Things, They Are A-Changing

One-day!
One-day!
One-day!

This weekend will mark the beginning of the Great & Powerful Website Redesign and Rededication Act of 2002 for The Mighty Geek v2.0. Due to the ongoing construction behind the scenes and out of sight of the general public, visitors to TMG may be led to believe that nothing is happening and that the proprietor has simply disappeared. The untrained web surfer may even believe that GeekMan is merely taking a three day weekend to spend time with his fiancé, and is not in fact working tirelessly on his site to better entertain his demanding and lovingly coveted audience.

Do not be fooled.

Be safe in the knowledge that GeekMan is chained tightly to his computer desk in order to meet his deadline of “sometime real soon now”. He and his kooky cadre of creepy cohorts are working night and day to make this site better than ever, or at least marginally less bad. And although GeekMan made us sign a non-disclosure agreement so we cannot give away any details of the upcoming TMG v.2, we are allowed to hint at a few things that may or may not make it into the final release.

  • A link list powered by Blogrolling.com
  • That “new web page smell” we’ve all come to love
  • Exciting new skins powered by Domesticat’s Skinning Tutorial
  • 80% less complex carbohydrates
  • A new backend that is neither Blogger nor Greymatter
  • Dancing llamas on roller skates
  • And much, much more!

The Mighty Geek version 2.0 will launch any day now. Be sure to keep your eyes on this space over the next few hours days indefinite span of time of no less than three earth days, so you can be the first to see the new and improved TMG! Don’t let your online friends be the first to see it, beat them to the punch by camping out in front of your computer monitor for the next few days and reloading TMG until something changes. It’s going to happen! We really mean it!

One-day!
ONE-DAY!
ONE-DAY SOON! Be there!

Giving Nielsen A Black Eye

HoBiscuit was excited.

When she came home from work last night and saw the pile of mail on the kitchen table, her eyes were immediately drawn to the top envelope. The one with the AC Nielsen logo and the words, ‘A special invitation to join our panel.’ on it. She squealed like a spider monkey in heat and lifted up the envelope as if contained a winning lottery ticket for [begin Dr. Evil] 100 billion dollars [/end Dr. Evil].

“Oh. My. God. We’re going to be a Nielsen family!”

I was uncertain what that meant at first, not being a big fan of TV, but I knew better than to argue with her when she was so obviously excited. I have been well trained. So, I proceeded to jump up and down in excitement with her, as is my contractual obligation per items 103.92b and 427.45c of the relationship contract I was forced to sign when we first began dating.

In blood. From my own finger. Three. Freaking. Copies.

Anywaste, she began babbling about how great it would be because our TV viewing habits would influence future programming for all of America. Then she said something about something being cool, or something. And blah, blah, blah research. Blah, blah, blah exciting. Gibberish, foreign tongues, Satan is my master, llamas got my teeth, blah, blah, blah.

That’s about when I stopped listening.

Instead, I began wondering how I might be able to hack the Nielsen box so that it thinks all I’m watching is reruns of Family Guy and Married… With Children. Then I wondered if it would affect the VEHTS, because if it did then I wouldn’t let that devil’s gadget into my home. No way was I going to lose the sound or picture quality of my system just so these faceless, nameless researchers could watch me channel surf my Pay-Per-View porn. I’d rather die first then give up the perfect clarity of watching Jenna Jameson’s bouncing breasts on my beautiful, professionally calibrated, extra-large, super-flat HDTV.

In my minds eye I could still see them bouncing. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

Looking over to HoBiscuit I realized her mouth was moving. Quickly flicking the mental switch that allowed my ears to pick up her particular vocal frequencies again, I listened to her angry words.

“This isn’t for the TV! It’s for shopping!”

Seeing my furrowed brow and blank stare, HoBiscuit handed me the color pamphlet, put her hands on her hips and fumed at the injustices of the world. As I read the pamphlet, she started talking about invasions of privacy, marketing bastards, stupid surveys and how unfair it was that she wasn’t going to influence the TV viewing habits of her fellow Americans by watching Shipmates, American Idol and SpongeBob SquarePants 24 hours a day.

She’s so damn cute, isn’t she?

