Tag Archives: writers

BQB’s Production Schedule

This year has been a tough one.  As you all know, I’m an ageless fictional character who is forever a young, happening dude.

However, my friend the Alleged Man turned 38 and that has been hard on him.  He is realizing that the window for him to do all he wanted to do in life is getting shorter so if he’s going to do something he’d better do it.

So I’m taking a page out of his playbook.

At this time I have three completed first drafts: 1) Toilet Gator 2) Zom Fu 3) How the West Was Zombed.

Actually, Zom Fu has a few chapters left but it is substantially done.

I think at this point I have to put what is written above what is not written and get these three polished and published.

How the West Was Zombed worries me most.  It began as the first book in a series but as time went on I pictured it as book three.  But at best I think I can get like one draft of a book written a year and I don’t want to wait 2 more years so I think I will release How the West Was Zombed as Book 1 and then if people like it I will change it to Book 3 and release the first 2.

Or perhaps I’ll divide the series into “Zombie Westerns” and “Zombie Western Prequels.” Zombed can be the first book of the Zombie Western Series.  Later, I’ll write Remember the Zombamo and that can be the first of the prequels.

It could be better to wait and put them all out at once but I just don’t think I have the time to wait anymore.  If this self publishing thing is going to happen it must happen soon.

What say you, 3.5?

 

Tagged , , ,

The Writer’s Battle – Reservoir Dogs – Non-Linear Storytelling, Doing More with Less and Setting Your Story to a Soundtrack

Are you going to bark all day little 3.5 doggies, or are you going to bite?

BQB here with a little green bag of a discussion about Quentin Tarantino’s 1992 film debut, “Reservoir Dogs.”  What can you 3.5 aspiring writers learn from this flick?  A lot.

Non-Linear Storytelling

Tarantino was the main pioneer of this type of storytelling, namely, when a writer starts at the end and works back to the beginning, rather than start from the beginning and work the story until its conclusion.

In this case, we get an introductory scene where a group of criminals are sitting down for breakfast in a diner.  They trade jokes and we get a sense of each individual’s style.

Next thing you know, Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) is driving Mr. Orange (Tim Roth) to a hideout.  Mr. Orange has been shot in the gut, an apparent sign that a planned diamond store heist went bad.

You’re never actually shown the heist.  Most of the film takes place in a warehouse/hideout as the characters try to figure out how their heist went so wrong, why the police were waiting for them, and most importantly, which member of the crew is the rat who told the cops about the job?

From there, the film goes into flashbacks where we see bits and pieces of the escape from the heist that went wrong, as well as some past “get to know” some of the characters scenes.  The film always returns to the warehouse as the characters move the story forward, trying to figure out who did the crew wrong.

Tarantino could have done this a different way.  He could have started with the backstory of the characters in the beginning, put the heist that goes wrong in the middle, and have the fighting over who the rat is at the end.

Wouldn’t that have been boring though?  Instead, Tarantino chooses to put the most exciting part first.  You jump right into the action – a blood soaked back seat, a pained Mr. Orange screaming out in terror about his impending demise, a calm Mr. White driving a getaway car while holding Mr. Orange’s hand, telling him he’ll be ok.

Your mind immediately asks the question, “How did this heist go so wrong?”  And now you want to sit back and let Uncle Quentin tell you how.

Doing More with Less

This was the first film Tarantino directed.  Sure, he had a bigger budget than any of us indie writers, but still, he didn’t have much compared to other big name films of the day.

Even so, he did a lot with very little.  Consider:

  • Mr. Blonde’s soda cup – We have a scene where Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi) and Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) have turned guns on each other, both men starting to lose it as they’re trying to figure out who the rat is and how to avoid going to jail.  Suddenly, we are interrupted by a tell tale sip.  Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) is sipping soda out of a fast food cup through a straw.  The implication?  Mr. Blonde does not give a shit.  He is an unfeeling psychopath.  Any rational person would be scared out of their minds, consumed with fear that the cops will bust down the door any second.  Mr. Blonde?  He murdered a bunch of people in a heist, and then during a citywide search, he stopped at a drive-through to get some food.  He literally did not give a shit that he’d get killed or sent to prison, he was not unsettled by the murders he committed, he was perfectly content to stop for fast food and have a bite to eat while there was a manhunt for him and his crew in progress.  Keep in mind this is not stated.  It’s all about show and tell.  Here, for the price of a ten cent soda cup, Tarantino told us an epic shit ton about Mr. Blonde’s character.

