boat and chow down on the old man’s prize even though they did none of the work required to land the fish.  The old man fights them off desperately and managed to land some powerful attacks on them but ultimately, it is too late.  There’s nothing left of the prize fish but a skeleton.

As you venture forth to solve your own problems, there will be many “sharks” who will get in the way.  People will try to take advantage of you while you’re down on your luck in order to improve their own stations in life.  They’ll try to make you feel worthless and hopeless and they will do shitty things to set you back.

Be like the old man.  Try to steer your hypothetical boat away from them, fight them off if left with no choice and if they do get the upper hand, just take a deep breath, calm down, then go back to work on trying to solve your problem.  Do not be deterred from your ultimate goal.

Knowledge of Your Success is Its Own Reward

People struggle with their own internal plights all day.  They rarely, if ever, advertise to the world what’s bugging them.  That person you know who seems like he has it all together might very well be a basket case on the inside.

The villagers are generally aware that the old man is going through a rough patch, but it’s doubtful that anyone other than Manolin, the old man’s little buddy, knows how badly the old man’s pride has been wounded.

Thus, when you do reach your goal, it is unlikely that anyone is going to throw a big party, or parade, or celebration in your honor.  Even worse, you might get what you were always after only to have life pull a George RR Martin (maybe Hemingway was GRRM before GRRM) and do something totally unexpected that tanks your victory – i.e. you finally catch that fat ass fish…only for a bunch of sharks to do a drive-by on it.

Throughout the story, we await the victory moment.  We yearn for the old man to arrive on the dock and show everyone who ever doubted him his giant fish.  He gets it, of sorts, as he is able to bring the skeleton, so everyone knows he’s not a failure anymore…but he doesn’t get the joy of bringing that big fish ashore for everyone to see, posing for a photo with it, carving it up and getting a big fat stack of cash for it.

But he’s cool with it.  The old man is very zen.  He knows he won his own personal war against failure.  He’s content.  At peace.  His pride is intact once more.

So, one day you might finally no longer desire booze anymore…or you might finally land that dream job.  Don’t be offended if everyone doesn’t drop what they are doing and lead a parade in your honor.  Everyone is too busy with their own problems.  Find inner peace with yourself.  Be content that you know you won your personal battle.  If no one will be your cheerleader, then be your own.

Appreciate Those Who Don’t Stop Believing in You/When You Can, Help Those Who Helped You When You Needed Help

Manolin, a young boy, was once the old man’s helper, fetching his fishing equipment and cutting his bait and all that bullshit.  However, his parents have demanded the he drop the old man and find a luckier fisherman to help.  Sigh.  Haters gonna hate.

But even though Manolin goes to work for another fisherman, he still drops by the old man’s house, bringing him food, newspapers, and words of encouragement.

Yes, when you lose for a long time, you’re going to get the losing stink attached to you.  Some people, like Manolin’s parents, will steer clear of you for fear your loser stench will rub off on them or their kid.

Still, if there is someone who still believes in you or hell, even if they secretly don’t believe in you but are kind enough to pretend like they do…be there for that person, help them if you can, and appreciate them back.

Whereas we evil modern day people would probably catch a giant fish and lord it all over everyone who ever doubted us, then spend all our fish money on titties and beer, one gets the sense that the old man is not like that at all.  Early in the story, he talks about wanting to help the people who have helped him.  He talks about how if he catches a fish, he will share it with those who gave him food when he couldn’t afford to eat.

Bottomline – if you do solve your problem, try to pay the world back and help others solve their problems.  You got off the booze?  Good.  Help someone else get off the booze. You found that dream job?  Awesome.  Help someone who can’t find work find a job.

What a great world it would be if we all help each other.

Make Memories While You Can…and Hang Onto Them

The old man wasn’t always a failure.  Arguably, no one in his village even thinks of him as a failure – just that he’s an old man who is past his prime and his best days are behind him.

But the old man did some shit in his day.  He had a wife.  She’s dead and he puts her picture face down because he starts to miss her if he looks at her.  Also, he once worked on a boat that sailed across the world.  His travels took him to Africa, where he saw lions fighting and playing on the beach – lions so rare to see that it’s like staring at unicorn or something.

And, one time, the old man participated in an arm wrestling bout with an opponent so fierce that the match lasted an entire day – and he came out the winner and ended up as the toast of Casablanca.

One day you will get old and you won’t be able to do things like you used to.  The older you get, the less opportunity you have – so stop feeling sorry for yourself and start getting to work on making your dreams reality.

