Gobble, Gobble

Save me the wishbone!

Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans. Happy Chanukah to all my Jewish homeboys and girls. I’m off to the GeekMan Annual Strum Und Drang Family Gathering Of Infighting, Screeching, Insults And Other Assorted Schoolyard Drama.

Otherwise known as Thanksgiving dinner.

I don’t expect to post again until Monday, so in case I don’t see you, have a good one. Or two, or three, whatever the legal limit is for you to reach the ‘I’ve had so much to drink you could set my piss on fire’ level of inebriation.

Yeah, that good.

Why Doesn’t It Happen To Me?

I’ve got a headache this big, and it’s got Format C:\ written all over it.

So, since I had to rebuild my entire PC today, thanks to the amazingly comical-in-hindsight fiasco of yesterday, I decided it was about time to install and set up my wireless network, Wacom tablet, voice recognition software and soundcard (the fabulous Terratec DMX 6Fire 24/96 for those who will care) on my new computer. I’ve spent the entire day making sure everything was installed properly and running smoothly, taking great pains to hunt for and download all the latest drivers and software updates for everything I installed. Even though I was very careful and meticulous, I fully expected that something would go wrong.

But, miracle of miracles, nothing bad happened.

And now I’m really pissed off. My computer is running perfectly, the only signs of change being the brand new, front mounted, Terratec sound recording module and the Wacom tablet. I was fully expecting something to happen, something significantly horrible to warrant a scathingly satirical post here. Something that would allow me to write such a creatively funny and vindictive diatribe that somewhere in the world the software programmer of whatever was the object of my ire would spontaneously burst into flames at the exact moment I hit the ‘post’ button in Moveable Type. But now, as I sit here typing into my perfectly functional and completely non-crashing computer, only one thought is running through my head.

I have absolutely nothing funny to say today. This frickin sucks.

Note To Self

You are a frickin Moron.

When next you get the urge to install Sony Clie versions of the Palm desktop onto your computer at 11pm on a Sunday night, do your level best to resist the temptation. If you are unable to resist and you actually begin the installation process you will not be surprised to find that problems arise causing your computer to freeze and then refuse to boot. At that point in your horrid, sorry excuse for a life, you must try your frickin hardest to accept your own stupidity and simply turn off the computer and wait until a more reasonable hour to troubleshoot.

For example, 3:00 pm on Doomsday, the Day of Ultimate Judgment.

Whatever you do, do not, I repeat, do not use Windows System Restore to try and save your Geeky anus. Especially at 1:30 in the morning the day before a very important conference call during which you abso-frickin-lutely know you will need to use your computer. Doing so will only lead to heartache and pain.

And cursing. Lord forbid we forget the cursing.

In conclusion, the next time HoBiscuit politely asks you to install something on the computer, think carefully before attempting to help her. Should you somehow find that you have inadvertently gone ahead and installed the Palm software, leading to the System Restore fiasco, and culminating in a frantic attempt to rebuild an entire computer’s software installation and preferences overnight, allow me, that is, you, to offer these last few words of advice.

Don’t be frickin stupid. Buying her a new Clie sure beats going to jail for murder.

Cue ‘Deep Thought’ Music

My life needs a sound track.

Wouldn’t it be really, really cool if, right after you say something particularly witty, a laugh track would play? You know, like in a sitcom? Just so everyone around you would know you had said something funny? Like when your girlfriend/fiancée/wife tells you she thinks she lost some weight and you say, “Turn around, I think I’ve found it.”? If there were a laugh track, you might not get hit so hard.

Well, at least when you did get hit someone would be laughing.

Or better yet, how about a personal theme song? Not the kind that follows you around or plays every time you enter a room, no. That would get annoying real fast. What I’m talking about is the kind of theme song that plays right after you say or do something that will undoubtedly lead you on some sort of wild adventure around the world. Or perhaps as a prelude to a mystery, international crisis, or a torrid love affair.

You know, something cool like in CSI or Amazing Race.

Imagine how much easier life would be if, right after saying, “I’ll study for that test tomorrow.” you heard your theme song start up. You’d know right then and there that some sort of mixup, leading to a misunderstanding about stolen test answers and culminating in a cross-dressing fiasco at the dean’s house party would be happening in your future. 9 times out of 10 you’d turn your sorry butt around and hit the books.

But man, that one time out of ten would be HELLA cool!

I Hate Laundry

Can anyone explain this to me?

When I was living alone, doing laundry was a simple task. Put all my clothes into a laundry bag, take said bag to the Laundromat and then pick them up the next day. Overnight, my laundry would be magically cleaned, fluffed and expertly folded so that the only thing I needed to do on my own was put them into the proper drawers in the dresser.

