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May 14 2016
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BQB's Bad Ass Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Bad Ass Guide to Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse – Introduction

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Artistic rendition of what Bookshelf Q. Battler would look like as a zombie nerd.

Good day, noble reader.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.

Most likely, we haven’t met yet, but I hold many titles.  Specifically, I’m a world renowned poindexter, epic nerdventurer, reviewer of pop cultural happenings, a magic bookshelf caretaker and last, but certainly not least, a champion yeti fighter.

I won’t waste too much of your time going into all that hullabaloo.  If you’re interested (and I hope you are) you can read more about my life by visiting my humble blog, “Bookshelf Battle” located for your convenience at bookshelfbattle.com

As of this writing, I’m proud to announce that the Bookshelf Battle Blog boasts upwards of 3.5 readers, and it would be a distinct honor for me if you would bring that total up to 4.5.

Hell, if you’re one of those fancy people who has friends, feel free to tell them about me and together, we can make my plan to get my website up to 30.5 readers by 2020 a reality.

If you’ll allow me this brief plug, the Bookshelf Battle Blog is a rousing celebration of all things nerdy.  I don’t mean to imply that you, specifically, are a nerd. Cool people purchase books on how to survive zombie apocalypses all the time.  For the rest of you nerds, I think you’ll feel right at home after your first visit.

I’m not going to lie.  It isn’t easy juggling my many duties. Did I mention on top of all this I hold two full-time jobs?

One of them even pays. I currently hold the distinguished position of Assistant to the Assistant of the Vice-President of Corporate Assistance of Beige Corporation, the world’s premiere supplier of beige products and accessories.

Our motto? “When you need to wear a color that says absolutely nothing about you as a person whatsoever, try beige!”

Yup. It’s a gig that is as boring as it sounds, but it does pay the bills.  Don’t worry, I’m only doing it until my career as a self-published writer takes off.

FYI my writing career needs to take off or else a maniacal alien despot has pledged that he will conquer the planet, but I don’t want to bore you with my problems.

Well, technically it’s also your problem, unless you’re one of those who weirdoes who thinks getting your planet conquered by an alien would be good times. Personally, I doubt it.

Theoretically, I’m not sure the aliens could do any worse than the folks running the joint right now, but this isn’t a political book, so I don’t want to open that can of worms.

Where was I?  Oh right.  Telling you about my two full-time jobs.

The second one only pays me in heartburn and increased stress levels.  But it’s also the reason why I have become an expert on the subject of zombie attacks.

You see, I currently hold the position of Acting Mayor of East Randomtown, USA.

I was never elected and honestly, I don’t even want the job because it requires me to listen to the incessant complaints of a bunch of dumb dummies.  Literally, Kim Kardashian could challenge any one of my constituents to a debate and come off sound like Steve Hawking against these brain donors.

Look, I’m not trying to disparage my home town, but facts are facts, and here are some facts that will help you get the full picture of what I’m dealing with here:

  • An Absurdly High Mortality Rate – My home town leads the world in deaths caused by accidental choking caused by an inability to walk and chew gum at the same time.  I have done my best with a “Spit Before You Hoof It” campaign but I can only do so much.  We are also the town with the highest number of accidental drownings due to people leaving their mouths open when it rains. Thanks to my leadership, every neighborhood has a drown warden now, charged with the task of reminding everyone to shut their suck holes at the first sight of a rain drop.
  • Poor Education – Thanks to my “Books Won’t Steal Your Soul” initiative, I was able to convince more townsfolk to pursue higher education for awhile.  Alas, that all stopped when the local Hipster Hut had a sale on laser pointers. Now half the populace just draws on their walls with their laser pointers while the other half, much like cats, try to catch the light between their hands.
  • Favorite Pasttimes – Baseball?  No. Our official town sport is “Getting Drunk and Accusing Other People of Thinking They’re Better Than You.”  Resident Otto Dobner holds the record, having accused three hundred and eighty seven residents of thinking they’re better than he is.  (Between you and I, most of them were.)

Point? I never would have voluntarily sought the position of being the leader of this moronic wasteland.