Well, it turns out that we’re not going to be a Nielsen family. What we were invited to join was the Homescan Consumer Panel, which basically means using a handheld scanner to scan in the UPC barcodes of every freaking thing we ever buy. Ever. From food to electronics to household items, everything would be scanned in and sent to the ‘good’ people of AC Nielsen so they could then sell that information to large corporations in the name of ‘Market Research’.

But I have a plan.

See, I think we might sign up for the program but, when we get the scanner, instead of scanning our real purchases we’d go to our local sex shop and scan in everything from dildos to lubricant to harnesses. Then we’d go to one of those anti-spy shops and scan in all the phone tapping hardware and hidden surveillance cameras. We might even go to the costume shops and novelty stores in search of the strangest combinations of things we could buy. Like a gorilla suit, x-ray glasses, a wind-up walking penis and a velvet Elvis poster.

Then we’ll hit the Chinese supermarkets. Ha. Ha. Haaaa.

Bagging Bruce

This, is my BOOMSTICK!I got to meet a personal hero of mine yesterday.

The man you see over to the left is Bruce Campbell, the B movie star and hardworking actor extraordinaire of such cult classics as Evil Dead, Army of Darkness, Spider-Man, and most recently, Serving Sarah. He was also the leading man in The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., and portrayed recurring characters in Hercules and Xena on TV.

The man is a Schlock-Movie and Drek-TV God.

So, when I heard that he would be appearing at my local B&N to sign copies of his book I grabbed my copy off the shelf and ran, not walked, to the train. When I got to the store I immediately bought a half dozen more books and then spent the next four hours patiently waiting for his arrival with about 200 fellow fans.

Some of whom that were a tad more fragrant than I would have liked.

Bruce (We’re on first name terms cause I’m cool like that. Yo.) finally arrived and read a selection from his book and then opened the floor to questions. Some of which were actually interesting, most of which were the usual, “When’s there going to be an Army of Darkness 4?” variety. The best laugh of the evening was when someone’s cell phone rang and Bruce demanded to answer it himself.

[speaking in a deep, scary voice. very slowly.]
“Hello?”
“…”
“Amy? You want who?”
“…”
“I’m sorry, but Tim can’t come to the phone right now.”
“…”
“He’s busy. Unavailable.”
“…”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“…”
“I can’t tell you anymore right now or there will be… repercussions. Goodbye.”
[Bruce hangs up]
“People. Turn off your freaking cell phones.”

The crowd was roaring with laughter.

Anywaste, I thoroughly enjoyed myself and not only managed to get his autograph, but I actually got to sit and talk to him for a few moments. I also got a few photographs, just for this site, so I could share my astronomical level of Geekiness with the world at large.

Bruce & GeekMan.

Bagging Bruce.

Sneaking Around

I need new sneakers.

The sneakers I have now are so worn out and threadbare that lazy-eyed, pest-infested homeless people often stop me on the street and offer their shelter-donated 1978 Converse’s to me out of pity. The laces are so stretched out from constant tying and untying that they drag on the ground as I walk, even after double looping.

The treads are so worn down that I leave toe prints in mud.

I bought these sneakers over 14 months ago while I was in Puerto Rico. They’re old now and in need of retirement. If they had invested more wisely when they were new, then they might have been able to retire early with a nice pension. But did they? No.

Like most sneakers, they never thought of the future and now they’re paying for it.

You see, I’ve got my eye on a brand new pair. They’re hot. Colorful, sleek and sexy, they try to seduce me every time I pass by the Super-Sneaker-Store near my apartment. With their thick treads, bright colors and scuff-less outer leather shell they mock my worn out, beaten up, old, yet totally comfortable and reliable pair of sneaks. I find myself hating my old friends, this trusted pair of black & white with puke green accents Reeboks, just because they’re there. I blame them for every half-trip and stubbed toe in recent memory and sometimes even curse them in public. Loudly.

I even blame them when schoolgirls mock my Geeky walk to amuse their friends.

So now I find that I want those new sexy sneaks. Trade up, my inner self says. You deserve better. Sure, these old dogs were good once, they had bounce and style and panache. But what have they done for you lately, huh? Made you pratfall when you were trying to be cool for the cute girl behind the counter at Subway? Helped you feel like a wino-bum looking for a handout when you ran into your old Jr. High girlfriend, who’s now a successful CEO of a multi-billion dollar biotech company?

Don’t you deserve better?