And then came HoBiscuit the Taskmaster.

Now, not only am I supposed to do my own laundry, but I have to do hers as well. And let me tell you understanding the finer points of washing sweaters ( ‘delicate’ cycle only, extra spin and then medium dry) versus delicates (‘gentle’ cycle, low dry) versus blouses (‘gentle’, hang dry) is enough to drive anyone mad. But what makes it even worse is that apparently my clothes don’t warrant such attention. The only excuse she seems willing to give me is that my clothes are somehow ‘stronger’ than hers when it comes to washing care.

Why her jeans need to be carefully and meticulously turned inside out before washing while mine are simply thrown into the washer as is, is beyond me.

But all of that is peanuts when you take into account the horrible affront to my clothings’ civil liberties that HoBiscuit enacts each and every laundry day. It is horrible, simply horrible. Do you know what she’s doing? She’s teaching me to segregate my laundry, you know, separate the colors from the whites? Wasn’t that made illegal with the thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution? I tried that argument with HoBiscuit, but she simply ignored me and went about her business telling me that I should stop my whining and grow up.

Well my friends, I have a Dream.

[begin Martin Luther King, Jr. voice]

I have a Dream.

I have a Dream that one day every Washer shall be exalted, every Bleach and Softener shall be made low, the Dryer Sheet will be made unnecessary, and the Single Loader will be made Double, and the glory of the Laundry shall be revealed, and all Fabrics shall see it together.

I have a Dream that one day, White clothing, and Dark Clothing, and clothes of all the colors of the rainbow can be washed together in peace and harmony.

This is my hope. This is the faith with which I return to the Doing Of Laundry. With this faith I will be able to hew out of the Mountain Of Dirty Clothes a Sock Of Hope. With this faith I will be able to transform the tattered remains of my favorite T-Shirt into a beautiful Sweater. With this faith I will be able to work, to pray, to struggle, and to stand up for righteousness, knowing that my clothes will be free one day.

That will be the day when all of Geek’s clothing will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My clothing, ’tis of thee, sweet clothes that are dirty, of thee I sing. Wash where my colors died, wash of the Snuggles pride, from every Cheer and Tide, let freedom ring.”

Let Freedom Ring!

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every Sit-N-Spin and every Wash-N-Go, from every Bubble Heaven and every Spot-Less, we will be able to speed up that day when all the world’s Clothing, black clothes and white clothes, silk and cotton, nylon and rayon, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Laundromat spiritual,

“Clean at last! Clean at last! Thank God Almighty, we are clean at last!”

[end Martin Luther King, Jr. voice]

I Need A Haircut

GeekMan is sitting in front of the TV in his underwear playing Unreal Championship. He’s not doing very well and is spending more time cursing the screen as he waits to re-spawn than he is actually playing. Bread enters the room.

“Hey, Bub.”
Aaaargh!
“Man, you suck.”
“Sigh. What do you want Bread?”
“Nothing really. I was just wondering if you’re feeling depressed or something?”
“Uh, no. No more than usual, why?”
“Well, me and the girls are a little worried about you. You ain’t been yourself lately.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“Well, we’ve all noticed that you’ve been taking longer and longer showers, but you haven’t shaved in over a week.”
“Listen, I’ve told you a thousand times to knock before coming in! And I was… uh, washing my privates, nothing else. I just like to be really, really thorough, is all.”
“Riiiiight. ‘Washing’ your privates. And I guess all that moaning was your reenactment of the ‘Herbal Essence’ commercials, huh?”
“…”
*snicker*
“I really hate you sometimes.”
“Well, forget the showers for now. What about the lack of shaving?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I just haven’t felt like shaving lately. I wanted to see what I would look like with a beard.”
“So you want to look like a Neanderthal with the plague?”
“It’s not that bad!”
“Listen to me, you putz. It looks like the roadkill remains of a black badger with Atopic Dermatitis has been stapled to your face.”
“Really?”
“Really, really. And your hair is even worse. When’s the last time you had a haircut?”
“Uh… I don’t know. Maybe last year?”
“And it hasn’t occurred to you that maybe, just maybe you should get it cut? Unless, of course, you enjoy scaring small children at the mall or being mistaken for a dark-haired Yahoo Serious?”
“Egad! I look like a two-bit, Aussie, washed-up-before-he-ever-got-started actor?”
“Not really, no.”
“Whew! You had me scared for a minute there.”
“You remember what Harrison Ford looked like in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’?”
“I look like Indiana Jones?”
“No. You make Yahoo look like Indiana Jones.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“So, you’re saying I need a haircut?”
“And a shave. Don’t forget that.”
“OK. Damn, I didn’t think it was that bad. I guess I should go to the barbershop then.”
“Damn straight, you should.”
“Right. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Wow, worse than Yahoo. Man, I’m ugly…”