Rather, I was drafted into the position in October of 2015, during which I bravely and selflessly took it upon myself to save the town from a zombie apocalypse caused by the evil mad scientist, Dr. Hugo Von Science. (Side note: Dr. Hugo is still a columnist for my blog but my lawyer is working on breaking that contract on the grounds of, well, he’s a nutbag who enjoys causing zombie apocalypses.)

Long story short, our elected mayor was eaten by zombies and then our self-appointed mayor tried to kill me and feed me to zombies.  Ultimately, I had to take the position and am doing my best to suffer through it until someone with half a brain is willing to take this burden off my hands.

I’m not holding my breath.  If you’re interested in the events of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, you can read more about that on my blog. Hell, feel free to click a few extra buttons while you’re there because it gives me the warm fuzzies whenever I see my blog stats go up.

My purpose with this book isn’t to educate you about the zombie mayhem that went down in East Randomtown.  Suffice to say, under my leadership, a whopping 35% of the townspeople were saved, which sounds low, but if you think you could save more people during a zombie apocalypse, then feel free to write your own guide to surviving a zompoc, you braggadocios pain in the posterior, you.

Instead, my goal is to take you, the noble reader, open up your brain and pour in all the knowledge I gained as an experienced fighter of the undead, thus turning you into a bad ass zombie apocalypse survivor.

Noble reader, I’ll even make you this guarantee.

If a zombie apocalypse ever does break out and the knowledge you gained from this book does not prevent you from dying a miserably gruesome death at the hands of disgustingly wretched zombies, then simply send me a tweet @bookshelfbattle and I’ll happily give you a full refund.

And if there’s never a zombie apocalypse, then you’re welcome. No doubt that will be the result of all the zombie apocalypse avoidance information that you will also find inside this revered tome.

Thank you for your time, your interest, and most importantly, the sweet sticky scrilla you dropped on this book.  Know that it will be spent on a good cause, namely, a wings and skins sampler at my favorite chain restaurant, which I will stuff in my face hole in your honor.

Now take my hand and join me on this epic learning experience.

Hold onto your brains.  It’s going to be a bumpy ride. (And also, it makes it harder for the zombies to eat them.)

Warmest Regards,

Bookshelf Q. Battler

Blogger-in-Chief of the Bookshelf Battle Blog

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May 14 2016
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Tomfoolery

Summer of Bookshelf 2016

Hey 3.5 Readers.1371251154

Your old pal, BQB here.

Don’t you just love summer?

For me, there’s just something about good weather that lifts my spirits. Frankly, if it weren’t for the giant, monolithic corporation run by a cartoon mouse and the highly likely chance of being eaten by an alligator, I probably would have moved to Florida a long time ago.

But I digress.  Summer is a time when I feel more energetic, happier and more hopeful and thus it’s a shame to let this rare burst of positivity go to waste (although knowing me, it’ll be gone tomorrow).

This is all subject to change, mind you, but here are my thoughts for Summer 2016

  • I’m loathe to say our favorite pals like Uncle Hardass, Alien Jones, the Yeti, Dr. Hugo and so on will be on hiatus, but they’ll probably take a chill pill for awhile.
  • In other words, I’m going to try to focus more energy on completing publishable work product.  “Books” as you tawdry laymen might call them.
  • I have had people ask me this.  “Why not spend less time posting gibberish and more time posting new parts of your book draft?”
  • And my answer is usually, “Why don’t you eat light salad for every meal? Because even though it’s the right thing to do, and it is the disciplined thing to do, once in awhile you need to pig out on some Doritoes and fudge bars and so on.
  • So…I’m not saying the funny stuff will go away. I mean, I’ll still go to movies and write reviews.
  • I’m still going to write about Game of Thrones because, holy shit, it’s Game of Thrones and I doubt there will be another adult oriented fantasy themed “Lord of the Rings with Gratuitous Boobies” show again at least for the rest of our natural lives so we might as well enjoy it while it lasts.  And as long as smoke keeps popping out of witch vaginas and imps and eunuchs keep trading bitchy barbs, I’m going to be blogging about it.
  • But I’d like to start working on a second project, Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Bad Ass Guide to Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse.  
  • We’ll differ on whether or not it is fiction. You’re probably a square that doesn’t believe in zombies. I on the other hand know they’re real because I fought them during the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse.
  • But to appease the suits that control the various book publishing sites, I’ll say it’s fiction that reads like non-fiction.
  • I have often wondered to myself if I should play to my own strengths. Novel writing is much more difficult than blogging my opinions.  Novels must make sense. Meanwhile, as a humorist, my opinions just need to make you laugh.
  • Ergo, and to bring this post home, while the various Bookshelf Battle Blog characters won’t completely disappear this summer, I’m going to a) put much more effort into finishing How the West Was Zombed and b) when I feel the need to feast on the writing equivalent of Doritos and/or a fudge bar, I’m going to work on my guide to surviving a zombie apocalypse.
  • Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Bad Ass Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse will be written in my own quirky, humorous style.  Rants. Opinions. Nonsense.  Funny stuff.
  •  The best part? When I’m done there will be a minimal amount of editing. Sure, there will be rewrites, error fixing, additions and subtractions, tweaking but will I need to draw up a flow chart of who each character is, where they need to be at what time and so on? Nope. There will be no characters.  I’m the only character this book needs, baby.
  • So sit back, relax, and give me your feedback.  For the Summer of Bookshelf begins…wait for it…wait for it…hold on I need to take a casserole out of the oven…ok…now!
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May 12 2016
5 Comments
Writing

