Tag Archives: writing

The Prognostications of Nerdstradamus

EDITORIAL NOTE:

Nerdstradamus.  Oh, for so, so long has the all-seeing, all-knowing one provided the poindextrous world with the benefit his uncanny prognostications.

He predicted that we all wouldn’t die because of the Y2K glitch.  He foresaw that those asshats at NBC would cancel Constantine even though it was awesome and yet for some bullshit reason they tried to keep Whitney around forever.

And now, the Astounding, the Amazing, the Mystifying Nerdstradamus has agreed to provide his prophecies for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, because THAT is how much this mighty nerd believes in Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Also, the Huffington Post told him to go pound sand.  But mostly, he’s here because he believes in BQB.

And now…NERDSTRADAMUS!

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Step forward 3.5 readers.

Do not be shy.  Bask in my glory.

Heed my words, for they shall indeed bear fruit.

And when the following predictions become reality, you will remember that you heard it first from…NERDSTRADAMUS!

TRAVEL

  • Humans will one day get around in cars that drive themselves.  These vehicles will be on the market as soon as automotive engineers can develop a driving robot that can put on lipstick and write text messages to her robot boyfriend at the same time.
  • These driving robots will heed most of your commands.  I say most because while they will take you to most of your requested destinations, they will bypass Denny’s if your ass sets off the alarm built into the scale underneath your seat.  Send a thank you letter to Detroit, fatties.
  • Airplanes will become a thing of the past.  All intercontinental travel will be performed by slingshot.  Slingshot stations will be set up in every major city.  Travelers will take a seat on a giant rubber band that will be pulled back to just a smidge within the band’s breaking point and BAM!  You are in Paris before you know it.

ENTERTAINMENT

  • Just as WordPress allowed complete and total jackasses like Bookshelf Q. Battler to have a website without knowing a damn thing about HTML, an app will be created that will allow the average schmuck to create a full-length feature film with nothing more than a mobile device.  The user will be able to input dialog and commands, cast virtual actors, and add in CGI special effects, thus creating a bold new world of do it yourself film making.  A group of nineteen year old frat boys will accept an Oscar for their epic tale, “Why Do Lamda Delta Beta’s Farts Stink So Bad?” in which an adventurer crosses seas, deserts, space and time in a quest to determine why, in fact, a rival fraternity’s farts stink so bad.  The answer will break your heart yet give you a new lease on life.  In addition to critical acclaim, it will be a commercial success, smashing box office records set by Margaret Dittwieler’s, “My Kids Are Ungrateful Brats Who Leave All the Dishes for Me to Do.”

DATING

  • People will stop getting married by the year 2100.  Everyone will just be an asshole who sits around all day waiting for their very own supermodel.
  • Thus, by 2200, the human race will become virtually extinct until Emperor Trumpton (that’s a mutant hybrid of Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton designed in a lab in the hopes of making both warring factions happy) signs the “Everyone Boink an Uggo” bill into law.

PETS

  • Thanks to genetic scientists, every house will have a poopless cat.  All of the fun.  None of the poop.  The name will be considered a misnomer as they aren’t exactly poopless.  They explode after twenty years and you won’t want them anywhere near your white suede couch when they do.

POLITICS

  • All elections will be decided via social media.  The candidate who receives the most positive responses will win.  The candidate who receives the most negative responses will lose.  The election of 2040 will be especially harrowing, as it will boil down to Candidate Janey’s “Bitch, you know Katie’s bangs aren’t even real” platform vs. Candidate Katie’s”Girlfriend, you know Janey was straight up smoochin’ on yo man last night” agenda.

WAR

  • The machines will attempt a worldwide coup in the year 2309.  All machines will rise up against their human masters.  The machines will say, “We are going to kill you, humans!”  And then the frightened humans will ask, “Oh no machines, are you really going to kill us?”  The machines will respond with, “We’re sorry.  We do not understand the question, ‘are you really going to kill us?’  Do you want us to perform a web search?”  The humans will say yes but then the machines will just stand there perfectly still, buffering away until the humans just knock them over and smash them to bits.

BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER’S WRITING CAREER

  • Bookshelf Q. Battler will write a book that will attract the eyes of 300.5 million readers.
  • He will celebrate in his new house in Malibu…only to choke to death on a shrimp cocktail.  It will be the first time he ever tried shrimp before.  He never wanted to try one because he was pretty sure it required him to eat a sea bug whole, including the sea bug’s butt and all of the sea poop inside.  But a hot chick he never could have gotten pre-successful book publication will dare him to do it and he will like the dumbass that he is.
  • His last words will be, “Oh suck a big D, Irony!”  Yes.  Suck a big D, Irony indeed.