[GeekMan leaves room]

“Hey, Sugah?”
“Yeah, Miss Ex-Boxx?”
“That was real nice of you. I never would have guessed you would care enough about GeekMan to look out for his personal appearance.”
“Are you frickin kidding me? I just wanted to be able to play Unreal Championship. That schmuck’s been playing it for three days straight and I haven’t even touched the damn game yet. At this rate he might actually stand a chance against me when we play against each other on Saturday!”
“Ah.”
“Damn right, ‘Ah’.”
“Bread, you’re one rotten loaf. You know that?”
“You know it, toots. Even got ‘NASTY’ tattooed on my ass. Wanna see?”
“No.”
“Then quit your yappin and load up my ‘Geek Killa’ character so’s I can frag me some virtual losers. I got a reputation to protect!”

Annoy The Geek Day

Sunday was one of those days.

It started out innocently enough, HoBiscuit and I were going to visit the GeekMom, GeekGrandparents and then check on the Ho-Parents house, since they’re away on vacation for three weeks. And, even though it was a cold and rainy day and we didn’t really want to go; we got up early in the morning to pick up MotherGeek. Of course, being the Geek that I am, I knew that my day would involve at least one person I saw demanding that I ‘fix’ something before it was over.

What I didn’t expect was everyone to ask me to fix everything.

GrandmaGeek greeted us at the door with the heartwarming phrase, “That stupid man. He’s driving me crazy!” Quickly followed by the traditional Geek welcome of, “GeekMan, you need to look at the computer…” This soon degenerated into a screaming match between Grandma and GrandpaGeek as they blamed each other for ‘breaking’ the computer. Of course, their idea of a broken computer meant that the shortcut to Mahjong had disappeared and they hadn’t been able to play it in the last 12 hours.

Tragedy.

After ‘fixing’ the computer, I was offered a frozen steak as a reward and then asked to fix their radio, fire alarm, answering machine and telephone. When they began asking if I thought the couch might look better on the other side of the room I grabbed HoBiscuit and MotherGeek and beat a hasty retreat. Just as we were leaving however, GeekMom informed HoBiscuit and I that we just had to visit a friend of hers before we went to HoBiscuits parents house.

That’s when this giant vein on the right side of my forehead began throbbing.

On the way to MotherGeek friends’ house Mom explained a little problem she was having with her cell phone and asked me to take a look at it. Well, by ‘asked me to take a look at it’ I really mean she demanded I fix her phone right then and there, while I was driving and before we got to her friends house.

Throb. Throb.

When we got to her friends’ house we were invited inside under the pretense of seeing her new kitten. And, as if she were the lead in a really bad high school play, she “suddenly” remembered a few computer questions she had conveniently written down on three, legal-paper-sized, college-ruled pieces of paper.

THROB. THROB.

After managing to escape that sub-basement of the lower regions of Hell, HoBiscuit and I drove through almost two hours of traffic to her parents’ house. On the way there, I received two phone calls for tech support from my Uncle and one from a friend. Seeing my growing distress HoBiscuit suggested we stop off at a local Worst Buy and pick up some CD-Rs that were on sale. As we were paying for the CD-Rs I had to explain to the cashier how to scan in the coupons so we would get the proper discount!

Throb. Throb.

Finally, HoBiscuit and I reach her parents house where she needs to check the mail and water the plants. Just as we walk in the door HoBiscuit turns to me and sheepishly asks that I look at her parent’s computer because it’s been giving them some problems lately. And, just as my throbbing vein was about to burst from my skull and drench her with my life’s blood as I collapsed to the floor in a convulsing heap, she kisses me and says,

“You’re the best, most patient and loveable man in the whole wide world. I love you.”

Oh sure, I knew it was a ploy to get me to fix her parent’s computer without getting angry at her. And I also knew that it meant the computer was probably FUBARed and it would take me hours to fix as I sat in their ice-cold home wondering if both my testicles would freeze solid, or just the weaker one as they fought for the squatting rights to my body’s gonad cavity. I knew all this and yet I still found myself smiling back at her and agreeing to fix the computer no matter how long it took or how cold I was. And do you know why everyone treats me this way and why I always find myself fixing things for people no matter how annoying inconvenient or time consuming it might be for me?

That’s right. Because I’m stupid, that’s why.

THROB. THROB.

Happy, Happy. Frag, Frag.

Note to self: Remember to shower

Two weeks ago I went to my local video game store and reserved a copy of what will most surely become the abso-frickin-lutely best video game of the year. It’s got guns, huge landscapes, blood, gore and even internet enabled, voice activated insults.

