PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
BQB croaked and now he seeks the meaning of life. What, you want me to spoon feed it to you?
READ Parts 1-5
BQB wakes up in the hospital, interacts with the characters from his shelf who drive him nuts, discovers that a Great Guru lives on top of a mountain deep within the war torn island nation of Pango Tango. Bookshelf Q. Battledog, who momentarily learns how to speak, alerts him to a news story that convinces BQB to make the journey.
READ
PART 6 PART 8 PART 10 PART 12
PART 7 PART 9 PART 11
“YOU SHALL NOT TRAVERSE IN THIS GENERAL DIRECTION!”
Growing up, two of my favorite kids’ books were:
Esmeralda and the Ice Cream Rendering Plant: A crackpot ice cream rendering plant manager goes off his meds, invites a group of children to visit the plant, and then one by one the children are tortured for, you know, behaving like children, through various ice cream related punishments. (i.e. the mean kid has maraschino cherries thrown at him, the spoiled kid gets doused with hot fudge, the kid that lies all the time gets buried in a vat of rainbow sprinkles.) I mean, they make it out alive in the end, but as a grown up, I kind of wonder how this book ever got published in the first place.
The Master of the Bracelet: A young lad travels across a mysterious land with a magic bracelet in his pocket. His mission? To pawn it – because it was ugly and no one wanted to wear it but it was solid gold so it was worth a couple months’ rent.
These were two books that kept me entertained as a boy and yet once on my shelf, the characters from these tomes fought like cats and dogs.
Dropinius comes and goes as he pleases.
There was Dropinius the Sorcerer. He always popped in and out of Master of the Bracelet. He’d offer some casual advice to the young lad, warn him against trouble, give him some orders, then claim some business that had to take him elsewhere. In short, he was always adept at finding stuff for someone else to do.
Between you and me, I always thought Dropinius was like that weird guy in your office. No one has any idea what he does and you never see him accomplish anything, but he walks around acting important, so he keeps drawing a paycheck.
A tiny version of Dropinius slammed his magic wand down on the bookshelf, much to the great dismay of a group of pink lumpy wumpies, who were smaller than usual, thanks to the shelf.
You might remember that the lumpy wumpies were the goofy assistants to the off his rocker ice cream rendering plant manager. They were so cheerful that they performed every task with a song and dance routine.
“Lumpy wumpy dumpitty duck doff, somebody tell that sorcerer to fu…”
“ENOUGH!” I yelled as I walked into my home office.
“Dropinus!” I said. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop slamming your magic wand down on the bookshelf? You’re going to crack it and it’s not like I’m going to be able to find a magic bookshelf repair shop!”
“They started it!” the long bearded, pointy hat wearing sorcerer said in his exceptionally authoritative voice. “Look what they’ve done to Schmedley!”
If you’ve read, Master of the Bracelet, then you know Schmedley is the psychotic creature who is obsessed with the bracelet and wants it because he finds it extremely fashionable.
Schmedley sat on my shelf and sucked on a pixie stick that was taller than he was. Between slurps of sugar, he argued with his multiple personalities in his signature creepy, screechy voice.
“Stinksy lumpsie wumpsies!” Schmedley said. “They gives us the bad sugarsies!”
Schmedley turned around to address his alter ego.
“No!” Schmedely said. “We wants it! We needs it! We needs the pixie stixie…it is our…our… pre!!!”
“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want to pay off Peter Jackson!” I said as I grabbed the pixie stick and pulled.
Schmedley grabbed the other end. I found myself in a tug of war with the little beast.
“Why did you give this to him?” I asked the lumpy wumpies. “You know he has an addictive personality!”
“Lumpy wumpy dumpitty dask dor dit…the little jerk came right over and asked for it!”
“So?” I asked. “You wouldn’t give a beer to an alcoholic if he asked for it, would you?”
“Its ours! Its ours! We needs it!” Schmedley screeched. “Stinksy Booksie Q. Battlesy is stealing our PRE…”
Dropinius conked Schmedley on the head with his magic wand and not a moment too soon, for I could almost hear Peter Jackson’s secretary calling his lawyer. Luckily, Dropinius’ quick thinking forced the monster to let go of the pixie stick. I grabbed it and tossed it into the trash can.
“Official Bookshelf Q. Battler decree,” I said. “No one is to give Schmedley candy ever again.”
“MY PRECIOUS!”
“Schmedley!” I yelled. “What have you done?!”
Schmedley scratched his head and looked up at me. “My…um…copy of Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire? We must watches it immediately for it is a grim reminder of the plight of inner city youth?”
“Good save,” I said.
I opened up my copy of Master of the Bracelet and flicked the monster into the book with my thumb and forefinger.
“Alright,” I said. “Everyone else! Gather around!”
Several characters exited their respective books and took a seat on the shelf. Others popped out of their various hiding places.
“I’m going on a trip,” I said. “And while I’m away, I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”
“Yes Papa,” D’Artagnan said mockingly.
“That means no battling on the bookshelf,” I said. “You know you all get carried away and if I’m not here to stop you, you’ll lose control and burn my headquarters down.”
I consulted a list of rules I’d written down on a yellow legal pad.
“While I’m gone, you may rent three and only three pay per view movies,” I said. “Nothing too risqué, keep it PG-13 or lower, and I swear if I come back and find you guys have run up my cable bill I’ll toss all of your books into the recycling bin!”
“What about sustenance?” Annie asked as she patted her pegasus on the head.