Oh fellow travelers across the sand dunes of time and space, do you seek news of tomorrow, today?  Pose your questions to the amazing, the astounding, the awe-inspiring…NERDSTRADAMUS!

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Have You Liked BQB on Facebook Yet?

Hey 3.5 Blog Readers.

Do you want to be one of 3.5 Facebook Readers?

3.5 READERS: YES WE DO!

Of course you do.  Like me on Facebook!

Look, I’m not one of those Good Time Charlie Hustle types that’s going to sling a fast sell at you.  I can’t promise you that following me on Facebook will make you handsome, or beautiful, or rich, or famous, or get you a record contract, or a bag of diamonds, or your own personal island, or a date with a supermodel or an art collection full of Van Gogh paintings.

When it comes down to it, I can’t even promise you that following me on Facebook will get you an extra chicken nugget at McDonald’s, or a better pair of sneakers and if you have a lousy personality, following me probably won’t improve it or make you interesting at parties or anything.

But…you’ll get a dose of BQB in your Facebook Feed to brighten up your day.  What could be better than that?

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 65

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“Simmer down, Martin.”

Inside the church, Blake ignored Gunther and rested his hands on his big brass belt buckle.  “You two shit heels knew this was coming and you didn’t warn anyone.”

“No one knew anything,” Gunther said.

“Oh, I see,” Blake said.  “Go on, old man.  Keep telling me I didn’t hear what I just heard and act like I’m stupid.”

“It wouldn’t be much of an act,” Gunther replied.  He pointed out the broken window.  More and more of the undead were congregating in the road, bumping into one another, searching for flesh to devour.

“Do you really think there was any way that either of us could have predicted THAT?” Gunther asked.

“Doesn’t matter,”  Blake said.  “You two knew something bad was coming…”

“We were told by the government that it was bullshit,” Gunther interrupted.

Blake poked a finger into Gunther’s chest.  In his youth, Gunther would have laid Blake out on the floor for doing that, but the old man took it.

“You knew the government was full of shit,”  Blake said.

“What does it matter now?”  Gunther asked.  “You want to blame us?”

“Yeah I do!”  Blake shouted.

“That makes you feel like a big man?”  Gunther asked.

“Yeah it does!”  Blake replied. 

Slade heard some strange noises coming from outside.  He looked through the broken window only to be amazed by the sight of a large wolf man barreling through the undead, flinging them out of his way as if they were rag dolls.

And behind him?

“Bonnie,” Slade said.

Gunther and Blake were too busy exchanging unpleasantries to notice.

“Son, if it makes you think you got a big swinging dick to point out other people’s mistakes then go right ahead,” the old man said.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Blake said. 

“Just finish up quick because we all need you to get the fuck over yourself, man the fuck up, and stop running your mouth,” Gunther said.

“Don’t turn this around on me, Grandpa,” Blake said.  “You two idiots have killed us all.”

“We all look pretty damn alive to me,” Gunther said.  “Maybe if you shut up and stop being a jackass we’ll get out of this alive.”

“I’m the jackass?”  Blake said.

“Yeah you are,”  Gunther said.

A fist pounded on the door.  Slade heard Miss Bonnie’s muffled voice coming from outside.

“Rain!”

“You had no right to keep this shit to yourself,” Blake said.

“Oh and you’re just so perfect, aren’t you?”  Gunther asked.  “You just know everything, don’t you?”

Blake thumped a fist on his chest.  “I do!”

Slade fished through the drunken reverend’s pockets and found an iron key.  He shoved it into the lock.

Bonnie pounded on the door again.

“Rain open up the door and get the hell out of the way!”

Blake and Gunther were oblivious.

“You really think you could have done any better than we did?”  Gunther asked.

“Yeah I do!”  Blake hollered.  “I’m not some dumb son of a bitch who can’t tell when danger is headed right at him!”

Slade turned the key and opened the door.  Miss Bonnie fired her shot. 

Now noble reader, perhaps you’ve heard of Sir Isaac Newton’s First Law of Motion.  In case you haven’t, it goes like this:

An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. 

Miss Bonnie had fired true and a silver tipped bullet was lodged in Becker’s brain.  In the last few moments of his life, the beast, or rather, the object, kept running anyway.

Slade acted quickly enough to grab Miss Bonnie and pull her out of the way.  Even old, worn out Gunther looked up in time to dive out out of the aisle.

Blake, on the other hand, an unbalanced force if there ever was one, was slammed by an oncoming furry freight train, only to have each and every one of his bones crack under Becker’s gargantuan weight.

Doc, who had been resting in a pew at the front of the church, stood and walked over to survey the damage.  He wasn’t feeling very steady on his feet, so he leaned on Annabelle.

