- Chicago seems like a very nice place to visit and I’m sure I would have enjoyed being there more if not for my complete inability to get Frank Sinatra’s song “Chicago” out of my head. It’s especially difficult after walking down State Street (that great street, I just want to say) and actually witnessing a tourist couple laughing and dancing together on the sidewalk. However, I will admit that it was damn cute when he tried to dip her and she dragged him down to the ground as she fell.
- The best part of being in first class on an airplane has nothing to do with legroom, leather seats or better meals. It’s all about the extra overhead storage. Bless you, overhead storage. Bless you.
- There’s still time to enter the Adam’s Revenge story contest! I’ve gotten a few sentences but not yet enough for the ten I require to start the story. Come on people! Help me entertain you and send me a sentence! You know you want to.
Author: GeekMan
Paper Trail
Sometimes I question my TP technique.
But then I remember how silly the other techniques are. You see, I’ve heard tell of people out there who use a TP method I think is both absurd and irresponsible, but every once in a while I wonder if maybe, just maybe, that method would work better than my current wrap-and-fold technique.
Luckily, I always come to my senses in time.
Now, I’m sure that the people who use this weird method of crack-spackle removal don’t do it because they’re devil worshippers, I’m sure they’re nice people who just don’t realize the danger their immortal souls are in every time they go to the bathroom. But anyone who uses the method I like to call “The Brady” is in for a big surprise come judgment day.
And I’m not talking a good surprise, like chocolate cake, either.
For those of you who might not know, The Brady method involves gathering up some TP in your hand and just bunching it up willy-nilly for the big ole’ wipe. Not only do I frown upon this method for its overindulgence of two-ply, I also don’t like it because it just sounds so messy. Think about it, you’re taking a wad of bunched up TP in your fist, sticking in a place you will never see with your own eyes and praying your hand is protected as you clean steaming fresh poopy from yourself.
Now to me, that sounds awfully dangerous.
I mean, what if you failed to wad the paper up properly and there was an area of your hand exposed to your foul detritus as you did the reach around? You wouldn’t know the danger you were in until after you felt the stinky, warm squishy with your own hand.
And what if you had tacos the night before?
You’d spend the rest of the day trying to avoid touching anything and everyone while surreptitiously sniffing your hand and hoping against hope that the cheap soap your office always buys for the public restroom would manage to remove the evidence of your bad TP technique. And what do you think would happen if someone should notice that you kept sniffing your smelly hand all day at the office? They’d laugh at you. And point. And call you Poopsniffer behind your back.
And then the cute receptionist would never date you. Ever.
Adam’s Revenge
I MUST be crazy.
Two years ago I put out a call to my readership to supply me with their wackiest sentences. From those I picked the ten I liked best and weaved them together into a story to entertain you while also giving the winners some linky-love. The result was Adam Dragonhart. It’s taken two whole years for me to recover from that experience, but now that I have recovered I think I might try it again.
No, I’m not on new medication. Now shut up.
That’s not to say that this story will necessarily continue Adam Dragonhart’s adventures. For all I know it will, but it’s just as possible that something new will come to my mind based on your sentences and I’ll go off on a wild tangent that has nothing at all to do with Adam. But whatever does happen, I’m praying to heaven above that it’s funny or I suspect you’ll all show up outside my door brandishing pitchforks, torches and rotten vegetables.
So, before you fire up your favorite word processor, here’s the rules.
The sentence you send should be in English and no more than 25 words long, although those words can be of any length. And if you’re going to use a made up word, please keep it to one per sentence because your made up words are rarely as clever to others as they are to you. The sentence can be about anything at all, but please no curse words. Any entries containing curse words will not be used and yes, that means you too, mom. Also, no proper names allowed. That means if you send me a sentence that reads, “Marsha told Greg to come to Alice’s room after Cindy left the house if he wanted some of her ‘special’ Brady pie.” I’ll simply ignore it, no matter how funny I think it is.
And boy, do I ever think it’s funny.