Will people stop reading books in the future?

I wonder and/or worry there might come a day when people don’t read novels like they do today.

I don’t have the stats but I don’t think they even read as much as used to.

So many shows. So many movies. So many streaming services. There’s probably never been a better time to be an actor or a TV writer (I assume competition is still difficult but there are at least more jobs to compete for maybe?)

I’m talking distant future. People will still need to read to get through daily life but I wonder if a time will come, like a hundred years now when people are like why the hell would I read a novel?

I don’t know. Just a thought.

 

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May 11 2016
10 Comments
Tomfoolery

Nothing

I didn’t get any time today, folks, so enjoy the nothing.

Do you have anything to share with my 3.5 readers?

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May 09 2016
1 Comment
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Part 9 – The Not So Great Escape

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Tribal shaman Wandering Snake guilts Standing Eagle into coming to Highwater’s aid.

Slade gets his crew to the livery stable, with a plan to send Miss Bonnie, the Widow Farquhar and Miles south to seek refuge with Eagle’s allies.

Meanwhile, Doc and Annabelle plan to head East to pursue their dreams of becoming international cocaine peddling gynecologists. (Yes, it makes more sense if you read it.)

But with an army of obedient zombies under his control, Blythe interferes with these plans.

The Reverend’s attempt to find some good in Blythe backfires in a big way.

Miles will need to figure out how to be a werewolf before its too late.

Chapter 79       Chapter 80     Chapter 81

Chapter 82      Chapter 83      Chapter 84

Chapter 85      Chapter 86

Due to my incompetence, I skipped making a Chapter 87 and went right to 88, so:

Chapter 88     Chapter 89     Chapter 90

Chapter 91     Chapter 92      Chapter 93

Chapter 94

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May 09 2016
4 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 94

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Miss Bonnie headed south, maneuvering Doc’s wagon down a bumpy path through a forest. The trees were tall and in the moonlight, just the slightest bit spooky.

“Oh I don’t know about this Miss Lassiter,” Sarah said as she looked around. “We will be safe without any men to protect us?”

The driver felt like chewing Sarah out for making that statement but erred on the side of diplomacy. “I think we’ll manage.”

Miles stretched out in the back. Occasionally, he nodded off, only to be jostled awake when Miss Bonnie took the wagon over a rock.

He could hear everything the women were saying.

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Sarah said. “Perhaps life is easier for someone with a…carefree spirit.”

Miss Bonnie raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Oh no,” Sarah said. The bride examined her wedding dress. The train had ripped off hours earlier and between the blood stains and dirt it was more of a reddish brown now than white.

“It’s just that, you lived such a glamorous lifestyle,” Sarah said.

“I did?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“I would imagine a saloon keeping prostitute has many interesting stories,” Sarah said.

“Drunk perverts parting with their pay for pussy is about it,” Miss Bonnie replied.

Sarah blushed. “Good heavens.”

Chance plodded along at a steady speed.