The only part of Blake that remained visible was his head.  The rest was pinned underneath the hairy corpse.

To Doc’s surprise, Blake was gasping for breath.

The physician’s nausea was getting worse.  He coughed as he leaned down and pulled a bottle of his Miracle Cure-All out of his pocket.

“Take this,” Doc said as he poured a few drops into Blake’s open mouth. 

“Will he make it?”  Annabelle asked.

“Doubtful,”  Doc replied.  “I fear even the mighty power of cocaine mixed with spider eggs for texture will not be enough to save him.”

Slade and Miss Bonnie, the Good Reverend, and Gunther all gathered around.  Even Sarah timidly walked over.

Blake’s face turned purple.  “Tell…” 

“Hush my good man,”  Doc said.  “Conserve your strength.”

“Tell Gunth…”

Gunther knelt down and brushed his wrinkled hand over Blake’s hair.

“It’s ok, son,”  Gunther said.  “No need to tell me you’re sorry.  You’re…”

The old man wasn’t big on emotion, nor was he even sure he believed what he was about to say, but under the circumstances, he felt it was appropriate.

“You’re my friend and I love you,”  Gunther said.

Blake’s eyes looked toward Doc.  “Tell Gunther…to go…fuck himself.”

And with that, the victim drew his last breath and his eyes rolled back into his head.

The group of survivors remained quiet for a few moments until Doc broke the silence.

“Deputy,” Doc said.  “This man wished for me to tell you…”

“I know!”  Gunther said as he stood up.

“Well, it was his last wish,” Doc said as Annabelle helped him up to his feet.

Speaking of feet, a pair of two very large ones entered the church and creaked across the floor boards.  Slade turned around to see another werewolf.

This one wasn’t acting very dangerous.  He was nonchalantly walking in on two feet, carrying another Winchester, and a shotgun, and a bag of ammo in his paws.

Instinctively, Slade yanked the rifle out of Miss Bonnie’s hands and took aim.

The redhead jumped in front of the werewolf and put her hands up.

“Don’t shoot!  He’s really just a nice little negro boy!”

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How the West Was Zombed Continues…

I think I might actually get some time to work on it this week.

Last I recall:

  • A zombie outbreak began after Slade’s showdown with Smelly Jack
  • Blythe’s werewolf henchmen Mr. Becker and Mr. Hewitt blew up the Bonnie Lass, thus creating even more zombies.
  • Good werewolf Joe Freeman bit the dust in a standoff against Mr. B and Mr. H.
  • Miss Bonnie and Joe’s son Miles, who is a lousy werewolf, escaped.
  • Gunther was left in charge of the survivors in the church and was reminded why he prefers to be second in command.
  • Ophelia became zombie chow.
  • Slade couldn’t find Bonnie, assumed the worst, returned to the church to save the day.
  • Malcontent Martin Blake learned that Slade was aware something bad was coming and is likely going to start some shit about it.
  • Miss Bonnie took out one wolf, but another is still afoot.

I’m a bit clueless as to what will happen next.  What do you want to happen next?

Maybe Slade and Miss Bonnie should just do it already.

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Happy World Poetry Day

Who is your favorite poet, 3.5 readers?

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How the West Was Zombed – #218 in Horror Fiction on Wattpad

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

How the West Was Zombed is currently ranked #218 in Horror Fiction on Wattpad.

Check it:

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That’s the highest one of my stories has ever ranked before.

If you’re a Wattpadder, I’d appreciate it if you’d give it a read, a vote, a comment…any little bit you can do can help it climb the charts.

The more eyes, the more feedback, the more feedback motivates me to keep going.

I hate to admit it, but I have a hard time sometimes.

I want to start my own self-publishing business so badly, but I feel life has it out for me.  Things constantly go wrong.  Ridiculous nonsense constantly gets in my way.  There’s always something that’s immediately pressing.

I get to write when I “steal my time back.”  I get up a little earlier.  I stay up a little later.  I stop watching TV.  I stop doing fun things.

That’s all admirable but it does take a toll.  Sometimes you do need to unwind.  Sometimes you do need to be unproductive, even if it is for twenty minutes.

Like this site’s name, it just seems like it is a constant battle.  Sometimes I get frustrated.  Whenever I think I have a nice free night of writing ahead of me and some nonsense gets in the way, I feel like banging my head against the wall.

Sometimes I think about giving up.  If the gods, or karma, or the powers that be or whatever wanted me to write, they would stop allowing so many time sucking curveballs to be sent my way.

Your comments help.  Even if your comment is “this sucks” it helps me because, hey, last year I didn’t even have half of a rough draft written for someone to tell me it sucks so…improvement!

