Sunday. 7:19am.

[ring. ring]

“Mmmhello?”
“GeekMan, it’s your mother.”
“OK. Hi mom. Wassup?”
“There’s a message I don’t understand on the thing and I need you to fix it.”
“…”
“GeekMan? Are you there?”
“Mom, you do realize that it’s 7:20 in the morning, right?”
“What does that have to do with my problem?”
“Nothing. But it has a lot to do with my problem.”
“Oh? What’s your problem?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“How can I be your problem?! I’m your mother!”
“Mom, I was sleeping.”
“Well then, get up. It’s beautiful outside.”
“You are very, VERY lucky I don’t own a gun…”
“GASP! That’s no way to speak to your mother!”
“grumblegrumblemutter…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing mom. Now, what’s the problem?”
“There’s a message-alert thing on my computer.”
“What’s it say?”
“Your virus protection subscription has expired.”
“OK, no problem. All you need to do is pay for another year of subscriptions and update the software.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I thought I had become infected or something.”
“No. You’re fine. Just click on the button that says ‘update subscription’ and follow the instructions.”
“OK. Thank you. You’re such a good boy.”
“Can I go to sleep now?”
“What? You don’t want to talk to your mother?”
“Mom, I was sleeping…”
“You never call me and whenever I call you you’re always so busy that you don’t even talk to me.”
“Mom…”
“You take me for granted, you know.”
“Mom…”
“We haven’t spoken for three whole days and you don’t even care.”
“MOM!”
“What?”
“Stop it with the guilt! It’s 7:30 on a Sunday morning! All I want to do is sleep!”
“Well, fine! But you really should get up and take your wonderful wife out on this beautiful day…”
“Mom, HoBiscuit is still asleep.”
“Oh, then you should stop making so much noise and let her sleep. She works so hard…”
“Mom, I’m going to hang up now.”
“Isn’t that always the way? I try to talk to you and you shut me out.”
“Goodbye mom.”
“Lazy, good for nothing…”

[click]

I have nothing of interest to say to you today.

Nope. Nada. Zippo. Nothing.

Really, I thought I would, or at least I thought I might be able to come up with something clever to say if I sat here long enough, but honestly, I can’t think of a single thing to say today to entertain you so you might as well move on to something better somewhere else.

…

Buh-bye, now.

Go on, get.

Shoo.

…

Don’t look at me like that!

What? What do you want from me? Do you want me to dance a jig for you? Would that make you happy? Would you go away then?

…

Fine! Here, look. I’m dancing a jig for you! Look at the stupid friggin’ Geek dancing his little monkey jig to entertain you. Look at me go! Happy now?! Huh?! Huh?! You happy now that you’ve made me into a dance monkey?! Are you?!

Oh, for crying out loud!

Stop crying! Come on! Stop it with the tears.

Why are you crying? Did I scare you with all the yelling? I’m sorry. Look, I’m not mad, ok? I’m not mad at you so you can stop crying now. Really. I’m not mad. Please stop crying.

Please?

Ok, better now? Good. See? There was no need to cry. Look, I’m smiling, see? That means I’m not mad. I’m happy, see?

Good, I’m glad you’re not crying anymore.

What? What are you pointing at…?

Why are you pointing at my feet?

Wha…? Oh, for chrissake!

No. I will NOT do it again.

NO!!!

Oh… dammit, stop. Stop… No crying. Come on, no crying.

[grumblegrumblegrumble]

Fine! Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll do the Geeky monkey dance again but only if you promise to leave me alone when I’m done. Ok?

Sigh, the things I do for you…

Read part 1 here and part 2 here.

So there I am, trying to do the Right Thing™ and drive two extremely drunk girls home from a college party at 2am in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback Dodge Omni of Virginity when, in the words of almost any jaded Hollywood executive, “Wackiness Ensued”. The beautiful girl in the front seat, Front Seat Girl (FSG), had come to the conclusion that I was cute and so needed to be thanked for driving them home by receiving a patented “Best BJ Evah”, while the pretty girl in the back seat, Back Seat Girl (BSG), had stripped off all her clothes and thrown them out the window in an attempt to cool off her overheated body. And right about now you’re wondering how any of this could be bad.

You optimistic fool.