 

  • Steve Buscemi’s gunfight with the cops – So many gun scenes are cliches.  Both sides fight.  No one gets hit.  No one has to reload.  The guns are easy to control, there’s no kickback, everything works out.  Here, Tarantino shows us the furious side of a gun battle.  Buscemi empties his gun at incoming police until his clip runs out.  You see police officers fall in pain, you see the stress on Buscemi’s face.  The message?  Real life gun battles aren’t all summer blockbuster hocus pocus.  Shit gets really terrifying, really fast.

 

  • The nonlinear format itself – I have a hunch that the nonlinear format helped Tarantino save money.  He could have dropped a ton of dough on a major heist scene, show the criminals in an elaborate robbery, followed by epic gunfights and car chases.  Instead, he trusts the actors to tell us about it as they try to piece together the mystery of the rat and the actors do well, the stress they are obviously feeling tells us they were just involved in some heavy shit.

Setting Your Story to a Soundtrack

Tarantino invents a 1970s music station that everyone is listening to throughout the film.  It makes for a retro vibe, and Tarantino was surely trying to pay homage to the cheesy Beretta style crime dramas of his youth.

Playing “Little Green Bag” as the criminals walk down the street gives us a sense that these are some hardcore pricks.

Meanwhile, in an iconic scene, Mr. Blonde tortures a police officer set to the sounds of “Stuck in the Middle with You.”  This song is a happy song, one that makes you want to smile and dance…but it shows what a psycho Mr. Blonde is, namely, that he is enjoying dancing to this happy beat while he’s cutting off a cop’s ear and setting him on fire.

Most people would never do such a thing.  The few that would usually know that this would be no time to dance.  Mr. Blonde is a special kind of crazy.

Of course, you don’t have the rights to use popular songs like Tarantino did.  However, I find that my writing is helped when I listen to songs related to time periods I am writing in.  It puts me in the mood.

How Nonlinear Storytelling Can Fix Plot Holes

Suppose you are a hardened criminal fresh off a botched diamond heist that went wrong due to a rat.  Who would you immediately suspect?

If you said, “The New Guy,” congratulations.  You’re acting like a stylish, early 1990s diamond robber.

The irony is the film goes for most of its length with the characters fighting over who the rat is.  We aren’t told there is a new guy until we get towards the end.  Then we discover Mr. Orange is the new guy and also an undercover cop.  Spoiler?  Shut up, you’ve had since 1992 to watch this thing.

But that’s the thing.  You’re not a stylish early 1990s diamond robber, so you weren’t thinking like one.  Maybe “the new guy” might have popped into your head, but you don’t find out until the end that there was a new guy.  Once you do, you realize the whole crew is apparently very, very, ridiculously stupid.  I mean, they knew he was the new guy.  Why didn’t any of them go, “Hey, I think the new guy might be the rat…”

Had Tarantino followed a linear format and told us up front that Mr. Orange was the new guy, he’d of been the obvious rat suspect, giving away the story’s most vexing question.

Conclusion

With this film and its followup, “Pulp Fiction,” Tarantino inspired a generation of filmmakers and writers, challenging them to abandon the rules in favor of coolness, style, and better yet, to grab the viewer’s attention and draw them in.

Think about writing like dating.  If you are super rich and have a ten foot King Kong penis, you might want to drop that information sooner rather than later.  If you make your date wait until the tenth date to find out your most amazing qualities, she might get bored by then and switch you off, like your audience will do with your writing.

In other words, Tarantino dares us to start with the ice cream first, and then we’ll work our way to the meat and potatoes.  Give us that bloody gunshot victim screaming in pain in the backseat right away, and then we’ll stick around to fight out how he got into such a terrible state.

You can do this too, if you dare.  Begin with the most awesome part of your story, then explain how we got there.

Tagged , , , , ,

I Have Made An Entire Dollar off My Book Sales

Yup.  I didn’t have a dollar before and now I have a dollar.  Dolla dolla make you holla, y’all.

Bookshelf Q battlers for Amazon

Tagged , , , ,

Toilet Gator is the Best Novel Ever

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.

toilet-gator-book-1

Tagged , , , , , , ,

And Now Zom Fu Returns…

tabletdemo

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

Yeah, it’s unfortunate I ended up taking a little hiatus on Zom Fu.  Ironically, I did so right at the end.

