I’ll be gone at least a week.
My best friend in the whole world has had a family catastrophe and it is necessary for me to go to him in his time of need and offer him all the comfort and support I can possibly give. I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back, but I’d be mighty appreciative of any and all good thoughts and/or well-wishes that you might send our way during this crisis.
Thank you.
Once again, my attempt to mark my Bloggerversary with a rhyme fails miserably.
It happened just the other day
That is, the 17th of May
But no one even stopped to say
Happy Bloggerversary!Now’s your chance, so don’t delay
Click ‘comment’ and type away
That will help me celebrate
My Happy Bloggerversary!It was two years ago that day
That I, The Geek, came out to play
And now it’s time for a par-TAY
Cause it’s my Bloggerversary!To show my joy I dance and sway
HoBiscuit begins to pray
Bread just laughs and calls me gay
But it’s my Bloggerversary!Show me love, send links my way
Or else a medium fillet
How about a box of clay?
It’s my Bloggerversary!I could stand to lose some weight
And llamas like orange sorbet
Something, something, something yay
Something Bloggerversary…Hmmm… at times like this I’m really, really happy that I’m not a professional songwriter.
And I bet you are, too.
Let’s try a little experiment, shall we?
Today I’m just going to write whatever comes to mind and I’m not going to edit what I write at all. That’s right, I won’t even spell check. I wonder if I’ll actually have anything funny to say if I don’t actually think about what I’m going to say.
So, here I am. Typing.
La la la. Tickity-tack, tickity-tack.
…
I wonder if those are periods, dots or ellipses?
Well, so far this experiment is a colossal waste of time. Nothing funny is coming to mind and suddenly I have writers block. Well, not really. I could always write something stupid. But then, that wouldn’t be any different than any other day, now would it?
I’m a boring, unfunny schmuck, aren’t I?
Wait, I can write something if I just concentrate a little. How about trying some writing exercises? Hmmm, what to try? Oh yeah, the “repetition” method. So, choose a word at random and then type whatever comes to mind. Right. I can do this. So, think of a word, Geek. One word. Just a single word. Comeon! I can do this, I know it!
…
Dammit.
OK, well, dammit’s a word, right? We can go with that. Let’s make dammit work for us. Dammitdammitdammitdammit. That’s a fun word to say isn’t it? Dammit. Hah! I like saying that word. It makes me feel like my mouth is moving in the same way a fish out of water gasps for air. Hahahahaha! Stupid fish, he shouldn’t be out of the water. The water is his home. Does he think he’s too good for his home? Does the stupid fish think he’s special? Why? He’s not special, he’s just a fish. He should go home before he dies. But he thinks he’s too good for his home, huh? Home’s not good enough for you? FINE.
Stupid fish. Go ahead and suffocate. See if I care.
Well, now what should I do? Should I keep writing, or just end this stupidity before someone comes over here and puts me out of my misery? Maybe I should stop. My stomach feels kinda weird, like a bubble or something is inside me trying to get out. You know, come to think on it I almost feel as if I have to…
Ahhhhhhh…
Heh, I just farted.
Maybe if I sit real still it won’t stink. Ok, I won’t move, not a muscle. Here I am, not moving, please don’t stink or the people in this office will never hire me again and I really need the money so I can pay for the wedding. Please don’t stink, please don’t stink, pleasepleaseplease, oh please…
Holy crap! Wheee-ooo! What the hell did I eat for lunch!?
OK, that’s it, I’m done. This experiment sucks and I swear I’ll never do something this idiotic again. From now on its plan ahead before I write or I just skip that days post and count my blessings. Stupid, stupid experiment. I can’t believe I wrote about farting. I’m so frickin embarrassed I think I’ll drown my sorrows in a carbonated beverage in another part of this office far, far away from the smell I’ve just invented that appears to be removing the paint from the ceiling.
Heh, I bet that stupid fish wishes he was back in the water now, huh?
I had a dream last night.
I know, I know. You’re shocked and amazed. Believe me, I was too. I mean my dream wasn’t anything too amazing but since I rarely remember my dreams, I thought it would be fun to tell you about it.
It won’t make sense, but then again, who the hell cares?
It starts off, as most of my dreams do, with me in a public place trying to hide the fact that I’ve forgotten my pants. This dream takes place at an outdoor mall and my teeny-tiny penis is flapping in the wind for all the shoppers to see. Of course, as is the way with dreams, no one else seems to be aware of my lack of body covering until the Dalai Lama rides up on a yellow llama and asks me why I’m naked. Then, and only then, does everyone in the area stop to point and laugh at me.
Mortified, I punch the Dalai Lama in the face and run away.
Turning a corner, I’m suddenly in the middle of a vital business meeting and there is something very, very important I’m supposed to be doing. Unfortunately for me I can’t remember what it was, but I do know that I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget to do it.
Then I remember that I left the note in my pants pocket.
Knowing how important the note is to my career, I jump on a nearby jet airplane to go home and get the note. During the trip, the plane somehow turns into the helicopter from the movie Blue Thunder being piloted by someone who looked like Thelma from Scooby Doo, but thinner.
Come on, you know she was a tiger in bed. The brainy ones always are.
Anywaste, she tells me we’re under attack so I jump out and land on the roof of my house right before the helicopter blows up. Running inside my house I find that it’s now the world’s largest library and what I need to find is not a simple note in my pants, but a book hidden somewhere in the library.
And I’ve only got ten minutes to find it or I’m fired.