Ask that hot babe out for a date.  Go on that dream vacation you’ve been putting off.  Go to that rock concert.  One day, when you’re old, the memories of what you did will be in your mind and will give you some solace and peace.  Whenever the old man feels sad, he remembers how awesome it was to see those lions and to have once been an arm wrestling champ.

Don’t forget to keep making memories for as long as you’re still kicking.  The old man might not be able to arm wrestle or visit Africa anymore, but he will no doubt be consoled by the memory of his big fish catch for whatever time he has left.

Don’t Kick Yourself for Your Mistakes…Learn from Them

Throughout the story, the old man makes a number of blunders.  He doesn’t bring enough water or food.  He didn’t expect to catch a fish that would fight him for days.  He didn’t bring a weapon to fight sharks.

But that’s ok.  He thinks on his feet and improvises.  He crafts a shark fighting weapon out of what he has on the boat.  He rations his water so he doesn’t drink it all.  He catches some smaller fish and eats them raw – gross, but better than starvation.

Then, when he gets back, he talks with his buddy Manolin and makes preparations.  Next time I’ll need a badass anti-shark weapon.  Next time I’ll need extra food and water.  You get the impression that the old man has learned from his encounter with the big fish and the sharks, and perhaps if he is ever put into this position again, he’ll know exactly how to fend off those sharks and protect his fish.

Don’t get down on yourself for your mistakes.  Learn from them.  Do better next time.

You stopped for a drink because you just couldn’t avoid stopping at that bar you like on the way home from work?  OK.  That was stupid.  Realize it was dumb, then move on.  Take a different route home next time, one that doesn’t pass a bar.  Can’t find a route that doesn’t go pass that bar?  Hell, walk in and politely tell the bartender you’re a booze fiend and beg him not to serve you.  Better yet, tell a loved one about this problem.  Ask them to check on you at a certain time.  Perhaps the embarrassment of being at the bar when they call will keep you out of the bar.

Did you screw up that job interview?  Did you say the wrong thing?  Make a note to not say that thing the next time.  Did your potential employee find your resume lacking?  Find out why and seek out the experiences your resume requires.

Your Opponent Doesn’t Always Have to Be Your Enemy

The genius of Hemingway is you don’t just feel bad for the old man…you also feel bad for the fish.  You get the sense that while this old man is playing out his own real life drama, trying to catch a fish after a long dry spell, this fish is fighting for his life.  The fish may not be able to vocalize exactly what is going on, but he knows that same shit is transpiring, and if he doesn’t keep trying to break free of this hook in his piehole, he’s going to end up on a plate as the old man’s dinner.

So it’s two titans, locked in a struggle, one for pride, the other for his life.  Perhaps the fish’s fight is even more sympathetic than the old man’s.  At one point, the old man even goes so far as to tell the fish that he loves him and he’s sorry that he has to kill him…and he means it.  It’s not the heatstroke talking.

Not every opponent is your enemy.  There are limited resources in the world.  You can’t expect that people won’t try to get the same thing you want.

That person who applied for the job you wanted is a competitor, but not necessarily the enemy.  You don’t have to hate this person.  If he gets the job over you, be respectful and move on.  You don’t need to call him a dick.  If the situation were reversed and you got the job over him, you wouldn’t want him to call you a dick.

If you’re fighting alcoholism, your old booze buddies will most likely try to drag you down.  “Come on, come out with us, one little drink won’t hurt.”  There’s a lot of psychology behind this.  Most likely, they really do enjoy your company and are afraid of losing you if you lose the love of booze you once shared with them.  Or, quite possibly, they regret their own inability to get sober and will try to sabotage you because it will become less easy for them to believe that quitting is impossible (thus they are blameless for the own addiction) if they see you succeed.

Just keep on, keeping on.  Try not to hate those people. Just see them as obstacles in your path.  If they won’t get out of the way, you must go around them.  No need to argue or fight but if they can’t respect your wishes then they can’t be in your life anymore.  You need to keep moving towards sobriety.

Conclusion

If you’re life’s been flushed down the shitter, it’s not too late to pull yourself out of the bowl.  The old man did it and you can do.  Read this classic tale whenever you are feeling sorry for yourself.  Personally, I feel sorry that you have nothing better to do than read this awful, awful blog.

 

Tagged , , , , , , ,

My First Review!

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

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

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

And it can be yours for 99 cents!

Tagged , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 104

presentation01

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

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

Walter kept rolling.

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

Burt and Rusty set the canoe down.

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

“Beats me,” Rusty replied.

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

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

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

Rusty was puzzled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you!” Sharon shouted.

“I love you too!” Cole replied.

“Gag!” Rusty said.