You may send as many entries as you wish, but each entry must be contained in a separate email and only one entry per contestant will be used in the final story. Please include your URL and website name with your entry email for proper linkage. If you have no website, make sure to indicate whether you want a link to your email address or if you’d prefer no link at all, in which case your entry will contain no link and finding it in the story to point out to all your imaginary friends at school will be difficult to say the least.
But I’m sure your mother will still be proud of you.
GeekMan, that’s me, reserves the right to not use your entry no matter how clever you might think it is, even if it does involve llamas. Once submitted, all entries become the property of The Mighty Geek. In fact, I reserve all rights to submitted material. You have no rights. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. The subject line of your entry should read Adam’s Revenge. All entries must be received by 11pm EST, Wednesday August 10, 2005.
Email your entries to: geekman at the mighty geek d0t c0m
That’s it. There’s no prize money or gifts being offered here, just the chance to see your words used in a yet another weird and (hopefully) funny story. Well, that and perhaps the gift of a few meager click-throughs from the readership here at The Might Geek. Now hurry up and dream up a few zany words and string them together so I can write something funny for you!
And don’t forget to spell check!
Mostly Vomit Television
Maybe something’s wrong with me.
This morning I saw Jessica Simpson’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking” video for the first time. Nothing special, right? Just another bad song being sung by another bad singer in yet another bad video on MTV. But this particular video has a stigma attached to it that merited my viewing.
You see, in the video Jessica Simpson wears a string bikini.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no Jessica Simpson fan. I happen to dislike her on the grounds that anyone who’s that stupid and that rich should by rights be ugly as sin. Hey, look at Anna Nicole before the fad diet. So, simply by existing Jessica defies the natural order of the universe and should be beaten with an ugly stick by schoolchildren outside of a different public school from 3:30-4:00pm every day until even the meanest kid feels sorry for her face.
That would set the universal karma back to right.
Anywaste, back to my mental meanderings. In this video, Jessica wears a tiny string bikini while teasingly washing the “General Lee”, the car from The Dukes of Hazzard movie in which she plays Daisy Duke. Normally, a sexy young woman wearing a string bikini and getting all kinds of wet on the hood of a car would encourage certain parts of my anatomy to stand up and take notice. But, much to my surprise, seeing her on my TV screen had the opposite effect entirely. In fact, when she leaned over the hood of the car exposing her barely bikini covered boobies to the camera, I came very close to vomiting last nights leftover tacos all over the couch.
As it was, I did get to enjoy their hot and spicy taste once again.
Here’s the thing that’s been bothering me all day. Is it normal for a guy to see a woman most would call sexy who’s writhing around in a wet bikini on top of a car and making come-hither eyes at the camera and, instead of sitting back and enjoying the view, he hastily clamps his lips together to suppress his gag reflex? Should I be worried about this? Should I see a specialist? What say you, oh readership of wise soothsayers? Am I going crazy(er)?
In other news, it’s fricking hot.
Crazy Train
Sometimes life in the city sucks.
Take this morning for example. You see, I needed to go to a client’s office for some work so I got up early and caught the train into the city. On this train with me were perhaps a hundred billion other hot and sweaty New Yorkers and one very pregnant young lady who, due to the fact that all the seats on the train were already occupied when she boarded, had been forced to stand. She looked hot, tired and miserable and so, being the consummate gentleman that I am, I promptly got up and offered my seat to her. She met my eyes and gave me a warm smile of thanks and, for just a moment, I felt like a hero for doing something nice for a fellow human being.
Until the really fat jerk standing behind her stole the seat.
It was shocking how such a fat man could move so fast. In his haste to claim the seat before anyone else the fat, FAT, FAT jackhole literally pushed the pregnant woman out of the way and sat down almost on top of the guy who had been sitting next to me. After I had picked my jaw up off the ground and explained to this schmuck of the highest order that I had been getting up so the pregnant woman he had pushed out of the way could sit, he merely wiped his sweaty brow and shrugged. Then, without looking up at me, the pregnant lady or anyone else on the train, he mumbled into his coffee cup, “Sorry, but I’m just too damn tired to care.”
Believe me when I say he was thisclose to death.