As I’m frantically searching the library for the book, Frankie Muniz (Malcolm, from Malcolm in the Middle) shows up and challenges me to a fight. For some reason or other I agree to fight him and suddenly I’m in a boxing ring getting my butt kicked by a 16 year old kid while HoBiscuit is screaming from the sidelines, “Kick that Geeks ass, Frankie!” Just as he’s about to knock me out, my alarm clock goes off and I wake up. And the strange thing was that when I woke up I wasn’t wearing any pants.
So, anyone want to explain the meaning of this one to me? Anyone?
Woah. Keanu still can’t act.
I saw The Matrix last night and I’m actually vibrating with anticipation for the third installment. The movie started out a little weirdly but made sense soon enough, and then the movie took off like a rocket.
And I mean that literally.
I won’t give away any spoilers or even discuss my thoughts on the movie but I did want to give those of you who are planning on seeing it this weekend a little bit of advice. Pay attention to the Architect. Listen to every word because doing so just might help you comprehend the incomprehensible.
Anywaste, back to my pathetic life.
HoBiscuit is away for the next two weeks, because she’s attending a couple of weddings that I’m supposed to be at with her but cannot due to a very busy work schedule. She’s part of the bridal party of each wedding, so it’s really horrible of me to not go with her. I hope she understands that I’m staying behind so we can afford to pay for our wedding, but just in case she feels the urge to withhold sex upon her return, I’ve gone ahead and purchased her a gift. And since I was feeling so generous, I got one for myself too, of course.
What? I’m a Geek. So sue me.
Allergies can kill.
There I was, lying on my right side in bed this morning, when I felt the sudden urge to roll over and sleep on my back. Thinking nothing of it my brain, known to the rest of my body as the Big Boss, composed a message, the content of which can be summed up as ‘roll over, you lazy bastard’, and telegraphed it to my spine. My spine, the malleable, jellyfish-like wimp that it is, relayed the message to the various parts of my body that would need to expand, contract or flare in pain in order to roll me over. Receiving the message to commence rolling, all my body parts worked in unison to complete the task set before them and lo, I rolled over.
There was much rejoicing.
However, unknown to my brain, there was a treasonous malcontent in the ranks. Working in secret, this body part had concocted a plan with which it hoped to overthrow the reign of the totalitarian fascist known as the Big Boss. Its plan was a simple plan. In fact, the plan was so simple and so crazy that it just might have worked.
It would try to drown the Big Brain.
While I had slept that night, this body part had worked overtime to create and store as much liquid as it could possible hold. It found nooks and crannies within itself never before explored and filled them all with liquid. Biding its time, it worked tirelessly on its master plan waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And that moment was now.
As my body came to rest on my back, my nose opened the floodgates of my sinuses and a veritable tsunami of mucus rolled down my nasal passages. Everything in its wake was washed along with it as the rolling sea of watery phlegm drained from my nose. My nose had executed its plan perfectly and had the Big Boss been located in my nasal passages or my sinuses then he would have no doubt been destroyed, leaving my nose the sole ruler of the Body of Geek. Unfortunately, my nose’s plan had one fatal flaw.
The nasal passages don’t lead up to the Big Boss. They lead down.
In fact, they lead to my throat which in turn leads to my stomach and/or lungs depending on which I needed to use. And since I was asleep and breathing at the time of the ill-fated attack, I found myself rudely awakened by my sudden inability to breathe due to the introduction of three milliliters of mucus into my lungs. And believe me, no matter what someone might tell you, being able to make mucus bubbles when you cough isn’t nearly amusing enough to make almost drowning in your own snot a worthwhile experience. Its treasonous activity discovered, my nose was chastised with a Kleenex flogging until it bled while the Big Boss looked on in smug satisfaction.
However, I now believe a splinter faction of the resistance lives on in my itchy, scratchy eyes.
This is the story I promised everyone.
It took me a little over ten hours to write it, so I really hope it doesn’t suck as much as I think it does. It was much, much harder than I thought it would be and I really want to thank everyone who sent in an entry. If I didn’t use your entry, please don’t be angry with me. It’s not because your sentence wasn’t good, it’s just that I couldn’t figure out how to make it work.
Damn, this was REALLY hard.
Since it’s much longer than I thought it would be (10 pages as a Word doc) I’ve decided to use the extended entry format of MT to post it. Click the link at the bottom of this post to open it up to read, and please remember to leave me a comment about my lack of writing skilz.
What can I say; I’m a glutton for punishment.
Also, I’ll be gone for the next week on another job so I won’t be posting anything until Monday, May 12. I Hope everyone has a wonderful time while I’m away.
Play nice and remember to clean up after yourselves.
Enjoy.
Continue reading
Allergies still suck.
Only a few more hours left for you to submit your entry into the big contest. I’ve got a whole lot of great sentences already, but don’t let that scare you off. I can always find a way to add in another paragraph or three if I come across a really good sentence.
Amazingly, not one person has mentioned llamas yet. [hint, hint]
If you’ve sent in a sentence and either don’t have or forgot to include your website, then I’ve decided to not include your entry in the story. I’m sorry, but even though there were a whole lot of really great sentences sent in by people without websites, I had to par the list down somehow, and since this is supposed to be showing people a little linky-love… Awwww, come on. Don’t look at me like that. I still love you. Really, I do. Oh, give it up! Stop pouting already.
Honestly, it makes you look like a goldfish. And a sick one, at that.