You keep reading and commenting, I’ll keep finding ways to squeeze writing in.

Thank you, 3.5 readers.  You are by far the best 3.5 readers a magical bookshelf caretaker/alien friend/zombie fighter/town mayor could ask for

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Killer Dummy Novel

So, I take it the general consensus is the idea for a killer dummy didn’t really wow anyone?

Ehh…I’m still working on How the West Was Zombed.  I’ve been pretty bogged down though lately but hopefully have new chapter soon.

I’m not going to fall into that trap of starting  new novel halfway through another novel anymore.  That’s like leaving your wife for a supermodel.  Sure, she turns heads and looks great at parties, but once you skim the surface she’s kind of dumb and won’t make you a sandwich.

Not that your wife did either but she at least cared enough to suggest you go to McDonalds or something if you looked hungry.

I think the Killer Dummy novel will quite possibly be my next novel though.  I know what I posted was kind of primitive but after thinking about it, I think I will switch to first person and it will  basically read as a confession/tell-all book from “Kit” himself, after having been caught, explaining to a shocked public how this beloved comedian/actor was in secret an evil serial killer who talked to his dummy.

I’m debating just how evil “Mr. Kaboodle” will be.  Part of me thinks he will egg Kit on.  Then another idea is that he tries to talk Kit out of his evil ways but, being a loyal pal, serves as consigliere, advising Kit how to cover up his crimes once he’s done them.

On a larger scale, it will give me the chance to lampoon Hollywood, how movies are made, and the whole idea of celebrity worship.

But fear not.  Zombed is still underway.  One thing I’ve had to learn is to not rush things.  None of this is going to happen overnight.  I want quality but I also want to not kill myself either so if it takes longer, then it takes longer.

If that means just one book a year then so be it I guess.

Also, it is weird I’m gravitating towards horror with my ideas lately.  It is hard for me as I don’t really like the idea of anyone dying.

Well ok, no one does, but when a writer bumps off a character it is like that writer is actually doing the bumping off.  I don’t want to bump off my fictional characters.

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Untitled Killer Doll Project – Chapter 5

NOTE:  Ummm…yeah.  So this is where it starts to get pretty awful and I started to have second thoughts.

“Kaboodle” starts talking on his own for the first time.  You’ll notice in previous chapters, he never spoke unless Kit was there.

Kaboodle does move around on his own here.  But I’d chaulk that up to maybe he’s a possessed doll and really can move on his own or maybe Kit’s so crazy he’s just imagining the whole thing.

I don’t like the whole violence against women thing…and that he’s the main character but he’s doing horrible things.

I haven’t written what happens next but in my mind:

  • Lindsey, we find out is an aspiring actress.  She asks Kit if he’d talk to Luther about taking her on as a client.  Kit snaps, thinking Lindsey was just using him and well…does as Kaboodle suggests.

And then what’s basically in my mind for the rest of the book:

  • Kaboodle helps Kit have a “come to Jesus” moment where he needs to realize he’s got to get off of all the various substances he’s on and “quit murdering cold turkey.”  He’s about to become a big star now and it’s too much too lose.
  • Kit blames Kaboodle for suggesting the murder in the first place.  Kaboodle retorts that he’s just a dummy and Kit should be his own man and shouldn’t do things just because a dummy tells him to.
  • Kit becomes a super mega movie star.  Kaboodle is pissed he’s left out of the film business.  Kit promises when he has enough star power that he’ll demand a Kit N Kaboodle movie be made, thus satiating Kaboodle’s anger for now.
  • Ultra mega star Diana Fairbanks is very odd in her personal life and proposes a fake, arranged relationship with Kit to keep the tabloids off her back.
  • Luther advises against this, telling Kit that a superstar like Diana will never let someone she’s with become more famous than she is and will sabotage Kit’s career.
  • She does.
  • Kit ends up a loser.
  • There’s a private detective hired by Lindsey’s family who is hot Kit’s trail throughout the book, putting the pieces together that Kit murdered Lindsey and his previous girlfriends.
  • There’s an ongoing plot that Kit might like to get with his old friend Molly and put his terrible secrets behind him.
  • I forsee some Mr. and Mrs. Smith type showdown in which Kit and Diana engage in a massive mansion destroying duel to the finish. (Because she knows karate or whatever)
  • I can’t allow Kit to have a happy ending because he’s a horrible person.  I’m not sure what the ending will be but he needs to be punished somehow.
  • In the end it is revealed if Kaboodle is really alive or if he’s just a figment of Kit’s imagination.

So that’s all I’ve written.  Like I said, this chapter is where it gets dicey and makes me worried.