That’s right fellow Geeks, I’m getting Unreal Championship.

Miss Ex-Boxx is all hot & bothered and literally moaning in anticipation of having this game filling her slot. My handwritten note of challenge has been accepted by Bread and we’ve cleared our calendars for the next two to four months. So we won’t be bothered by mundane things such as working, eating, sleeping or paying attention to HoBiscuit while we slaughter each other in virtual mayhem.

Unless HoBiscuit’s wearing that cute little outfit I like so much. Rowr!

Of course, nothing will stop me from updating this site, so you don’t need to write me hundreds of thousands of “Where are you? Please update or I’ll die!” emails. I’ve got my priorities straight; I know what I have to do to keep you happy. And no matter what, I plan on doing my best to make you happy. So, without further ado, here’s some guy eating pussy.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to frag some friends. Boo-Yah!

Ending The Toilet War

What is it with women and toilet seats?

Why is it so hard for women to understand that men pee standing up? Don’t they realize that if the seat is down that a man must make the effort to pick the seat up before he can relieve himself? The extra 3 seconds that takes can be crucial to proper bladder release. The basic law of gravity makes it clear that it takes less energy to put something down than pick it up, so I can only conclude that women are selfish and unreasonable when it comes to toilet etiquette.

But I have a solution.

I propose that from this day forward men and women must put both the toilet seat and the toilet cover down after every use. This will end the war once and for all while also having three clearly beneficial results.

  1. Regardless of whom makes the stinky, closing the lid will help contain the smell while being flushed. Men, you are allowed 30 seconds in which to admire the size, shape, construction and possible weight of that spectacular anal bomb you just burst a vein forcibly expulsing from your sphincter. If said poo is truly noteworthy, you are allowed one picture to show friends and family at reunions, family gatherings and the like.
  2. Everyone will now need to lift at least one item before they can actually use the toilet. Women and men will thus be on equal footing and further arguments will be avoided.
  3. Closing the lid will help cure the universally disgusting affliction of, Oops! I just dropped the ______ in the toilet! syndrome. Finally, bathroom items such as toothbrushes, soap, razors, eyeglasses, books, lipstick and such will be safe from a death worse than fate. Drowning in a pool of rancid water as a human looks down pondering whether the item is worth getting their hands dirty to retrieve or would flushing solve the problem. What a horrible way to go.

In conclusion, from this day forward, I decree that all toilets in the world must be lidded when not in use. Anyone found breaking this law will suffer the consequences, which have not yet been determined but will be suitably nasty enough that merely mentioning them will result screams of terror, or at least a momentary loss of bladder control.

Oh, and here’s a picture of some naked Boobies.

No Ordinary Wednesday

I’m not dead, yet.

It has come to my attention, through various IM chats, email with my virtual friends, and the tumbling tumbleweeds rolling through my server logs, that I’m not famous. No, no, don’t look so shocked. I know it might come as a surprise to some of you, but trust me when I tell you that it’s true nonetheless.

I know, I know. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Anywaste, after talking it over with some people this morning, and thinking about it for a few hours this afternoon, I have finally come to understand what it would take for me to become a bigwig blog-type person. So, without further ado, here’s a list of what I need to do;

  • Write shorter entries
  • Post pictures of naked Boobies
  • Write more angry diatribes about unimportant minutia
  • Upload pictures of Breasts
  • Open up and tell people more about me
  • Show some Cleavage
  • Let Bread speak more often
  • Show really big Knockers in tight-fitting, wet t-shirts
  • Accept that I will not be funny all the time
  • Take pictures of small, fist-sized Boobs with erect, pencil-eraser-sized nipples and post them
  • Turn gay, or at least bi, and write about my sordid sex life
  • Boobies, Boobies, Boobies, Boobies!

Now, while I don’t have Boobies to take pictures of, or a sordid sex life to talk about, I think I might manage the other things on the list. Like making shorter entries, letting myself get angry and accepting the fact that I won’t always be funny. Like the time I peed in my friend’s pool and told everyone that the areas of warm water were due to global warming.

Sure, it’s funny now.

So, beginning tomorrow you will see a slowly evolving GeekMan website here. I’ll write shorter entries, try to reveal a little more about myself, and even do some ranting, bitching and moaning via Bread. Not everything I write will be explicitly for laughs anymore, but it will all be at least tongue-in-cheek. Things I won’t do are curse, discuss work (due to NDAs), or turn gay. Not even bi. HoBiscuit would not be amused. However, I will see what I can do about that Boobie thing.

Because, you know, they’re Boobies.