“Pussy!” Maude added.

“Throw me already!” Cole demanded.

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” Rusty said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Errm,” Felix said.

Tagged , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 103

presentation01

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

“That’ll never hold,” Sharon said.

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

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

“Rusty, Burt! Get that upstairs now!”

“Sure thing, boss,” Rusty said.

“We’re on it,” Burt added.

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

“Cole,” Sharon said. “What are you..”

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

“No time to explain!”

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

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

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

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

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 102

presentation01

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

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

“Cumquat?” Cole asked.

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

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

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

Burt and Rusty exchanged a high-five.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just our luck,” Sharon said.

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

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

“Gag,” Rusty said.

“Pussy!” Maude shouted.

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

Cole glared at Burt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think he’s gone?” Rusty asked.

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

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

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

Tagged , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 101

presentation01

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

“Is she alright?” Cole asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Errm,” Felix said.

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

“Errm,” Felix said.

Cole joined Rusty and Sharon in shooting at the gator.

“This is unreal!” Sharon shouted.

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

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

Skippy looked at Cole and seethed with rage.

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

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

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

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

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

Tagged , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 100

presentation01

Downtown Sitwell was a mess of old buildings lined up on either side of a narrow road, a tribute of sorts to a time straight out of yesteryear, back when Mom and Pop shops thrived. The Sitwell Park Mall had long rendered the district obsolete, though many small businesses, ranging from flower stores and clothing boutiques, to bakeries, delis and restaurants, struggled on.

The gang entered the area in a convoy, with the Diablo up front first, Burt and Cole’s rig second, an insanely enraged Skippy third and Maude bringing up the rear. Save for a few parked cars, the stores had been abandoned due to the hurricane, which was unleashing buckets of non-stop rain and oppressive winds.

One gust ripped a parking meter right out of the sidewalk on the left hand side of the road and sent it soaring through the first rig’s windshield. Burt and Cole looked away just in time to avoid being blinded by the scattered shards of glass as the meter landed in the cab between them.

“Mother of God!” Burt cried.

BRAMP! BRAMP! Maude blared on her horn. “Boys, you’re gonna wanna speed up, because I’m gonna ram that sucker!”

“You think that’s such a good idea?” Sharon asked.

“Do first, think second,” Maude said. “That’s…bzztt…bsshhhk…been my way my whole life and it’s got me this far.”

Cole realized his mother figure was about to put herself in some serious danger, but he also knew there would be no use in trying to talk her out of it. “Good luck, Maude.”

“Don’t need luck,” Maude replied. “I got skills.”

Maude stepped on the gas. Her rig sped up, moving down the narrow road, coming ever so close to that big green tail when all of a sudden, skipped turned, jumped into the air, and attacked the rig head on. He chomped his way through the engine block, bringing the rig to such an abrupt stop while it had been traveling a high speed that entire vehicle, cab and trailer, jack-knifed.

Cole watched in his rear view mirror as the trailer tipped over and bashed its way through a number of businesses – Tony’s Pizzeria, Mr. Flashy’s Tux Shop, the Red Rose Florist, Leon’s Deli. The trailer finally rested inside the office of B and G Insurance Company.

Burt hit the brakes. “Jesus! Is she ok?”

“Maude?” Cole screamed into bluetooth headset. “Maude!”

Tagged , , , ,

I Sold My First Book

Hey 3.5 readers.

I’m trying not to be that guy, you know the “Oh look at me I self-published a book guy!” but sometimes this blog is more for me than for you, although I’m happy to have all 3.5 of you.

Often, I forget what I write and surprise myself with forgotten memories years later.  So I’d like to record this one.

I sold my first book!  I’ve given 120 copies away for free but now someone actually parted with money to read my book.  Huzzah!

Priced at 99 cents, I have an entire 35 cents coming my way (Amazon gets the other 64 cents.)

What should I do with my newfound 35 cents, 3.5 readers?  (Hmm…is that a sign, since “35” is just 3.5 without the point?  Interesting…)

I thought about cashing it out and wearing the coins in a little sack around my neck.  It would probably impress all the ladies at da club.

But instead, I think I will save it.  I’ve got an empty mayonnaise jar on my desk and it is labeled “BQB’s Malibu Beach House Party Featuring Scantily Clad Women of Ill Repute with Loose Morals.”

35 cents in.  $999,999.64 to go.

Anyone want to pay me $999,999.64 for a book?  No?  OK just checking.

Thank you first person to buy my book.  I hope you enjoy it.

Be the second person to buy my book for 99 cents!

Bookshelf Q battlers for Amazon

Tagged , , , , , ,