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.

This is my own interpretation of a meme that was going around all the popular Blogs a while ago. Here are 9 things about me that aren’t true and one thing that is.

1. I have webbed feet which, contrary to popular belief, does not increase my swimming speed.
2. I am a natural blonde, but I painstakingly dye my own hair dark brown with some sprinkles of silver at 4am every morning to fool my friends and family.
3. I have no nose hairs whatsoever.
4. My favorite pastime is going to the petting zoo to feed the orangutan’s and ride the llamas.
5. I maintain this website purely for my own enjoyment. The thoughts and opinions of my visitors are completely unimportant to me and have no influence at all on the content and/or regularity of the postings. So there.
6. Although many people believe I am a man, I’m actually a highly intelligent, trained African Gray parrot named Binkey doing an elaborate, government sanctioned, super-secret experiment on the uses of Blogs in coercing the general public into buying more three-ring binders and college ruled paper. America’s economic superiority depends on my success.
7. I have never had an alcoholic drink, taken an illegal drug or smoked a cigarette in my life. Makes me even scarier, huh?
8. After subjecting myself to the poisonous bite of a radioactive spider I can say with authority that having radioactive blood will only lead to an extended stay at your neighborhood hospital’s Radiation Treatment Center, and not to super powers and the ability to ‘catch crooks just like flies.’
9. Bread is a real person.
10. Due to a traumatic, childhood experience, whenever I see corduroy pants I become very frightened and can do nothing other than point at the crotch of the person wearing them, cross my legs in agitated sympathy and softly whisper, “You’re going to buuuuurrrrnnnnn. Burn, burn, burn.”

So, which one do you think is true?

This is a little story about two siblings named Richard and Pamela.

Now, Dick and Pamela Anderson lived on a farm. The farm was called Linkin Park and it was owned by their mean aunt Anna Nichole Smith and her two even meaner daughters, Barbie and Nelly. Anna, Barbie and Nelly were very lazy and sat around all day smoking marijuana and playing Grand Theft Auto on their Playstation 2. The only thing those horrid women enjoyed more than smoking or playing games was ordering Dick and Pamela to do all the chores on the farm.

One day, as the two young teenagers were playing with their favorite pussy cat and dreaming of a better life, their mean aunt told them to clean out the horse stalls in the barn. As they walked to the barn where the horses, Dragonball and Morpheus, were busily eating hay, Pamela asked her brother who his favorite musical idol was.

“That’s easy! I really like Shakira. She makes me want to have hot monkey sex with her.”

“That’s disgusting!” Pamela said in revulsion. “Animal sex is sick and perverted. And anyway, I meant your favorite American Idol.”

“Oh. Well, that has to be Britney Spears. I loved her Las Vegas show on TV where she showed off her naked stomach and all those fake tattoos. And it helps that she’s hot, too.”

“Well, I don’t think she’s that pretty. In fact, I think I’m better looking than she is.”

“You are not! You’re so ugly that it looks like your face was hit with a baseball! Strike, you’re out!”

“Oh, come on! My face isn’t that ugly and you know it!”

“Oh yes it is. Big and ugly, like J-Lo’s naked butt, and I can prove it, too!”

With that, Dick began tickling his sister by poking her in the ribs. Of course, although she was laughing so hard she was nearly crying, Pamela certainly didn’t want to be poked in the ribs by her Big Brother 3 hundred times, so she tried to tell him to stop.

“Stop poking me, man!” She tried to say but, because she was so out of breath from laughing, it came out as, “Stop! Pokemon!”

When Dick had enough of tickling his sister, and Pamela had caught her breath, she asked him a question she had been wondering about for a long, long time.

“Dick, have you ever dreamed of running away?”

“Dream of it? Only every day. It’s like, my Final Fantasy, you know?”

“Well, why don’t we escape? You’ve been studying economics in Jr. High, right? We can take the horses and ride to the big city and become Stock Market wonder kids. We’d be rich!”

“KaZaA!” Dick exclaimed in excited wonderment, “That sounds great! I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. Let’s go, right now!”

With that, Pamela took Dick in hand and led him to the barn where they saddled up the horses, grabbed their favorite pussy cat and rode off together to make a name for themselves in Magical New York. Their horrible aunt and her daughters never discovered where the two youngsters had disappeared to, and lived the rest of their wretched lives in abject poverty as perverted crack whores giving away free sex in exchange for food.