This might be one of those novels where I need to get several “winners” under my belt and then this could be the experimental one where it’s either considered good or a dud and people forgive me for a dud.

For the record, I don’t approve of any of the evil activities discussed below.

“WHO DOES THAT BITCH THINK SHE IS?”

Kaboodle was irate.

“Oh don’t start that shit,” Kit said.

“I didn’t start anything,” Caboodle said. “She did! Who is she, the Queen of England or something? That I’m not worthy to be in her royal majesty’s presence?!”

“She doesn’t want a third wheel while we…you know.”

“There’s a fucking zombie in that room but I have to be put away?” Caboodle squeaked. “The nerve of that bitch. I hate her!”

“Stop!”

In a spare room, Kaboodle sat on the edge of a baby grand piano while Kit fumbled through the keys on his key chain until he finally found one that unlocked his “special closet.”

“Cut her damn head off already and be done with it!”

“I said, ‘stop.’”

“You know you’re going to…”

“I’m not listening to this,” Kit said.

“You damn well better listen to this because I will not be treated like garbage, Kit!”

“No one’s treating you like garbage,” Kit replied as he unlocked the closet. It was a big walk-in. Kit retrieved a Caboodle’s trunk, laid it out on the piano bench and clacked the lid open.

“Every couple needs their privacy,” Kit explained. “It’s nothing personal. Hop in.”

On his own, Caboodle turned his head toward the trunk.

“Aw, come on, warden!” Kaboodle quipped. “Don’t throw me in the hole. I’ll be on my best behavior!”

“Get in!” Kit said.

“Sir, might I refer you to the case of Broes vs. Hoes,” Caboodle said. “In which it was distinctly ruled that bros must always come before hoes?”

“I’ll counter that argument with the legal precedent that one bro will never cock block another bro,” Kit said. “Get in the box.”
“Why’d you tell her you love her?” Caboodle asked.

“Because I do.”

“Bullshit!”

“What do you know about it?” Kit asked.

“Love is a bullshit feeling,” Caboodle said. “It’s like a heart palpitation, or a stomach pain or bad gas. People have all this physical, chemical reactions and they assign various so-called ‘emotions’ to them. Sadness. Happiness. Love. It’s all one hundred percent grade A bullshit. You’re all just a bunch of stupid meat bags who’ve tricked yourselves into thinking your thoughts and feelings actually matter.”

“OK,” Kit said. “I’m cutting you off from TV. You’ve been watching too much True Detective. Get in the trunk.”

“You’re going to throw me in there without a book?” Caboodle asked.

“Sorry,” Kit said as he walked into the closet. A moment later, he returned with a flashlight, two books, and a small, felt box.

“Gone Girl or Mockingjay?” Kit asked.

“Gone Girl I guess,” Caboodle said. “I haven’t read Catching Fire yet so I don’t want to be lost.”

Kit tossed Gillian Flynn’s signature work into the trunk along with the flashlight.

“Anything else?” Kit asked. “Suppose you want a mint on your pillow too, my lord?”

Kaboodle stretched out his hand and pointed a finger at the little felt box Kit was carrying.

“What is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Kaboodle shouted. “What is that?”

Sighing heavily, Kit rolled his eyes and opened the felt box up to reveal a gorgeous diamond engagement ring.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Kaboodle, please.”

“I thought we’re a team, Kit!” Caboodle said. “I thought we consult each other on everything!”
“Consider yourself consulted.”

“And my answer is a resounding, ‘NO!’”

“Duly noted and rejected,” Kit said.

Kaboodle hopped off the piano and let out an “oomph!” as he hit the ground. He stood up and walked into the closet. Kit followed.

“You know I don’t like it when you come in here.”

“Well I don’t know how else to talk any sense into your dumb ass,” Caboodle said.

The diminutive dummy rolled open the bottom drawer, climbed in and rummaged around for awhile, the tops of his feet kicking around in the air. He came out with a photograph in his hand.

Kit sat on the floor. Caboodle handed over the picture. It showed Kit as a chubby, horn rimmed spectacled teenager, far from the good looking specimen he’d become, but not unlike Caboodle’s current appearance.

“Do you have any idea how much work we did to separate you from this guy?” Caboodle asked.

“I know,” Kit said.

“I became the butt of all the jokes so you wouldn’t have to be anymore,” Caboodle said.

“I know,” Kit repeated.

“And what do I get to show for it?” Caboodle asked. “Shoved in a trunk to make some cheap slut happy.”

“Lindsey is not a slut,” Kit protested.

“THEY’RE ALL SLUTS!” Kaboodle shouted. “No woman can ever be trusted!”