Lucky for him the guy he had nearly crushed to death beneath his immense weight when he stole my seat decided to also be a gentleman and got up so the pregnant lady could sit down. Even so, the other gentleman and I, by unspoken agreement, stood as close to the seat stealing fat frick as we could, invading his personal space to the utmost, and glared at him for the entire ride.
And the fat bastard just ignored us.
Not once did he look up at us, not once did he glance at the angry pregnant lady sitting to his left or the disapproving old lady to his right and not once did he stop pretending to sip his coffee from his obviously empty coffee cup. And not once did he mention the fact that I was standing on his shoes.
Not even when I ground my heel on his toes at 34th street.
Jury Doodie Sucks
‘Nuff said.
Comment Whore
Are you there Blog? It’s me, GeekMan.
I can’t wait until 3,000 comments Blog. That’s when fame starts. Do you think I’ll get an A-List commenter? It’s not so much that I really care about comments Blog, but as a guy I’m very competitive. And I’d love to be A-List… just for a moment or two.
Thank you Blog.
Continue reading
Whispers In The Dark
“Are you sure this is safe?”
“Shhh!”
“You shhh!”
“Shut up, Arthur. They’ll hear us.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be quiet.”
“But GeekMan…”
“Shhh!”
“…”
“…”
“Can you see anything?”
“Not yet.”
“When can I look?”
“When you learn how to be quiet.”
“I can be quiet.”
“Prove it.”
“…”
“…”
“Can I look now?”
“Arthur! There’s nothing to see yet, and if you keep talking they’ll hear us and we’ll never see anything!”
“But why do you get to see and not me?”
“Who noticed the hole, Arthur? Who realized what a hole in Girls Bunk 5’s wooden floor meant? Who was kind enough to invite his 14 year old friend to come along with him to spy on the cute 15 years old girls in Girls Bunk 5? Was it you?”
“Uhmmm… No.”
“No. It was me. AND I found the way to crawl underneath their cabin to get to the hole, too. That means I get first dibs, so be quiet and wait your turn.”
“Sorry.”
“Shhh!”
“…sorry…”
“…”
“…”
“Here they come…”
“What are they doing?”
“They’re coming inside, stupid.”
“Can you see panties yet?”
“How would I see panties, you moron? They just walked in the door.”
“I dunno, don’t they walk around in panties and have pillow fights when they’re alone? That’s what my brother says they do.”
“That’s later, after they all shower together.”
“They take showers together?!”
“Shhhh!”
“Can I watch when they take a shower?”
“Shhhh! We can’t see the bathroom from here, you moron.”
“Oh. Then when can I watch?”
“Later.”
“How much later is later?”
“Quiet. I think Suzy’s going to take off her shirt.”
“…”
“Huh.”
“What? What?!”
“I think Suzy stuffs her bra… Wow. She must spend a whole lot on tissues.”
“She took off her BRA?!”
“Not yet, she’s just reaching under her shirt and pulling out tissues. It’s like magic.”
“I wanna see!”
“Fine. Here.”
“…”
“…”
“Heh. You’re right, it’s like magic. The funny thing is they look the same size even without the tissues.”
“They do? Why would she stuff then?”
“I dunno, maybe she’s got bad allergies?
“Yeah, maybe.”
“…”
“…”
“So, what’s happening now?”
“Uh… nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Heh…”
“Arthur, what do you see?”
“Shhh.”
“What do you see?”
“Heh… nothing…”
“Arthur, you better not be holding back on me…”
“It’s nothing. Really. Heh, heh, heh…”
“I’m going to kick your ass, Arthur.”
“Ok, ok. Michelle’s getting ready to take a shower.”
“What?! She’s got the biggest boobies in camp! Let me see!”
“Shhh!”
“You shhh!”
“You said it was my turn!”
“Now I’m saying it’s my turn again, so move over.”
“No.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Well, it’s my turn now and I’m busy watching Michelle undress so wait your turn and be quiet.”
“She’s getting naked?!”
“Shhhh!”
“Let me see!”
“One more second…”
“Arthur…”
“Alright alright… sheesh!”
“Where is she?”
“Probably in the shower.”
“You jerk!”
“Snooze and lose, GeekMan. She certainly does have big ones though, no tissues for her.”