Let me show you why my life is cursed. You see, FSG had managed to expose my tighty-whities by getting my belt and zipper undone when she froze completely and uttered the three little words no sober person EVER wants to hear an inebriated person say, “I feel funny.” As soon as she uttered those words my rational thought process, which until that very moment had been stifled by my heretofore repressed libido with wild ideas like, “Threesome”, “Orgy” and “Huminah-huminah-huminah!” came roaring back into action like a herd of wild rhinos.

“Holy crapoly, Libido! She’s gonna hurl all over you!”
“What?!”
“FSG just said she felt funny.”
“Oh, that’s OK then. Maybe she’s has a thing for telling a joke before getting busy…”
“Are you fricking kidding me?!”
“Hey! I’m not the thinker around here, you are!”
“That’s right, and I’m telling you we need to get her head away from our lap!”
“But she’s so close!”
“Yeah, too close.”
“Can’t we ask her to hold it in for a few seconds? That’s all it would take. I swear!”
“And what do we do when it all comes back up? Hold our breath?”
“Dammit! She was gonna blow me!”
“She’s gonna blow you, alright. In a BAD way!”
“I fricking hate you.”

By the time my internal conversation concluded, FSG had come to the same realization that I had and she muttered another three words even more frightening than the three she had already said. This time she said, “Hold my hair.” Let me just say here and now that I am still amazed at the reaction this evoked from BSG, who until that moment had seemed oblivious to the action taking place in the front seat of the car, not more than 3 feet from her. Suddenly, BSG went stone-cold sober, reached forward, grabbed FSG’s hair and held it out of the way.

That’s when FSG turned into the little girl from the Exorcist.

Imagine the scene; a guy with his pants open, a girl in the seat next to him with her face in his lap and another girl with her hand on the back of the first girl’s head. If it weren’t for all the vomit coming out of FSG’s body it would have been one of my favorite fantasies come to life.

And, OMG, the smell…

The amount of chunky, steaming, stinking fluids that FSG pumped onto my lap, the floor, the door and, I swear to heaven above, the entire dashboard of my car was astonishing. Even more amazing was that when she was done, when I was literally sitting in a puddle of puke as streams of vomit trickled down my legs to form squishy pools inside my shoes, FSG sat up and didn’t have a drop of puke in her hair!

I remember wondering at the time if I should applaud.

When we reached the dorms, BSG and I managed to manhandle FSG into her room and into bed. Of course this was after I gave BSG my shirt so she could at least pretend to not be completely naked. All the while FSG was insisting that I come inside with her so she could ‘make it up’ to me with a night of wanton sex. By this time even my overactive libido had had enough, so I politely refused and left her alone to sleep.

I don’t think she even noticed when we left.

I walked BSG back to her room where she confessed to me that even though she was still a little drunk (no-duh!) she still thought I was cute. I told her that if she still felt that way in the morning that she should come talk to me about it. Leaving her a note with my room number on it, I left and went home to wash my privates for about half an hour. My clothes I threw away, including my one-month old shoes. I vowed never to be the designated driver for another college drinkfest ever again, went to bed and fell into a blissfully uneventful coma for the night.

Oh, I bet you’re wondering whatever happened with me and BSG.

Well, the very next day I awoke to a knocking on my door. Waiting for me outside was a man of enormous size and density. To tell you he was on the football team would not do his physical presence justice, better to say he was the football team. And if I said he was upset it would be as if I described the ocean as ‘wet’ which, while technically correct, would still be so very, very wrong that you’d probably hit me. It turned out that this gargantuan man was BSG’s long-term boyfriend and he had come to my room courtesy of the note he had found stuffed in my shirt pocket that I had left with BSG the night before. He wanted to discuss the amazing connection between my laying eyes on BSG again and my ability to continue breathing without the help of a machine. I had never thought that there was a connection between those two disparate things, but rest assured that Mr. Reason helped me see the light so fast I swear I saw spots for a week.

The Mighty Geek, loser is as loser does.

Read part 1 here.

Let me recap the scene for you.

I, a completely sober and typical college ‘nice guy’ Geek, am the designated driver for a college drinking party. During this party two very beautiful girls get so drunk that they are actually evicted from said college party for being too drunk to stand up under their own power. While driving them back to the dorms in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback Dodge Omni of Virginity the girl in the front seat tells me she wants to thank me for being so nice by giving me a bj and the girl in the back seat decides to combat the warm spring night’s heat by stripping off all her clothes.

What follows is proof positive that my life is cursed.