When last we left our epic tale, Junjie had just defeated Dragonhand, the Master of the Clan of the Terrifyingly Unnatural Brain Bite.

It’s pretty much cleanup from now on, just the the final chapters where we learn what happens to our heroes after the story concludes.

Good news!  That means I should have another draft of a novel done within a month, perhaps sooner depending on how much time I can put into it.

Tagged , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 112

toilet-gator-book-1

Cole, Sharon, Rusty, Moses, Felix and Professor Lambert, dressed in their best finery, milled about in a waiting room just outside the Oval Office. The doors opened and Buck Breckenridge poked his head out.

“I’m sorry,” Breckenridge said. “The President is on a very important call.”

President Stugotz’s voice traveled out of the office and into the waiting room. “Look, just because I’m the leader of the free world doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have my own private account on bigtimeknockers.com…yeah…uh huh…security risk? So make it secure, nerd. God Almighty, this shouldn’t be that hard…yeah well just shut up and make it happen. POTUS needs his big time knockers or else he’ll get very cranky and when I’m cranky I start posting on Lifebox and then my super hot wife and my super hot daughter chew my ear off and then after that it’s all I can do to keep my finger off the nuke button, OK?”

“Excuse me,” Breckenridge said as he shut the door.

Sharon chuckled. “Big time knockers?”

Moses spit into the palm of his hand and slicked down a cowlick on the top of his head. He then straightened his tie. “Woman, you laugh but that man in there is a true patriot and a saint and if he looking at big time knockers helps him get the job done then by God, he should have big time knockers.”

Cole sighed. “Ugh I just want to get this over with and get back to the hotel.”

“Why?” Sharon asked. “Hun, you’re a hero.”

Cole puffed out his chest. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Oh well,” Professor Lambert said as he pulled out a joint and a cigarette lighter. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

“What are you doing?” Sharon snapped. “Put that away!”

“Dude,” Rusty said. “How did you get that through security?”

“My butt, a string, and a whole lot of patience,” the Professor said.

“If you can’t take a break from pot for an hour to meet the President of the United States then you’ve got a problem,” Sharon said.

The Professor sparked up and puffed away. “No one’s arguing with you, sister.”

The doors opened all the way this time. Buck made a weird expression as he sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

The Professor quickly dabbed the joint out against the leg of the priceless antique chair he was sitting in, then stashed the evidence in his pocket. “Smell? What smell?”

“It smells like Bill Clinton’s second term out here,” Buck said. “Strange. Oh well, follow me. The President will see you now.”

As the Chief of Staff led the gang into the Oval Office, they marveled at the sights, taking in the breathtaking architecture and artwork, including a giant portrait of former President Teddy Roosevelt. President Stugotz was sitting behind the historic resolute desk, engaged in yet another tense negotiation session over the phone.

“I want a large cheese pizza with extra cheese, OK?” the President said. “And when I say, ‘I want extra cheese,’ I mean, I want a whole hell of a lot of cheese. Don’t skimp out on me, OK? I’m serious. Don’t be like one of those pizza chefs who hears ‘extra cheese’ and then just puts a tiny dab of cheese on my pie, OK? In fact, I’ll tell you what, when you think you have put enough cheese on this pizza to comply with my request of extra cheese, go all out and shake some more cheese on it anyway, just to be safe. Believe me, nobody explains how to make an extra cheese pizzas better than me, OK? I am the best at ordering pizzas. Goodbye.”

“Mr. President,” Breckenridge said. “The heroes who defeated the toilet gator are here.”

“Fantastic!” President Stugotz said as he stood up and walked over to greet his guests. “Let me get a good look at them.”

The gang formed a line for the President to review. As he walked down the line, he gave each hero a handshake and a kind word.

“Officer Yates,” President Stugotz said.

“It’s actually Chief Yates now, sir,” Rusty replied.

“No one gives a shit son, and believe me, I know what people give a shit about, OK?” the President said.

“Yes sir,” Rusty said.

President Stugotz slapped Rusty on the back. “Job well done. You’re the coolest redhead I have ever met, and I’m including those Irish supermodel twins I plowed while I was on my honeymoon with the second Mrs. Stugotz.”

“That means a lot sir,” Rusty said.