The End.

I remember now.

I’m going to try to do something new on this site and all of you are welcome to participate. Or, you can be lazy and just reap the fruits of my creative genius as I bare my soul to the uncaring world.

Because I’m all that and a bag of Juicy-Fruit.

Anywaste, here’s my great, big, fat, stupid idea. I want to stir my creative juices in a new and exciting way and, since I consider myself more of a storyteller than a true Blogger, I came up with a way to do it. There are only three steps involved and everyone’s invited to play along. The only things you need are a brain, a Blog and a camera.

Actually, the brain is optional.

1. Take A Picture

   That’s right. You can take a picture of anything, your big toe, an old hat, yourself, a kitten, your favorite lint sculpture, or whatever. In fact, you can even scan in an old photograph and use that as your picture. Or just open PhotoShop and create a new piece of art. It doesn’t really matter as long as it’s a picture of some sort.

2. Write A Story

   This is the part that really gets my nipples all crinkly and starts my creative juices flowing. Using the picture as a starting point, write something. What you write can be poetry or prose, fact or fiction and can be about the picture itself, the subject(s) in the picture or even how, where or why the picture was taken. This should be a story and not a caption, so try to write at least 250 words. That’s just a guideline, of course, but 250 words isn’t really all that much, and personally I expect to be writing my usual 1,000+. What? Because I’m a big, stupid loser, that’s why.

3. Post It

   Now post that bad boy and watch as your visitor count goes through the roof*!

   *This statement is in no way, shape or form to be construed as a guarantee of any kind.

   In truth, the author is merely talking out of his anus in the hopes that someone else will actually try this experiment with him.

   The author is a recognized leader in the ‘Please Like Me. Oh god, Please Like Me.’ field and is the head Professor of the Department of Needy Friendless Beggars at the University of Geeky Losers located at Nerdsville, USA.

   Pity him and he will latch onto you like a rabid, starving leech.

I’ve decided to make this Sunday my first day for this… uh, PhotoBloggery experiment. This is a once a week type thing, so choose your day with care.

I chose Sunday night for myself because… well, what else do I have to do on a Sunday? Eat bunt cake?

And to entice you all to come back (because lord knows I can’t afford to lose any visitors whatsoever) I’ll let you in on a little secret; the first picture will be a picture of me! Hey, where’s everyone going…?

PhotoBloggery? What a lame and stupid name. I suck.

1. I Am The Lord Thy Blog, Who Hath Brought Thee Forth From The Land Of Lame Free Hosts And The Rigors Of Hand Coding. Thou Shalt Updateth No Other Sites Before Me.
2. Thou Shalt Not Take The Name Of Thy Blog In Vain.
3. Thou Shalt Not Steal. Thou Shalt Not Bow Down Thyself To The Evils Of Cut And Paste Design.
4. Remember Thy Blogiversary Day And Keepeth It Holy.
5. Honor Thy A-List And Thy Z-List: That Thine Own Stats May Groweth.
6. Thou Shalt Leaveth Comments.
7. Thou Shalt Not Flame.
8. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Site Design, Nor Shall Thou Covet Thy Neighbors Color Scheme, Nor Thy Neighbors Site Statistics, Nor Comments, Nor Sense Of Humor, Nor Anything That Is Thy Neighbors.
9. Thou Shalt Be’th Original. Thou Shalt Not Write Of Thy Pet More Than Once A Fortnight.
10. Thou Shalt Not Becometh A Web-Cam Whore.
11. Thou Shalt Shamelessly Plug Thy Blog To All The Peoples Of The Earth, And In So Doing Shall Spread The Word Of The Lord Thy Blog.
12. Thou Shalt Updateth, And Thou Shalt Updateth Often.

I present to you

My day, from morning to night

Damn you, I am lame

Wake up 10 a.m.

Yawn, stretch, scratch myself and fart

Damn you, brand new day

Water, soap, shampoo

To clean; lather, rinse, repeat

Damn you, stinging eyes

Brush my teeth and hair

Shave face with brand new razor

Damn you, bleeding face

Breakfast beckons me

Hot cocoa and Captain Crunch

Damn you, empty milk

Get dressed, shirt and jeans

Laughing people pass me by

Damn you, open fly

Now it’s time to work

And yet, I procrastinate

Damn you, Miss Ex-Boxx

Hungry, dinner time

Deliveryman rings bell

Damn you, burnt pizza

Pizza stomach pains

Porcelain throne, sit, relief

Damn you, no T.P.