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t lived such a provincial life,” Sarah said. “Between my father and my departed husband, the only thing I have ever done is cook and clean for men. Why, if it weren’t for all of the sinful debauchery guaranteeing your place in eternal hellfire I’d have half a mind to trade places with you.”

As a dedicated church lady, Sarah had a habit of speaking straightforward, oblivious to how her words could be construed as insulting. Miss Bonnie picked up on that but did her best to not take offense.

“Word to the wise, darling,” Miss Bonnie said. “If you spend your life depending on men to take care of you, you’ll be mighty disappointed when they let you down.”

“I suppose,” Sarah said. “Oh but I’ll never have to worry about that with Rain. Such a rugged and hearty man’s man. Perfect in every way. He’s brave and bold and has no problems whatsoever. And he’s so dedicated to me.”

Having no interest in carrying on that line of discussion, Miss Bonnie changed the subject. “Kinda chilly isn’t it?”

Sarah rubbed her hands over her elbows, hugging herself. “It is.”

In the back, the scent of three werewolves wafted through the air and up into Miles’ nostrils. The boy opened his eyes and sat up.

“Have you and Rain been acquaintances long?” Sarah asked.

“Huh?” Miss Bonnie replied.

“He seems to hold a high opinion of you,” Sarah said. “Trusting you to look out for me and all.”

“Oh you know that old expression,” Miss Bonnie said. “‘If you can’t trust the town whore to look out for your bride then who can you trust?’ Right?”

“Is that an expression?” Sarah asked.

“Sure is,” Miss Bonnie answered.

“I’m not sure it is,” Sarah said.

Miles opened the back doors, allowing them to sway in the breeze. In the distance, he saw three glowing yellow eyes. They grew bigger and bigger until he could see three furry faces.

King Zeke and his two flunkies were closing in.

The boy knocked on the front of wagon. Miss Bonnie could hear Miles’ muffled voice from behind the boards.

“Miss Bonnie!”

“What?” the redhead asked.

“Company!”

Miss Bonnie craned her neck backward and caught a glimpse of the three sets of yellow eyes.

“Son of a…”

The redhead snapped on the reigns, prompting Chance to run as fast as his hooves would carry him.

Sarah turned to see what was going on. “Oh Lord save us.”

Miles drew his rifle and aimed for the glowing eyes, but the wagon shook uncontrollably as Chance bolted. The boy fired and missed. Zeke’s henchwolves flanked either side of the wagon, while the King himself followed behind.

One henchwolf ran along the left side of the car. He jumped up and dug his claws into the wagon to hold on. As soon as his face popped up, Miss Bonnie filled it full of buckshot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t silver buckshot, so it didn’t kill him, but it was painful enough that he let go and tumbled to the ground.

Sarah shrieked as the other henchwolf wrapped its paws around her waist. Miss Bonnie dropped the reigns, allowing the wagon to swerve all over as she grabbed hold of Sarah’s ankle. Though she tried to keep the bride in the wagon, King Zeke’s lackey was too strong.

The last thing Miss Bonnie saw was Sarah kicking and screaming as she was flung over the henchwolf’s shoulder. The wolf turned around and ran back towards town, upright on two feet as he carried his prize.

Miles watched as Zeke grabbed hold of the back left wheel, causing the wagon to jerk so abruptly that it started to flip over.

The boy thought fast. He morphed into werewolf form, becoming so tall that his head crashed through the roof of the wagon. After slashing through the boards that separated him from the driver’s seat, he picked up Miss Bonnie and jumped just in time to avoid being caught amidst the flying debris as the wagon crashed into pieces on the ground.

Chance managed to twist himself free of the wreck, then ran off into the night.

Miles felt sharp claws dig into his back. He put Miss Bonnie down and turned to find himself facing the henchwolf that had been shot by Miss Bonnie. His wounds were heeled.

The boy was angry. First his father. Now his newfound friends. He scratched his claws across the henchwolf’s face, then connected an uppercut to the attacker’s chin, launching him into the air then down to the ground.

Miles jumped on top of him, drew his hand back and was ready to deliver a death blow when he saw it. A look of fear in the henchwolf’s eyes.
The kid put his paw down, stood up, then started to walk towards Miss Bonnie, who was searching around for her shotgun to no avail. She picked up a piece of wood and prepared to defend herself.