Yes. Yes, I do. I deserve better and I’m going to prove it by buying new sneakers. It might not be much but maybe, just maybe, buying these sneakers will help turn my life around. Maybe I’ll find my niche, my own personal style. Perhaps all it will take is a brand new pair of sneaks to help me throw off this humble, Geeky outer shell and become the rock star, international super spy or Nobel Peace Prize winner that I’ve always known I could be. With those new sneaks I could be famous, I could be rich, and I could even be a contender!

Or, most likely, I’ll just be another Geek with a pair of ugly, overpriced sneakers. Whatever.

PhotoBloggery 05
Won’t You Join In Our Crusade?

BlogChalkers Unite!Wanting to get involved in a meaningful movement before graduating college, and before it becomes trendy, Suzie MacDuffus and her friend Jennifer Berkowitz are seen here doing what they call ‘BlogChalking’.

Suzi was all too happy to explain the BlogChalking movement.

“It’s, like, a way for us to let the world know about our Blogs. This way, when someone wants to know more about, you know, a Blog, they can just read the sidewalk and find out more about it. So, for example, if someone wanted to know more about my Blog, they could just come here and read this BlogChalk on the street and know that I’m a girl, I like Bon Jovi, I go to school around here and other neat stuff like that.”

When asked what a Blog is, Suzie just shrugs her shoulders.

“I’m not really sure but, like, I think it’s some sort of alternate energy source? Or maybe it’s a way to harness karma or something? To tell the truth I don’t think it really matters what a Blog is because it’s the BlogChalking movement that’s important. Everyone should be doing this because if we don’t, then the terrorists win, right? And who could argue with that?”

Passersby were not impressed with Suzi and Jen’s dedication.

“These girls are wackos.” Said James Douglass, a pamphleteer and part-time musician. “They’re here every day, writing all their vital statistics on the sidewalk for anyone to read. Where they live, what they do, their ages, cup size. Everything! Any psychopath could walk by and learn everything he needed to know about those two morons. Don’t they own a computer? Everyone knows that BlogChalking is a way for Bloggers to find other Bloggers in the same geographical location as themselves. It’s for the web, not the sidewalk. How the hell did they find out about BlogChalking if they aren’t on the web? They’re so freaking stupid!”

Jen feels differently.

“It’s people like that who make me just want to BlogChalk even more. If they only took the time to learn the facts they’d know that BlogChalking can help the starving children in Pakistan.” When asked where Pakistan was on a map Jen replied, “I think it’s somewhere in Ohio. Or maybe Oregon.”

Ignoring the hecklers on the street, Suzi and Jen BlogChalk until all their chalk is gone.

“We don’t really mind all these people making fun of us.” Claims Suzi. “We know that BlogChalking is, like, the only way to help all the families who have lost their homes to the floods in China. And one day, all these people will want to BlogChalk with us to help them and, you know, all the poor, defenseless animals in pharmaceutical science labs, too. Jen and I always join movements and causes at school right when they go out of favor, but not this time. This time we’re, like, first and stuff, so when all these other people want to join, Jen and I will be, like, the president and vice president of the BlogChalk Movement. That’ll be cool.”

Jen adds, “We’re going to BlogChalk until Palestine and Israel make peace because, really, isn’t that what BlogChalking is all about?”

PhotoBloggery. Take a picture. Write a story. Post the results.

Must… Not… Give In… To… The PAIN!

Last night HoBiscuit and I went out to eat with some friends. We went to a restaurant we’ve never been to before, a restaurant that everyone but me has been wanting to go to for a while. The kind of place that’s more about the scene, and being seen, than it is about the food.

I ordered the crab cake appetizer and shell steak entree.

This morning I woke to find that after paying the stated menu price of the food we ate last night, I’m still paying for it this morning. In sweat, tears and intensely painful spasms of gastrointestinal convulsions, my body is being forced to pay a tax on every bite that I took of that horrid, horrid food and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll survive.

Oh, man. My lower intestines just fired another warning shot across my colon’s bow.

Things are happening inside my stomach right now that would cause a goat to send me a Hallmark card of sympathy. Disease-ridden New York City giant rats are stopping by the apartment to find out if I’m carrying the plague, only to leave shaking their little heads and saying, “Stupid Geek. Even I wouldn’t have eaten that.”

The representatives of my local chapter of the Bugmob are just laughing.