“I know it does,” the President said as he moved on. “And you must be the guy with the Apache attack helicopter.”

Moses and Felix snapped to attention and saluted the President.

“Yes sir,” Moses said. “Sergeant Moses T. Malone, United States Marine Corps, retired and this is my hetero life mate Felix Howard. If I may be so bold, we love you sir. We both voted for you in 2016 and we can’t wait to do it again in 2020. Wild dogs won’t be able to keep us away.”

“Moses,” President Stugotz said. “I know smart people when I see them and believe me, I’m the smartest person I know. If you two voted for me then that makes you a couple of real smart cookies.”

“Thank you sir,” Moses said. “Sir, I don’t mean to bother you, but is there any way you might pull some strings so I can, you know, keep my Apache attack helicopter and also, if possible, not go to jail for all the laws I broke while I was flying it around?”

President Stugotz stroked his chin. “Hmm. Well, all the crooked lawyers in my employ tell me that you literally broke thousands upon thousands of laws by flying that thing around but…you know what? I don’t think you should go to jail for that. No one should ever have to go to jail for daring to fight a toilet gator. This is America. We don’t run from toilet gators here.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Moses said.

“You know what?” President Stugotz. “You’re off the hook. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, thank you sir,” Moses said. “But uh…do I get to keep it?”

“You want to keep an Apache attack helicopter?” President Stugotz asked.

“If possible, sir,” Moses replied. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“A piece of military hardware like that in the hands of a civilian?” the President asked. “I don’t know.”

“I promise I’ll never take it out again, unless of course there’s another violent animal attack,” Moses said. “Had the toilet gator not reared it’s ugly head, that fabulous helicopter would still be in my hangar, getting a fresh coat of wax applied to it every Sunday by yours truly.”

“Give me one good reason why I should let you keep it,” President Stugotz said.

Moses shrugged his shoulders. “Second amendment?”

President Stugotz looked up at the ceiling and pondered the proposition for a bit. He then turned his attention back to Moses. “Sold!”

Moses and Felix exchanged high fives as President Stugotz moved on to Sharon.

“Mrs. Walker,” President Stugotz said. “I was so glad to hear that you and your husband patched things up. I mean, it’s one thing to want to live a wild, carefree life and another to be impractical and well, you being forty and all…”

“I also love him,” Sharon said.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, dear,” President Stugotz said. “Listen, I watched you on TV, tearing ass down the highway in that Diablo and I was impressed. In fact, I was so impressed, that I turned to the First Lady and said, ‘You know what we need, sweetheart? We need more vaginized Americans doing things that people with vaginas don’t normally do, like becoming doctors and lawyers and politicians and astronauts and police officers and toilet gator killers.”

“Thank you sir,” Sharon said. “That’s touching, in an odd way.”

“You’re an inspiration to ever little girl who ever dared to look out her bedroom window and up to the stars and proudly declare, ‘One day I will help end the life of a desperate, psychotic animal.’”

“That’s probably enough now, sir,” Sharon said as she pulled her hand out of the President’s grasp.

President Stugotz faced Cole. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then the Commander-in-Chief gave the renowned gator hunter a warm embrace.

“Cole Walker,” the President said as he stepped back. “A star is born.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Cole said.

“You know I was the first person to post on Lifebox that you would defeat the toilet gator,” President Stugotz said. “I was the only one who believed in you. I believed in you so much that I pushed aside a meeting with a bunch of wishy washy do-gooders who want to pass some cockamamie legislation about giving kidneys to junkies with AIDS or some such nonsense.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, sir,” Cole said.

“Remember that, Bob?” President Stugotz asked.

“Yes sir,” Breckenridge replied.

“I was all like, ‘All you do-gooders figured out how to get kidneys for junkie AIDS patients on your own, I have got to write at least ninety-seven posts about how Cole Walker will most definitely beat the toilet gator because that man is a winner and believe me, I know a winner when I see one.’”

“Thank you,” Cole said.

“I should know,” President Stugotz said. “I’m the biggest winner the world has ever seen, but you wouldn’t know it because I’m so ridiculously humble. I go out of my way to avoid bragging about myself. Truly, I do. Being a braggart is very unbecoming. Believe me.”

“I’m just honored to be here, sir,” Cole said.

“Cole,” the President said as he shook the gator hunter’s hand. “For offing that filthy, rotten, dirty, disgusting, degenerate toilet gator, this country will be forever in your debt. If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask?”