Miles sensed the henchwolf was behind him. He turned just in time to see a paw coming for his face, only to be stopped when a grey paw grabbed it.

King Zeke’s voice crawled its way into Miles’ mind.

“Now is that any way to treat a fella who did you a good turn?”

The henchwolf was confused. “He got in the way.”

“That bloodsucking lawyer aint paying us to kill our own kind,” Zeke said. Then he asked the kid, “What’s your name, boy?”

“None of your business,” Miles replied.

“Helluva way to talk to your elders,” Zeke said. “Why don’t you run along now before I put you over my knee?”

Zeke and his henchwolf gathered around Miss Bonnie. The redhead got a few good whacks in on the henchwolf’s snout before he grabbed her board, snapped it in half, and picked her up.

Miles put a paw on Zeke’s shoulder. “Tell him to let her go!”

The sound of Zeke’s laughter flowed through Miles’ mind. Zeke turned around, socked Miles in the face, causing him to soar several feet backwards until he landed on the ground.

Zeke gripped the back of Miles’ head and looked him in the eye.

“Here’s some free advice, kid. Either join a pack and do as you’re told or find a cave to hide in, because the next time you put your paw on an alpha, you best be an alpha.”

Zeke let go of Miles’ head, allowing it to fall on the ground. The boy looked up as his assailant walked away.

“And you’re no alpha.”

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May 06 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 93

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Gunther only had the one good eye, but that was all he needed to land a shot straight through the neck of the werewolf that had Standing Eagle pinned. The werewolf roared in pain and became distracted just long enough for the Chief to spring to his feet and bash the beast backward with multiple tomahawk smashes to the snout.

Once the monster was within range, Gunther put a silver tipped bullet right in the back of its hairy head. Eagle side stepped just in time to avoid being crushed by the collapsing carcass.

In a blood and guts fueled frenzy, Slade was using his twin pistols to pop putrid zombie heads as if they were ripe watermelons.

Eagle’s warriors fought valiantly. Bobcat jammed his blade into a zombie’s forehead, then hacked off the creature’s hand, stole its gun and used it to blow out the brains of three more zombies.

Fox scalped a zombified Buchanan Boy, using his knife to peal away the undead man’s hair and skin, not to mention the top half of his skull. Once the zombie’s brain was exposed, Fox plunged his blade deep inside it, putting the zombie’s lights out for good.

The zombies kept attacking, as did the two remaining werewolves. The cowboys and natives closed ranks, fighting in close proximity to each other as they hacked off and shot off all manner of disgusting zombie parts.

“It seems I have saved your useless hide again, Slade,” Eagle said as he chopped the arm off one of his attackers.

“I don’t feel too safe yet,” Slade replied as he put a silver tipped bullet right through the eye of a werewolf, dropping him cold. “But thanks.”

“Are you two going to kiss or are you going to kill zombies?” Gunther asked. The old timer pulled the trigger of his rifle only to hear a click. Out of ammo, he improvised and bashed an incoming zombie’s face in with the butt of his Winchester.

“We make our ancestors proud today, Eagle!” cried Bobcat as he lopped a zombie’s head clean off and tossed it into the air. It remained alive until Slade put a bullet between its eyes before it hit the ground. It was an epic trick shot.

“Am I seeing things or are there even more of these fuckers than before?” Gunther asked.

“You aren’t,” Snake replied as he conked a zombie over the head with his staff. “We kill more and more and they just keep coming…ugh!”

Two zombies grabbed Snake’s arms and attempted to pull him into the sea of undead that surrounded the heroes, but Screeching Owl put an arrow in each of their heads in order to free the shaman.

High up above the brawl, Blythe hovered in the air, directing his zombies in their gruesome carnage. Slade took a few shots at the vampire, but Blythe dodged them adeptly.

From his vantage point, Blythe could see a mile in any direction, and to his delight, the entire town had become filled to capacity with zombies and werewolves.

The drive was finally complete. The werewolf herdsmen had brought their zombie cattle in. With his mind, the vampire directed several hundred  of the undead to converge on the mayhem outside the livery.