“You’re a real bastard, Arthur.”
“Why are you so upset? I thought you didn’t like Michelle.”
“I don’t. She’s mean and bossy, but she’s got big boobies and that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Oh. Well, cheer up then. She’s got to come out of the shower sometime, right?”
“I guess.”
“…”
“…”
“So, what’s going on now?”
“Nothing. Everyone’s just sitting around talking…”
“No one’s getting ready for bed?”
“Well…”
“GeekMan! I told you.”
“Ok, fine. Beth is getting undressed.”
“Beth? But she’s so small and skinny, and she has that funny smell…”
“I know, but you asked.”
“Well?”
“Well, what? I’m just trying not to look in that direction.”
“Oh.”
“…”
“…”
“Oooo, here comes Karen!”
“Let me see!”
“You saw Michelle! I get to see Karen.”
“That’s not fair!”
“You saw big boobies, so I get to see the cutest girl in camp. Fair’s fair.”
“But…”
“Shhh!”
“But…”
“Shhh! She’s standing right over us.”
“…”
“…”
“What’s she doing?”
“She’s… She’s…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what she’s doing.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what she’s doing.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Tell me what you see.”
“Well she turned away from everyone and… wiggled… and pulled her bra out from her shirt sleeve.”
“Woah!”
“Yeah, and then she wrapped a towel around herself like a toga, with her clothes on, and started undressing under the towel without taking the towel off.”
“Freaky.”
“Uh-huh. And now…”
“Yeah? And now?”
“Now she’s pulled her panties down to her knees and is just staring at them.”
“She is? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t she just take them off?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s she doing now?”
“She’s… she’s peeling something out of her panties. Throwing it away… and going into the shower.”
“Freaky.”
“Darn. I didn’t get to see anything!”
“There’s always next time.”
“I guess.”
“…”
“…”
“Oh, well. They’ve all gone to bed and turned off the lights. Guess we’d better get back to our cabin before the counselor’s find us missing.”
“Ok, GeekMan. You wanna come back again tomorrow night?”
“Sure, but let’s bring a pillow tomorrow, my neck is killing me.”
Brain Freeze
I scream.
You know those trucks with the tinkling bells that you used to love to buy ice cream from during the summer when you were a kid? The one’s that sell sundaes, rocket ices and strawberry shortcake sticks to name a few? The very same trucks that now drive around town dispensing crappy ‘soft’ ice cream to all those crazy kids who are always messing up your lawn, looking for trouble or making a ‘racket’ at all hours?
Yeah, those trucks.
Well, I was walking down the street yesterday when I came upon one outside of a playground dispensing its delicious treats to all the small children and their parents. It was obvious by the sweat dripping down the VERY large ice cream truck drivers’ brow that he had been there for a while and, since it was just early afternoon, he would certainly be there for a few hours more. He looked tired, hot and maybe even a tad unhappy to be stuck in such a small space on such a hot day.
And that’s when it hit me.
This guy, who was handing out unsealed, open and edible foodstuff to young children on a hot day, was trapped. He was stuck in a cage with wheels, unable to escape for even a moment of time. How long is his shift? What happens if he needs to take a five minute break from the screaming brats gathered around his window? What does he do for a lunch? What about if he smokes? Is there a way for him to wash his hands after wiping the hot, sticky sweat from his brow? What, oh dear lord, what does he do when he needs to go to the bathroom?!
Oh. My. God.
I’m never eating Mr. Softee again. Ever.
Public Service Announcement #8234
When I drink too much Coca-Cola I fart.
This is not something I’m proud of, especially since no other carbonated beverage I’ve ever consumed has had this effect on my gastrointestinal tract, but I just thought it was something you ought to know. You know, just in case I’m visiting and all you have to drink in the house is a Coke or a nice glass of watered down bleach with ice. Trust me; you would be doing the world a favor by giving me the bleach. No jury would convict you, my friend. It’s called “self-defense”. Why do I mention this? Well, guess who just had a whole 2 liters of Coke all to himself on an otherwise empty stomach?
That’s right. Mister GeekMan McStinkypants, that’s who.