As the President began to walk away, Cole stepped up. “Anything?”

The President turned around. “Anything except, you know, gay stuff. I mean, I don’t judge and I suppose if you want a dude to do stuff to your butt, I could make some calls and make it happen, but be advised that ‘anything’ did not include me doing anything to your butt, capiche?”

“I capiche sir,” Cole said. “And no, I don’t want any butt stuff but there is one thing you could help my wife and I with…”

“Name it,” President Stugotz said.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Toilet Gator – Chapter 111

presentation01

Natalie and Walter sat comfortably inside a G-6 private jet, on their way to the London leg of the international publicity tour for their upcoming book, “Jaws of Death: The Inside Story of the News Duo That Took Down the Toilet Gator.”

“Cheers,” Walter said as he clanked his champagne glass up against Natalie’s.

“To you,” Natalie said as she raised her glass. “For all the advice and wisdom you bestowed on me. I’m so sorry I kicked you in the balls, and I’m even more sorry that I got us both fired.”

“No worries,” Walt said as he flicked a piece of lint off of his flashy Italian suit. “The severance package was generous and the payout will get even bigger when Network News One settles my lawsuit.”

“Your lawsuit?” Natalie asked.

“Sure,” Walter said. “You’re suing because you were sexually harassed. I’m suing under the theory that they canned me to cover up what Kurt Manley did to you.”

“Wow,” Natalie said as she sipped champagne. “You have got to be the smartest cameraman I’ve ever met, Walter. Still, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you an interview with a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”

“That’s ok,” Walter said. “There will be other hot ass blonde chicks and other big titties.”

“Is it me or are you losing weight?” Natalie asked

“It’s not you,” Walter said as he patted his slimmer stomach. “I’m off the snack cakes. Thirty days and I haven’t touched a single one.”

“Bravo,” Natalie said as her cell phone began to ring. “Hold on, I’ve got to take this…hello?”

The voice of a very gruff Australian man came through on the other end. “‘Ello, mate. Roscoe Whipplethorpe here to talk to Natalie Brock if you’d please and thank you very much.”

“This is Natalie. Wait, did you say, ‘Roscoe Whipplethorpe?’”

“Indeed I did, love.”

“The Roscoe Whipplethorpe?” Natalie asked. “As in the owner of Network News One?”

“The one and only,” Roscoe said.

Walter flashed Natalie a big thumbs-up.

“Thank you for calling, Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Roscoe said. “Here’s the skinny on the big old pile of digeridoo we’re all wrapped up in. This is one sneaky pickle, aint it? A little bit of the koala in the romper room if you know what I mean? A right horrible sticky wicket, this is. Try to climb out of this muck and you’ll get pulled down in it, pull, pull, pull and before you know it, Bob’s your Uncle mate because it’s all over. It’s all over and the wallaby has put you in her pouch and whisked you away into the sunset.”

“Sir,” Natalie said. “I’m sorry but I have to idea what you just said. I don’t speak Australian.”

“Crikey!” Roscoe shouted. “Well, let me break it down in for you in Amercian-speak, yeah? Look, Kurt Manley was a real knob and it was time for him to go. You did the network proud for making that happen as far as I’m concerned. There’s never been any love lost between Kurt and I, especially since Kurt got drunk and motorboated me mum at me own body wedding.”

“That sounds like something Kurt would do,” Natalie said.

“Your lawsuit’s the top of every other news channel’s broadcast,” Roscoe said. “Anyone who is anyone is saying that NN1 is a company full of sexist, chauvinistic iiperverts.”

“Well,” Natalie said. “No offense, but it is the house that hot ass blonde chicks with big kitties built.”

“Right,” Roscoe said. “So listen, I hate lawyers. You hate lawyers. Bunch of lowlife, bottom feeding cuttlefish if you ask me. Let’s take the lawyers out of this and settle this fuss by yourself, what do you say?”

“I’d like that,” Natalie said. “What do you have i mind.”

“It’s simple, really,” Roscoe said. “Kurt Manley is out. Natalie Brock is in.”

Natalie broke out into a cold sweat. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“I want you to read the news, love,” Roscoe said. “Come on back to the states first chance you get because the time for a shiela in the anchor’s chair. Only codition is you’ve got to settle iWhat do you say?”

“Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Tagged , , , ,

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 , , , , , ,