Gunther smacked and punched away the undead hands that grabbed him, but there were too many. The old man was hoisted into the air and held there by several different pairs of hands. Soon, Slade was overpowered and ended up in the air as well, as did Fox, Owl, Bobcat, and Snake.

All heroes resisted but they were unable to break the undead grips that held them up over the zombie crowd below.

Eagle wasn’t so lucky. With a werewolf’s paw around his throat, he was lifted into the air. The werewolf squeezed…and squeezed until…CRACK! The Chief’s neck snapped and his body went limp.

Slade cried out in anger and struggled to free himself to no avail.

Down the road, a female rider approached on a horse. As she drew near, the zombies parted to let her through. At least twenty hulking werewolves followed in her wake.

Molly Harper. Queen of a wolf pack out of Colorado. She was older, in her early forties at least, but still a looker with long brow hair pouring out from under her hat. Her leather coat was scuffed and  worn, looking like it had seen a lot of action on the trail.

Blythe motioned for the zombies to clear a circle. Molly rode into the middle of it. Her spurs jangled as her boots hit the ground. Blythe landed next to her.

“Miss Harper,” Blythe said.

“Counselor,” Molly replied in a Southern twang.

“I trust your ride in was riveting?” Blythe asked.

“Sacked and burned everything from Colorado to Missouri,” Molly replied. “Every pack around joined in. These zombies are dumber than a bunch of inbred aardvarks during mating season but they respond to the whip all right. Got quite an army on your hands now.”

“The chairman will no doubt reward you and yours ten fold,” Blythe said.

“Well, my mama always said it was impolite to talk money in front of company but I hope so,” the lady wolf said. “We didn’t drag these sons of bitches cross country for our health.”

Slade, Gunther and the natives were on their feet now, being restrained by the zombie hordes. The werewolf who bested Eagle tossed the Chief’s carcass at Blythe’s feet.

“Good boy,” Blythe said.

“Glory be,” Molly said as she looked over Eagle’s muscular frame. “What a specimen. Shame.”

Bobcat refused to be silent. “You know not what you do, demon. You have taken the life of a warrior far, far better than you could ever be and the spirits will demand justice. They will demand…”

“Shut him up,” Blythe said. His undead stooges obeyed and clamped their hands tightly over Bobcat’s face.

Gunther and Slade were already subdued in a similar manner, disgusting hands over their mouths preventing them from saying anything.

“Miss Harper,” Blythe said. “I hate to give you another job before you’ve had a moment to put your feet up, but there is an urgent matter in need of your skill.”

“Let’s hear it,” Molly replied.

Blythe pointed to Slade. “This one has two women.”

“Two?!” Molly balked then looked over Slade’s face. “Eh, I can see it. He’s right purdy.”

“They escaped,” Blythe said. “I need them back unharmed.”

Slade winced as Molly sniffed his neck. “He reeks of both of them. I got their scent.”

The Queen flexed her muscles. They grew and grew until her clothing ripped off of her. She morphed into a mighty werewolf but unlike the others, her fur was luxurious -silky smooth and alabaster white.

She dropped down on all fours and scurried through the zombie hordes. Two male wolves joined her.

“Take them inside,” Blythe commanded. His zombies obeyed and carried the prisoners into the livery.

Blythe rose into the air and flew back to the Marvel, where Mr. Mayhew and the other conductors were waiting.

“Shall we begin boarding sir?”

“Yes, Blythe replied as his feet touched down on the platform. “But your men can handle that. I need you to head off to the bridge and make sure it’s clear of any rabble.”

“Consider it done sir,” Mayhew replied.

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May 05 2016
2 Comments
Tomfoolery

BQB’s Random Thoughts #1

Hello. I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler. As the Mayor of East Randomtown, here are my random thoughts.