I don’t know if I’ll be alive on Monday, so if you don’t hear from me by then you’ll know why. Send well wishes, notes of sympathy and donations to the “Get HoBiscuit A Real Man Fund” to

(The soon to be) Widow HoBiscuit

C/O Asses to Ashes Funeral Parlor

666 El Stupido Street

New York, NY 12345

Oh, god. I may never eat again.

They’re Trying To Kill Me

[begin phone call]

“Hello?”

“Hi grandma. It’s your grandson, GeekMan. How are you today?”

“Who? WeakMan?”

“No. GeekMan.”

“Oh! GeekMan. I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I’m old.”

“Yes, grandma. I know you’re old. How are you feeling today?”

“What can I say? I’m alive, no thanks to your grandpa.”

“Ah. So, that’s good, I guess. How’s grandpa?”

“I hate him. He’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, at least he’s keeping busy.”

“GeekMan, when are we going to see you again? You never come to visit anymore.”

“I’ve been busy grandma, but I promise to come and visit you soon.”

“I have a steak for you, you know. It’s in the freezer.”

“Grandma, you don’t have to buy me anything. Just seeing you is enough.”

“I’ll make the steak any way you like. Just call me a few hours before you come over so I can defrost it.”

“Grandma, you really don’t have to…”

“I’ve been saving it for you for a long time now.”

“Well, that’s very nice but you really don’t… wait a minute. Grandma, when did you buy this steak?”

“It’s frozen, you know.”

“I know grandma, but how long has it been frozen?”

“Not long.”

“How long?”

“…”

“…”

“Do you want to talk to grandpa?”

“Not now, grandma.”

“He hates me, you know.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He’s trying to kill me.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No! Grandma, how long have you had this steak in the freezer?”

“…”

Grandma…”

“April.”

“Oh. Well why didn’t you say so? April’s not that bad…”

“April 1999.”

WHAT?!?

“Well, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“And you haven’t had a special occasion for three years?”

“Not with your grandpa still alive.”

“Grandma!”

“It’s true.”

“Stop that and tell me about the steak.”

“I forgot I had it.”

“You forgot you had a steak? In the freezer?”

“It was hidden under the frozen peas. I never put steak under the frozen peas. I think your grandpa was hiding it.”

“Why would he hide the steak?”

“To drive me insane.”

“Grandma…”

“He hates me, you know.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Yes he does.”

“Grandma…”

“He’s trying to drive me crazy.”

“Sigh. Grandma, you know the steak’s not good anymore. Just throw it away, ok?”

“It’s a good steak! I’m not throwing away good meat just because it’s been frozen for a little while.”

“Grandma! It’s been frozen for three years! It’s almost old enough to be mistaken for Wooly Mammoth meat, ferpetesake.”

“I don’t care. I paid $4.95 for it at MeatSavers so I could cook it for my grandson, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”

“I won’t eat it.”

“You won’t eat your grandmothers cooking? What kind of grandson are you?”

“It will make me sick.”

“My cooking will NOT make you sick. I’m a good cook.”

“I know you’re a good cook! It’s the steak that’ll make me sick, not your cooking.”

“I can’t believe you think my cooking will make you sick.”

“Grandma, I never said that your cooking would make me sick.”

“Yes you did. I don’t think you appreciate what a great grandmother you have.”

“I do appreciate you! I love you!”

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t say such mean things.”

“But the steak is three years old! It’s just not safe to eat anymore!”

“Are you saying you don’t want my steak?”

“No. I’m saying that I don’t want that steak. I’ll eat anything else you want to make for me, but not that.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Just promise me you’ll throw out that steak, ok?”

“Ok, GeekMan. You know I love to cook for you.”

“I know. And I love your cooking.”

“So, you think I’m a good cook?”

“Yes grandma, I think you’re a fabulous cook.”

“You’re a good boy.”

“Thank you, grandma.”

“Do you want to talk to grandpa now?”

“Sure.”

“…”

“Hello?”

“Hi grandpa. How are you?”

“I’m old.”

“I know you’re old.”

“Your grandma hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes she does. She wants to kill me.”

“Sigh. Grandpa…”

“You hate me, too.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t visit.”

“I promise to visit soon, ok?”

“Ok. Soon is good because soon I’ll be dead.”