Now, because of Front Seat Girls’ (FSG) declaration of my immanent “Happy Ending” my mind had understandably stopped functioning properly, so the only reason I knew Back Seat Girl (BSG) was stripping was that she threw her bra at me. Not being aerodynamically designed for drunken flight, BSG’s bra missed me but did manage to get stuck on my rearview mirror. This caused FSG to start laughing again which in turn caused my brain to register the fact that I was now driving at a ridiculously fast speed down a residential street known as a speed-trap for the cops. I quickly downshifted from third gear to second thinking that as soon as I reached a safer speed I would remove the bra from my rearview mirror so the local police wouldn’t pull me over for indecent exposure or something.

That was mistake number one.

That’s because as soon as I put my hand on the gear shift, which as anyone who has ever driven a manual car will attest is located between the driver and passenger seats, FSG leaned over and started trying to undo my pants. This had two immediate and very different consequences. First, my right arm was now pinned underneath FSG’s body making it impossible for me to change gears and second, my libido started screaming at the top of its metaphorical lungs at my rational brain while my rational brain tried its darndest to keep me on the path of righteousness. The gist of this conversation can be summed up as follows:

“Thankyougod! We’re going to get some!”
“Ohmygod! We’re going to die!”
“Thankyougod!”
“Ohmygod!”
“Dammit! Don’t be such a baby! We’re not going to die when we’re only going 45mph down a completely empty street at 2am!”
“OK, maybe not, but I can’t shift gears so when we need to make a turn…”
“You were planning on making turns with FSG’s head in your lap?”
“What? What do you mean… Hey! Will you look at that? FSG’s got her head in my lap!”
“Yeah, and if you sit still a bit longer she’ll do something even better.”
“Woah! You know, driving a stick-shift with only one hand free and a girls head in your lap may not be the smartest of things to do…”
“But it’ll sure be fun!”
“Wait! They’re both drunk and I’m sure they’ll feel horrible about all this in the morning, so we should stop this before it goes any further.”
“Pansy! Loser! Moron!”
“Shut up!”
“FSG’s got her face in your lap and her hands on your belt and you’re going to tell us to stop?!”
“Well, it’s the right thing to do…”
“And BSG’s nearly naked in the back seat!”
“What?! When did that happen?”
“Where the heck did you think that bra came from? The Boobie Fairy?”
“Uh…”
“Think, you idiot! THINK! What happens in all those movies we see that start off this way?”
“Uhm… we’ll all be hunted down by a psychotic killer until the last one alive blows him up or sets him on fire and he sinks to the bottom of a creepy lake?”
“Nonono! The other movies.”
“Uhm… we’ll all go back to their room and…”
“And…?”
“Oh. OH!”
“That’s right, man! Threesome!”
“Holy crap, what was I thinking?! Stop this?! Let’s get this party started!”
“Thankyougod!”
“Hallelujah!”

So, one of my hands was trapped underneath FSG, who by this time is done with my belt and was now working on my zipper, and BSG was nearly completely naked except for her miniskirt and panties. Well, I guess BSG was still hot because not a moment later her miniskirt was gone. Poof, gone. Just like that. I’m not positive, but I believe she actually threw it out the window, along with her shirt. I say I’m not positive because, while she was becoming one with nature, FSG managed to unzip my fly and expose my bulging tighty-whities to the world which had my libido screaming, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank god almighty, we’re free at last!”

Which I guess was just blasphemous enough to piss someone off.

You see, now that my tighty-whities were exposed I was at the complete mercy of any higher being that might have been watching me, and as we all know higher beings have a very low sense of humor. So, at the exact moment that my pants came undone FSG froze like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi and said, “I feel funny.”

Oh. Crap.

To be continued…

This one time, in college…

I was at a party and, being the only non-drinker present, I became the designated driver for all the drunken people who couldn’t otherwise get back home. During one trip from said party to the dorms, I had two very pretty girls sitting in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback, Dodge Omni of Virginity who were so amazingly drunk that they literally could not see and had to be poured into the car by myself and a random guy at the party who was sober enough to notice their plight. Also, he thought my name was ‘T-Bone’ and that I was going to bring him back some weed.

You know, I think he’s a doctor now.