Sit and stare at screen

Inspiration! Time to Blog

Damn you, MS Word

Bedtime, tired, sleep

Can’t stop thinking in haiku

Damn you, I must stop

Humans are biologically stupid.

That’s right, we’re all anatomically retarded. We have two hands, two feet, two ears, two eyes and even two separate methods of expelling waste from our bodies and yet we have only one way to breathe. Think about that for a moment because a little while ago the full ramifications of having only one method of breathing became crystal clear to me. I wanted to breathe but I couldn’t and so I got to thinking about how stupid human anatomy was and how I’d give Darwin a piece of my mind if I met him in the afterlife.

I may have thought about kicking his ass, too.

Now, humans can live without sight or sound, without our hands and feet, but none of us can ever live without breathing, right? So doesn’t it make sense for us to have an alternate method of getting air into our lungs just in case something was to go wrong? I mean really, who does quality control for Mother Nature anyway? Arthur Anderson?

Wait, this story’s a little too embarrassing for me to tell so I’ll give you a hypothetical situation to ponder instead, ok?

Let’s say a man is sitting at home all alone doing nothing too important. Suddenly and without warning, his single air passage becomes blocked by, oh, I don’t know… a small piece of chocolate chip cookie dough from a late night bowl of ice cream. This frozen piece of dough wedges itself quite firmly in place and decides it rather likes its surroundings, would enjoy prolonging its stay in the esophagus and would someone be so kind as to call the cabana boy to rub some sunscreen on its back while it lounges by the pool?

It is at this point that a secondary breathing apparatus would have been much appreciated by the hypothetical man.

Now, some of you might be thinking to yourselves, “GeekMan, we already have a secondary breathing apparatus. It’s called a nose.” Untrue, I say. The nose is connected to the same pipe as your mouth and so, if the pipe becomes blocked then your nose becomes as useless as your mouth. This is why I feel the nose is only good for sensing where the Froot Loops are hidden and for producing copious amounts of mucus which will tend to drip out at the most inappropriate of times.

Onto your plate at dinner with the parents of your significant other, for example.

Now luckily, our hypothetical man with a breathing problem is sufficiently quick on his mental feet to figure out how to save himself and manages to forcibly dislodge the offensive piece of food from his throat before the grim reaper showed up. The removal of the dastardly dough involved many carefully thought out steps of meticulous and deliberate actions. One of these steps was frantically and forcibly striking himself in the stomach with his own fist, not unlike an angry and sexually frustrated chimpanzee in heat.

I didn’t say he was a smart hypothetical man.

When the Dough of Danger was finally removed, our hypothetical man might have been seen to slowly squish it between his thumb and index finger in an act of angry defiance. A hypothetical piece of Bread might have turned to a hypothetical Ex Boxx and say, “Damn. I guess I owe you five bucks, he’ll live after all.” If our hypothetical man had had two different methods of breathing he might have been able to breathe well enough to curse the hypothetical figments of his hypothetical imagination. Instead, he pondered the stupidity of having only one way to breathe while ignoring the snickering figments of his imagination and eating the rest of the pint of ice cream in righteous anger.

At the time, it was the only way he could think of to properly punish it.

It’s time for yet another installment of Blogger Insider. This week’s questions are brought to you by Melanie Kurtz of Goodbye Blue Monday. She’s just started Blogging so show her a little love and visit her site and read her answers to my questions. Now, without further ado, let’s get it on!

1. Do you regularly have conversations with inanimate objects?

   “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t talk to inanimate objects.”

   “Is that my cue?”

   “Bread, you’re not on until next week. We talked about this remember? Once a week, at most. We don’t want to overuse you.”

   “Hey, I’m the best thing you’ve got going here. Don’t kid yourself bub, without me you’re nuthin.”

   “You arrogant… Hey, is that a cigarette? Get that out of here! You know there’s no smoking in my house. I’m allergic, dammit.”

   “Relax you anal retentive psycho. It’s a menthol.”

   “That doesn’t make a difference and you know it. Just get out of here and take that damn cigarette with you.”

   “Ok, ok. I’m going. I’m just glad you didn’t realize I didn’t take my shoes off when I came in. And I think I might have stepped in something.”

   “AHHHHH!!! You bastard! You know I’m going to be up all night mopping the floor now, don’t you?”