“The fridge is stocked,” I said. “And Antonio’s Pizza delivers. Against my better judgment, I’m leaving a credit card next to the phone. Again, use it only for emergencies. Do not abuse it. If you do…”
“The recycling bin?” Tessa asked.
Tessa’s totally going to blow up BQB’s compound while he’s gone.
“I’m thinking wood chipper,” I replied.
I checked the list.
“My number is also next to the phone,” I said. “You guys can do that thing you do when you jump up and down on the buttons to call me, but again, only in an emergency.”
“You’re worse than Overlord Kwazlo and the corrupt dystopian regime I fight with little to no battlefield experience,” Tessa said.
“Lights out by 9,” I said. “And please do not do anything to make the neighbors suspicious or else…”
“We know, we know,” Dirk Lane said. “The government will confiscate us and cut us into pieces just to see what makes us tick.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Finally, remember that Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog, as Head of Security for Bookshelf Battle HQ, is in charge. I trust his judgment and I expect you to follow his orders.”
“He’s a dog,” Tessa said.
“Yes,” I replied. “Oh, and fun fact – he talks now. So, there’s that. Any questions?”
All the characters just looked around silently.
“Class dismissed.”
The characters dispersed back into their books. I removed my big dictionary to find a spot on the shelf where Monroe was throwing a wild and lavish party.
BQB and The Incorrigible Monroe have more in common than you’d think.
The notorious poser was in a dixie cup that doubled as a pool, snuggling with two beautiful flappers.
Behind him, at least twenty small, well-dressed 1920’s people were jitterbugging.
“Young duffer!” Monroe yelled as he removed a tiny cigar from his mouth. “The water’s fine! I’d invite you in, but I doubt you’d fit!”
“You missed my lecture,” I said.
“Did I?” Monroe asked. “A terrible shame!”
“Listen,” I said. “While I’m gone…
“I know, I know,” Monroe said. “No parties. I’ll be good, Young Duffer.”
“Actually,” I said. “I want you to throw one great big non-stop party the entire time I’m gone.”
“Come again?” Monroe asked.
“Invite all the characters,” I said. “If they’re too busy partying, then they’ll be too busy to fight and if they’re too busy to fight, they won’t burn down Bookshelf Battle HQ.”
“That idea is the bee’s knees, Young Duffer,” Monroe said as he jumped out of the dixie cup. He was covered by a pair of swim trunks and as he walked around, he dripped water all over the shelf.
“I’ll throw the wildest, out of sight shin dig your bookshelf has ever seen.”
“Good,” I replied. “But just keep the party to the bookshelf. No parties elsewhere in the house.”
“Understood,” Monroe said.
“I mean it,” I said. “I don’t want this to turn into that time I took a day trip to wine country and came back to find hundreds of tiny well-dressed 1920’s people puking and passing out all over my house.”
“You can count on me, Young Duffer,” Monroe said. “Why, I’ll get on the horn and invite Jenny right away!”
“Yeah,” I said. “Listen, about that.”
“What’s on your mind?” Monroe asked.
“You and I suffer from the same affliction,” I said.
“We’re both a couple of larger than life go-getters?” Monroe asked.
“We both pine for women who wouldn’t pee on us if we were on fire,” I replied. “It’s not healthy. I’ve decided to do what I can to put Blandie out of my mind and I suggest you do the same with Daisy.”
Monroe nodded.
“You know, Young Duffer,” Gatsby said. “You are all kinds of smart. You’re exactly right. If Jenny doesn’t want me, then there are plenty of other gals who will. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?”
“Right.” I said.
Gatsby pointed to my copy of Missing Woman.
You seriously haven’t read Missing Woman yet? Oh what an amazing mysterious thrill ride. First, the woman is missing, and the author sends you on all these twists and turns but…well, SPOILER ALERT – let’s just say the protagonist, Molly, is not exactly a bowl full of sunshine.
“You know, I think I might knock on this book and invite that Molly gal over to my big soiree,” Monroe said. “I hear she’s a real looker and between you and me, her husband’s a bit of a cad. Perhaps I’ll swoop in and be her shoulder to cry on if you know what I mean.”
“NOOO!” I yelled.
I slapped my forehead and pulled my copy of Missing Woman off the shelf.
“I can’t believe I left this here,” I said.
I know – I think a sequel called “BQB’s Rogues Gallery” in which a bunch of tiny villains escape the safe and take over the magic bookshelf would be awesome too.
Next to my desk, I kept a safe full of books that featured characters I didn’t exactly want to see small versions of running around my home. I opened the safe and placed Missing Woman inside, right next to my copies of books involving killers, wackos, monsters, and those guys who always take a penny out of the change tray at the convenience store but never give a penny even when they have one.
“Nah,” I said as I closed the safe. “Molly’s uh…she’s not right for you. And besides, you really need to stop hitting on married women.”
“You sure, Young Duffer?” Monroe asked. “I hear Molly’s a fiery redhead with legs from here to Yayaville.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “Find another woman, Monroe. Literally, find any other woman.”
Finally! Bookshelf Q. Battler will leave BQB HQ and venture forth in the big bad world to seek out THE MEANING OF LIFE!
But you’re going to have to wait over a week or so to read it (wah wah).
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Wizard, safe, and man in tux photos courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
BQB’s Attorney advises “Any resemblance to other literary works or characters is purely coincidental and/or for parody purposes only.”
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