“Grandpa…”

“So, you’ll come and visit and we’ll be happy. Good.”

“I promise.”

“Ok. Then we’ll talk when I see you.”

“Sure.”

“One more thing. If your grandmother makes steak, don’t eat it. She’s trying to kill me.”

[end phone call]

Martha Stewart VS Lynette Jennings

Round One

Turn a Mac Classic II into a backyard birdhouse using only the following materials:

  • Wood glue
  • Shiny pink sequins
  • Balsa wood
  • One soft rag or paper towels (one roll)
  • Acrylic paint (1 gallon)
  • Plaster of Paris
  • 10 reams of shredded legal documents
  • 5 square yards of blue chiffon material
  • 3lbs of sea shells

The judges for this round will be Christopher Lowell, Dean Johnson and Amy Wynn Pastor. Contestants will need to verbally explain each step in the process while doing a seductive striptease to Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s classic, “Baby Got Back”. Scores will be based on functionality, style, artistic merit and how long it takes the judges to regain their eyesight.

Round Two

Refurbish four Late Georgian Mahogany dining chairs (in Hepplewhite style with shield back and tapering front legs) in under six hours and for less than $500. They can use any materials found at a local Home Depot to complete the restoration, but final product must be historically accurate. Contestants must also be prepared to answer questions about their investment strategies for a down market and their true sexual orientation.

Round Three

A Deathmatch. After 5 days of forced starvation, the contestants are locked in a pit together and are given nothing but a MINIMITE® Cordless Tool from Dremel with which to fight. Hidden cameras will capture the ensuing fight and eventual cannibalism. The winner will be forced to design and build a late Victorian-style gazebo, and then be nailed to it and set ablaze in a public display of good taste.

Coming soon to Pay-Per-View. Set your Tivo.

PhotoBloggery 04
Monkey See…

Do you see what I see?“Pssst.”

“Yeah?”

“What are you looking at?”

“The humans.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing yet. But it should get interesting soon.”

“Yeah? Can I watch, too?”

“Sure, but be quiet.”

“…”

“…”

“Which one’s the male?”

“The one on its knees.”

“Is that normal?”

“I think so, he does it every night as far as I can tell.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know. I think, and this is only a guess mind you, but I think he’s trying to mate.”

“Does water always leek from his eyes?”

“Not every time, no. But when it’s been a long time since their last coupling he goes through this very peculiar ritual that our scientists have named, ‘begging’. I’m trying to figure out why he keeps ‘begging’ when it never seems to work.”

“And?”

“And, so far my only theory is that it’s some kind of ritual necessary for the male to successfully entice the female to copulate. Similar to a peacocks feather display, or a baboons butt coloration.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“…”

“So that one’s the female?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t seem to be too taken with the male’s approach, does she?”

“Actually, this approach never seems to work for the male.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Well, if it never works why do you suppose he keeps employing it?”

“You know, I was sent here months ago and after observing these two in action for all this time, I think I can actually answer that question.”

“So? What’s your answer? Why does this male human keep ‘begging’ to mate with his female when that approach has, time and time again, only lead him to failure?”

“He’s a Geek.”

“No!”

“Yes. And furthermore, I believe that he keeps attempting this approach towards copulation in the vain hope that one day his woman will pity him enough to consent.”

“That is so sad.”

“I know.”

“…”

“…”

“Wow, look at him ‘beg’! He really is pathetic. Do you think we should put him down and find her another, more suitable, male?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Think, my man. Think! He’s a sexually frustrated Geek! It’s a hell of a lot of fun to watch him suffer. Look at him cry like a baby. Look at him!”

“…”

“…”

“Heh.”

“Hehehe.”

[both] “HAHAHAHAHahahahahahahaHAHAHAHahaha!”

“Whew.”

“Oh, yeah. That was good. I’m crying here.”

“That was awesome! I’m glad I saw that. Funny as hell. Priceless.”

“Damn right, that was priceless. I laugh like that almost every night. He’s one stupid, pathetic Geek and I just love to watch him make an ass of himself.”

“You’re a cruel gargoyle, man. But I like that about you.”

“Yeah, I know. Now shut up, I think he’s going to try to touch her boobies…”

[slap]

HAHAHAHAHahahahahaHAHAHAHAHA!

PhotoBloggery. Take a picture. Write a story. Post the results.