About halfway back to the dorms, the girl sitting in the front seat decided that I was cute. I know this because she studied my profile for about four minutes and then shouted to her friend in the back seat that I was cute. Her friend, who at the time was laying face down on the floor of my car, yelled back that if she thought I was cute then she should “Thank the cutie for giving us a ride home.”

And now it gets weird.

Front Seat Girl (FSG) then stage whispers to me that she thinks I’m cute, as if I haven’t heard her screaming it to her friend already, and informs me that she’s a little drunk. Being the gentleman that I am, I shift into third gear and tell her that it’s because she’s so drunk that I’m taking her home. Party rules were that if you couldn’t stand under your own power, you went home.

Take note kids because that’s still a darn good rule.

FSG laughed at my comment and told me that I was such a good guy that I deserved a ‘reward’. Not knowing what to expect I said that I would leave her my room number and she could thank me the next day by sending me a note. FSG seemed to find that extremely funny and she laughed and laughed until she started making pig-snorting noises at which point she began to choke on her own spit and then coughed until she cried.

Yes, very attractive, I know.

Meanwhile, Back Seat Girl (BSG) managed to sit up and lean forward until her head was between her friend and me in the front. Looking straight ahead out the front windshield of my car, BSG very matter-of-factly stated, “I’m hot.” Since my poor Dodge Omni had no a/c and the windows were already rolled down I told her there was nothing I could do. Still looking dead ahead, and without even a hint of emotion, BSG said, “Oh. OK then.” and then she sat back and closed her eyes, for all intents and purposes dead asleep. At which point FSG stopped snort-laughing and turned to me with a very serious expression on her extremely drunk face and said, “I know how to thank you. I’ll give you a BJ! I give the BEST BJs. Ask anybody.”

And that’s when BSG started stripping…

To be continued…

“What did you say?”
“What?”
“What did you just say?”
“When?”
“Just now. Did you call me fat?”
“What?! No!”
“Then what did you say?”
“I just asked if you wanted the rest of my steak because I’m full.”
“So, you think I’m a fat pig? Is that it?”
“What?!”
“Don’t play innocent with me, smartass. I know you and now you’re in trouble.”
“What the hell…?”
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Honey, have you been watching Oprah again?”
“Bastard.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Uhm… trying to give my wife a hug?”
“That’s not what you were doing.”
“It’s not?”
“Don’t try to lie to me, mister.”
“But I…”
“You were touching my waist!”
“Well, yeah. I was trying to hug you.”
“No you weren’t! You were trying to find my curves! You were touching my fat!”
“What?!”
“Yes you were! You can’t get out of it this time, don’t even try!”
“You’re fricking crazy!”
“Now I’m fat and crazy?! CRAZY?!”
“Honey, it scares me when your eyes pop out of your head like that.”
“I. Hate. You.”

“Move over.”
“Oh, are you talking to me again?”
“Don’t start. I just want to lay down on the couch and you make a nice pillow.”
“I what?”
“You make a nice pillow.”
“Wait. Did you just call me fat?”
“No. Not really. You just have a nice, soft…”
“Go on. Don’t stop now.”
“Well, you have gotten a little softer around the middle lately…”
“You’re calling me fat!”
“Oh come on! Be a man and take a little criticism, will you?”
“I don’t believe this!”
“What?!”
“I get an hour and a half of arctic winter for trying to hug you at a time you’re feeling insecure and yet you’re allowed to casually inform me that I’ve gotten so fat I can double as a human pillow?”
“Of course.”
“And I’m just supposed to just take that?”
“Well, yeah.”
“For frick’s sake, why?”
“Because I’m a woman.”
“But… sputter… I… sputter…”
“Quiet, the movie is starting.”
“But this just isn’t fair.”
“Life’s not fair. Now shut up and watch the movie.”

“Why are we watching an action movie?”
“Because.”
“But I don’t want to see an action movie. I want to see a girlie movie.”
“You get to throw psycho tantrums; I get to watch crappy movies.”
“Why?”
“That’s just how it is.”
“That’s not fair!”
“As a loved one once told me, life’s not fair. Now shut up and watch the movie.”
“Hmmph! Well, don’t you touch my fat.”
“I won’t. And don’t you touch my remote.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”

“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Can we change the channel now?”
“Dear lord, yes! This movie sucks!”
“Look, Flip That House is on!”
“Quick, like a bunny!”
“Thank god!”
“Amen!”
“I love you, PillowBoy.”
“I love you too, PsychoGirl.”