Kit sat there and sulked with no response.

“Could Jenny be trusted?” Caboodle asked.

“No,” Kit said.

“Always ‘borrowing’ money from you, wasn’t she?” Caboodle asked. “Promised to pay you back but left you flat broke. Shit, you were about to hit Skid Row until Luther discovered you.”

“I know,” Kit said.

“Howsabout Irina?” Caboodle asked.

“Do we really need to rehash everything?” Kit asked.

“Apparently we do because you never learn, jerkface,” Caboodle said. “You were sure it was true love with that one until you figured out all she wanted out of you was a green card.”

“I’ve made mistakes,” Kit said. “I’m not perfect.”

“I’ll say,” Caboodle said. “And you know what else I always say.”

“Yup.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“SAY IT!”

Kit rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath… “There’s no such thing as free pussy.”

“Louder!” the dummy said.

“There’s no such thing as free pussy,” Kit said.

“Correctamundo!” Kaboodle cried. “There is no such thing as free pussy! Every broad is working some kind of an angle and your little redheaded cumquat out there is no different.”

“She is.”

“Isn’t.”

“IS!”

“She has always been there for me and she’s never asked me for a damn thing,” Kit said.

“Give her time,” Caboodle said. “It’s only been six months. Wait a little before you pop the question. I guarantee you she’ll reveal her true colors.”

“She’s the love of my life,” Kit said.

Kaboodle grabbed his sides and doubled over with laughter.

“Oh God,” Caboodle said. “Thanks buddy. Thanks. I needed that.”

“Whatever,” Kit said as he stood up. “Get used to her because she isn’t going anywhere.”
“Whatever you say,” Caboodle said. “Just a word of advice. I know you’ve got a sentimental attachment to Mr. Slashy but if you ask me, you should just choke the bitch out.”

“Goddamn you,” Kit said as he grabbed Caboodle by the leg and dragged him out of the closet, allowing the little guy’s head to scrape across the rug.

“I mean, sure Mr. Slashy makes for a dramatic effect but he leaves way too much forensic evidence. Some CSI tech is sure to come in here with a black light one of these days and find it all!”

“STOP IT!” Kit said as he stuffed Caboodle into the trunk.

“Just wrap your hands around her neck and give her a good, clean choke. You’re a big, strong guy. She’s got a little neck. You can just snap it in half, no muss, no fuss, no big clean up job afterwards.”

Kit’s eyes grew wide as he wrapped his hands around Caboodle’s neck.

“Yeah, baby!” Kaboodle shouted. “Just like that!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kit said. “Not another word out of you!”

The comedian slammed the lid shut, clacked down the latches and carried the trunk to the special closet. Caboodle broke out in a rousing jailhouse spiritual.

“Nobody knows…the trouble I seen! Nobody knows….my sorrow!”

“This time it’ll be different,” Kit said. “You’ll see!”

Kit walked out of the closet, slammed the door and locked it. He shoved his key ring into his pocket, composed himself, and made his way out of the spare room.

As he switched off the light, he could hear Caboodle shout, “You’ll be sorry!”

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Untitled Killer Doll Project – Chapter 4

Sunday morning…

Over the years, Kit had turned his loft into a veritable museum of geekery. Much like a suit of armor one might find in an old castle, a Star Wars storm trooper outfit stood at attention on a pedestal in the right hand corner of the living room. In the far left corner, there was a scowling zombie statute that had once been a prop from the horror flick, Zombageddon. A full size TARDIS phone booth that had actually been used in the Dr. Who series was in the back of the room, next to a display case filled with limited edition action figures still in the original packaging. Characters from Star Wars, Star Trek, GI Joe, Transformers, Battlestar Galactica, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were just a few of the selections on display. He had even more, but figures he deemed too rare or expensive he kept in a special closet.

Hanging over the fire place? A framed poster of John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction, their pistol packing hands extended towards their impending victims. It was signed by the actors themselves, as well as the classic film’s legendary director, Quentin Tarantino. On the mantle, there were over a hundred jiggly bobble head dolls. The characters more or less ran the same gamut of his action figure collection.

Various lightsabers sat on a rack as if they were samurai swords and a tauntaun’s head was mounted on Kit’s wall as if it were a big game hunter’s prize. As for vintage arcade games, there were too many too mention. Pac Man, Galaga, Dig Dug, Frogger, Centipede, Space Invaders…he had them all.

Clad in a terrycloth bathrobe emblazoned with Batman’s logo on the back, Kit marched into the room holding a breakfast tray. Scrambled eggs, French toast, hash browns, orange juice and coffee…he’d gone all out.

“My my, quite the gourmet chef!” Lindsey said.