   “I was counting on it, putz.”

   Evil laughter fades as door slams. Manic mopping ensues.

2. How do you feel about Agent Orange?

   It makes me break out in hives. Or is that cats?

3. Do you feel that no woman’s worth crawling on the earth?

   Hello, my name is Harold Zimmermann. I’m Mr. GeekMan’s relationship attorney and I’ll be representing him for this particular question. On behalf of my client, the answer to this question is, ‘No comment’. I have instructed my client to refrain from answering this and any other question that may, in my legal opinion, lead to a ruling of ‘no sex’ from Judge HoBiscuit. Should you insist on continuing this line of questioning, I will be forced to instruct my client to plead the fifth, duck and cover, and quickly enter the witness relocation program. And we’re much better at hiding than those morons over at Enron.

4. In the highly unlikely case that you got insulted, would you ever respond by saying “Well, I have a Bloggie and you don’t! MUAHAHA!”?

   (muahaha being evil laughter)

   Of course! I love using that line, evil laugh included, in all sorts of social situations. When the line at the shelter is long and I’m especially hungry, I just yell out, “Anti-Bloggie Award winner here! Make a hole! Coming through!” And the line magically disappears. My award has even helped me make new friends. Before I won the award no one would talk to me, but now when I show it to people they love to tell me things. They give me suggestions on where I can put my award, or what I can do with myself when I’m alone and bored, but so far I haven’t tried any of them. Truthfully, I think it would hurt, but since so many people recommend putting my award in there, I guess I should give it a try. People are so nice.

5. Which was your favorite Star Trek series and why?

   I never really got into Star Trek. By the time I ‘discovered’ it I was already infatuated with the greatest sci-fi program on TV at the time, Battlestar Galactica. You show me someone who didn’t love BG and I’ll show you someone with far more taste and culture than should ever be allotted by nature. In order to preserve the human race as we know it, we would need to hunt them down and give them a frontal lobotomy by sticking a straw through their left eye and letting their brains drain out. We would then make them late-night infomercial hosts on public television.

6. Out of hearts, solitaire, and minesweeper, which are you most likely to get addicted to?

   Hearts give me gas and sweeping for mines seems like a dangerous profession. Since I’m often in solitary confinement I guess I should choose solitaire, but I’d have to make the cards by slowly skinning myself and using my own blood as ink. Wanna play canasta?

7. What was the first concert you went to?

   Good question. The first concert I saw live was Brian Adams and I’m still waiting for a formal apology from Canada. In fact, I have a session with my therapist in half an hour where I’ll try to expel this ancient anger by singing ‘Summer of 69’ at the top of my lungs and beating myself with a pillowcase filled with copies of Robin Hood starring Kevin Costner.

8. Would you rather be a nerd, dork, or loser? (geek is not an option)

   Nice, real nice. In case you didn’t know already, I’m a loser. A tall, skinny, stupid loser. Thanks for bringing that up. No, no. Don’t bother apologizing, it’s far too late now. Would you like to rub salt or lemon juice into my open wounds? Oh, I see. You prefer ground glass. Typical.

9. What is your favorite winter Olympics sport?

   Curling. Just because it’s so… un-Olympic.

10. What is the crowning focal point of your home?

    The VEHTS, of course.

11. If you wake up and see that it is cloudy, does this have any particular impact on your day?

    It has a huge impact! It means that I’ll probably have to bring an umbrella and wear a raincoat. I’ll probably also get wet when a taxi splashes a puddle on me when it runs a red light, which would really stink because I most likely have an important meeting to attend with big, important clients and if I’m wet then I’ll look all shlumpy. Clients don’t respect you when you’re shlumpy, which would mean I wouldn’t get the job, which would mean I’d have to go home empty handed. Of course, not working means I wouldn’t get paid which would mean I couldn’t pay my rent and I’d be evicted from my apartment. Then I’d be living on the street begging for spare change and digging through a McDonalds dumpster for my dinner, which won’t even have a happy meal prize, unless you count a dead rat with a missing foot a prize. And of course, it would be raining.

12. *BONUS* The following is entirely for my own research purposes. Do with it what you will. What’s your favorite kind of pizza?

    Brooklyn pizza. What, you want more? OK, how about hot Brooklyn pizza? More? With pepperoni. Lots and lots of pepperoni. Damn, now I’m hungry.

Does anyone else aside from me think I really need an intervention?