Musings of a general nature in no particular order:

  • Sometimes I’ll watch an old movie, spot an actress who’s a really hot chick, then do the math and realize she’s either dead by now or slurping back jello in a nursing home somewhere. It makes me sad and defeats the purpose of watching the movie. I watched it to avoid reality and now I’m worrying about the grim reality that life is short and the reaper comes for us all. After that, I worry about why my blog is so depressing. Then I wonder whether or not it’s ok to oggle the young, hot vibrant version of the actress in the old movie I’m watching, given that she’s either dead or a vegetable now. I err on the side of yes as she probably got into acting in the hopes that future generations of men would be oggling her in her movies until the end of time, right? It would almost be rude not to oggle her.
  • I hate it when I sit in a chair that someone sat in previously and it is still warm from their ass warmth. Though irrational, the warmth of someone else’s butt on a chair coming into contact with my butt instantly causes my mind to believe in a most steadfast matter that a zillion of the other person’s butt germs are invading my butt. Alas, all I can do is grin and bear it because when you’re in a situation that calls for you to sit down in a chair someone else was just sitting in, you can’t exactly break out a thermometer, then wait a minute and test it to see if the chair has cooled down now, can you?  (No seriously, I’m asking, is this socially acceptable? Because if it is I’ll start carrying a thermometer to test the ass warmth of chairs I have to sit in from now on.)
  • Ladies, no matter what your boyfriend tells you, it’s never cool or acceptable if your boyfriend tries to sell you into a foreign businessman’s harem. Say no to harems.
  • It has just been brought to my attention that it was politically incorrect of me to express concern about the harems of “foreign businessmen” when I could have just as easily pointed out the dangers of being sold into the harem of any one anywhere at any time. Indeed, if there are any domestic harems, you should avoid being sold into those as well. I will now attend sensitivity training and flagellate myself with a cat of nine tails as penance.
  • I have never left a penny in the gotta penny give a penny need a penny take a penny tray. It may be too late for me to avoid eternal damnation now as I’d have to leave so many pennies now to make up for it, and that’s not even considering inflation.
  • Bums like me. I assume this is because I look non-threatening and thus they can wear me down by following me and repeatedly asking for change until I give up toss and toss a few scheckels their way just to get rid of them. Part of me wishes I appeared more menacing to bums. Then part of me just wishes the world would improve so the bums would have somewhere to go where they could be happy and warm and collect change from people whose egos aren’t so fragile that they end up wondering what is it about them that makes them look like a good mark for bums.
  • I’m sorry. I’ve just been notified that “bum” is a politically incorrect term. Hobo, vagrant, transient, and/or poor person are also terms that are off limits. The correct term now is “person of limited means and stifled upward mobility.”  For example, I must look like an easy mark for people of limited means and stifled upward mobility.
  • I’m fairly certain the first person who ever ate a lobster was either extremely hungry or a raging psychopath. Otherwise, who looks at a creature that looks like a red sea insect and things, “Mmm yummy!” (Then again, who looks at a cow and thinks “Mmm yummy?”
  • But at least there’s a degree  of separation between me and the cow. A cooked cow isn’t heaped onto my table. I just get a tasty burger instead. Meanwhile, I have no idea how someone can take a boiled lobster carcass and not look at it while they’re eating it and wonder about the lobster’s life? Did the lobster have a wife? A family? Had the lobster fallen on hard times? Maybe he lost his job, got depressed, turned to drinking, pushed his lobster wife and lobster kids away but then he finally got a new job and was ready to put his difficult past behind him and make amends and be happy when he got tossed into your put and a fork shoved up his butt to take out his innards and dip them in butter.
  • When I was but a mere boy, unknowledgeable about the birds and the bees, I thought it was possible for men to get pregnant. I’m not sure why I thought that but I assume since all I was ever told at the time was that babies come out of a woman’s stomach, that men’s stomachs were also prime pieces of real estate for baby production. Later, the truth that only women can get pregnant was revealed to me.  “Boy, I really dodged a bullet there” was my immediate response. I remember it like it was last week. Probably because it was.
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May 04 2016
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Tomfoolery

Do It Yourself Post Day

I’ve got nothing to offer today, 3.5 readers.

So instead, tell me what’s on your 3.5 minds in the comments.

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May 03 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed = 70,000 Words

Hey 3.5 Readers.

BQB here reporting another milestone – I have hit 70,000 words on How the West Was Zombed.

And with some cool chapters lately (the Reverend becoming vampire chow, Doc’s impromptu escape plan) have me feeling my second wind.

Still a lot of work to go but it is happening.

Have you been reading, 3.5 readers? What do you think?

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