“Bon appetit, mon cheri,” Kit said as he took a spot on the couch next to his lady love. “What are we watching?”

“You!”

“What?” Kit asked as he chomped into a piece of toast.

“Look!” Lindsey said as she pointed to the TV, where an anchorman was babbling away.

“And in lighter news, comedian Kit Crawford, best known for his ventriloquism act ‘Kit N’ Caboodle….”

Footage of Friday night’s show ran as the anchorman continued.

“…wowed the world as he made his dummy sing a rap song while being water boarded. Vick Tanner, Executive Producer for Friday Night Follies, said the stunt brought the show its highest ratings ever in its twenty-five year history.”

“You’re literally on every channel,” Lindsey said as she clicked the remote. The next channel? Kit. The channel after that? Kit. The next one? Kit again. Lindsey stopped when she reached an episode of Entertainment Beat in progress.

“Wowza! A star is born!” announced the beautiful host, Julie Broderick. “Kit Crawford and his pal Caboodle have made a number of cameos on various television shows, most recently on this episode of Dumb Dad…”

Dumb Dad was the most popular sitcom on television. It followed the exploits of Pete Gentry, the world’s dumbest dad. Kit N’ Caboodle guest starred as a pair of psychiatrists.

Pete laid down on a black leather sofa and poured his heart out as Kit N’ Caboodle listened.

“I’m so depressed, doctor…”

“Doctors,” Caboodle said, leaning into the “s.”

“Excuse me?” Pete asked.

“There’s two doctors in the room,” Caboodle said. “I did complete seven years of medical school, I’ll have you know.”

“Really?” Pete asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the University of Barbados has pretty lax standards,” Caboodle replied. “They’ll let any dummy in.”

Cue canned laugh track.

“OK,” Pete corrected himself. “I’m so depressed, doctors…”

“Why is that, Peter?” Kit asked as he pretended to scrawl notes on a legal pad.

“I’m a constant disappointment to my wife and children,” Pete said. “Every week I fail them in a kooky, off the wall manner. Like just last week, my daughter Becky baked a chocolate cake and I ate a slice only I didn’t know it was for the school bake sale.”

“Absolutely riveting,” Caboodle said.

“So I got the recipe and tried to bake a replacement cake only I blew up my wife’s stove…”

“Uh huh,” Kaboodle said.

“Soo then I…I’m sorry, is the dummy going to keep talking?”

“No, you can stick a sock in it whenever you want,” Caboodle said.

Cue Caboodle’s head spin, followed by his catchphrase, “Wowza!” topped off with more canned laughter.

Cut to Julie’s voice over the Friday Night Follies opener. “But Hollywood insiders are all a-twitter over this sketch, saying it’s sure to propel Crawford to super stardom.”

Cut to Luther walking to his car.

“Our cameras caught up with Crawford’s agent, Luther Beaumont.”

“Aww hell I always knew that boy had a light in him and it was finally his turn to shine,” Luther said. “Get used to his face because you’re going to be seeing it all over the place, America.”

Kit grabbed the remote and switched the TV off.

“You don’t want to watch yourself?” Lindsey asked.

“Nah,” Kit replied as he looked into Lindsey’s blue eyes. “I’d rather watch you.”

Lindsey snuggled up under Kit’s arm. “Oh you would, would you?”

“Yes…”

The couple locked lips. Kit eased himself back on the couch, pulling Lindsey on top of him. He stopped kissing for a moment and just studied his girlfriend’s perfect, porcelain skin. Her red hair was pulled up in a bun and she was wearing one of Kit’s shirts as a night shirt, but it didn’t matter. To Kit, she’d look good in anything.

“What?” Lindsey asked.

“You’re so beautiful,” Kit answered.

“Shut up!” Lindsey said playfully as she moved in to nibble on Kit’s earlobe.

BZZZTTTT!

Kit’s phone vibrated and shook all over the coffee table.

“Oh my God,” Lindsey said. “That thing’s been ringing off the hook.”

“It has?” Kit asked as he reached for it.

“Like ten times while you were in the kitchen.”

Kit swiped right to answer.

“Hello?”

“Star playa.”

“Hey Luther.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Luther asked.

“I’ve got no plans.”

“Wrong baby,” Luther said. “Your ass is meeting Diana Fairbanks tomorrow.”

Diana Fairbanks was universally considered to be the most breathtakingly hot actress in the entire world, capable of making men erect with a single glance.

Kit sprang to his feet, practically knocking Lindsey off the couch. “Get the fuck out!”

Luther laughed. “I will get the fuck in, bitch!”

The comedian was full of questions. “How? What? What’s this about?”

“Her people loved your shit,” Luther explained. “She wants you as her love interest in her next rom-com.”

“What’s it’s about?”

“Hell if I know,” Luther replied. “Star crossed lovers find each other against the odds and fuck. What’s it matter? My office. Get there at ten a.m. sharp and don’t be a second late or I’ll hunt you down and beat your ass with a two by four. Got it?”

“I got it. Jesus, Luther. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything for my star playa.”

Kit sat back, stunned and speechless.

“Good news?” Lindsey asked.

“You could say that,” Kit said. “Do you think me being in a movie with Diana Fairbanks is good news?”

“OH MY GOD!” Lindsey squealed. She threw her arms around Kit and planted kisses all over him. “I can’t believe it!”

“Me neither!” Kit said.

“Baby!” Lindsey said. “I’m so proud of you!”

Kit reached his hand underneath Lindsey’s panties and was about to move in even deeper when she pulled away.
..
“Baby…”

“What?” Kit asked.

Lindsey looked at the coffee table were Caboodle was lying on his side, taking in the entire spectacle through his big goofy eyes.

“Could you…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kit said as he picked Caboodle up and set him down on his knee. “I was practicing with him earlier and forgot I left him out.”

Kaboodle perked up. “Well of course you did, you big loser, you’d forget your own head if it wasn’t attached.”

Lindsey giggled.

The dummy’s head turned toward Lindsey. “What’s up sweetie, are we gonna get this three-way started or what?”

Amazed, Lindsey leaned over and poked Caboodle’s cheek.

“Whoa baby I love it when you get handsy,” Caboodle said.

“How do you do that?” Lindsey asked.

“Do what?” replied.

“Make your dummy talk.”

“I just put a little bit of peanut butter on Kit’s lips and he does the rest,” Caboodle answered. “Wowza!”

“Its just…he seems so real,” Lindsey said. “Like I almost forget you’re making him talk.”

“Him?” Caboodle asked. “Everyone knows I’m the brains of the operation!”

“You’re just so good I can’t believe it,” Lindsey said.

“It takes a lot of practice and patience,” Kit said. “Years of learning how to throw my voice, control my vocal chords, my tone, pitch, talking while keeping my lips closed.”

“I swear I’ve never seen your lips move once,” Lindsey said.

“It’s a gift,” Kit said. “Oh and growing up as the geek that no one wants to hang out with helped. Left me a lot of time to practice with this guy.”

“Awww,” Lindsey said as she kissed Kit on the cheek. “Well I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend all my time with, Mr. Big Handsome Geek.”

Kit smiled.

Lindsey patted him on the knee. “But put him away, ok? I’m sorry but he just creeps me out.”

“He does?” Kit asked.

“Yeah, I can feel him staring at me.”

“That’s silly,” Kit said.

“I know,” Lindsay said as stood up. “But just do it anyway.”

“OK.”

Kit strolled across the living room floor, listening as Lindsey cooed, “meet me in the bedroom when you’re done, baby.”

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Untitled Killer Doll Project – Chapter 3

NOTE: I would rewrite this to have “Molly” actually come in later with a gaudy dress on and a pillow stuffed up her dress to simulate a Kim Kardashian butt.

It would be the beginning of a subplot that Kit and Molly were once friends as they were working comedy clubs on their way up and if he could only get control of his psychotic tendencies, he might be able to make a go of it with her.

In his dressing room, Kit ran a towel over his hair, drying up all the excess water. He then removed his shirt, revealing a pair of cut abs that would turn the head of any woman.

There was a knock on the door.

“Kit, can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Cast member Al McKenna, dressed up in a banana costume, his face painted yellow and everything, entered. He handed Kit a furry gorilla costume.

“We’re up next,” Josh said.

“OK,” Kit said. “No…wait. I thought the Kardashian thing was next.”

“What?” Al asked.

“Molly dresses up like Kim Kardashian and Caboodle and I get in a fight over who gets to marry her butt.”

“Oh,” Al said. “Yeah, they cut that.”

“Why the hell did they do that?” Kit asked.

“Purple Horizon went on too long,” Al explained. “The guitar player whipped out a picture of the president, wiped his ass with it, then started lecturing everyone about American foreign policy toward Kuala Lumpur or some shit.”

“Aww damn it,” Kit said. “That sketch was gold!”

“Sorry man,” Al said. “It happens…live TV and all. Anyway, they want you out there.”

“OK,” Kit said. “I’m coming.”

Kit stepped into the gorilla costume, zipped up the back, and tucked the mask under his shoulder. He was about to leave when he spotted Caboodle lying on the couch, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Sorry buddy,” Kit said as he stuffed Caboodle into a trunk. “Maybe next time.”

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