Even toys mock me.
Well ain’t this a kick in the nads? It seems that I’m going to be an action figure, except that it looks nothing like me and I’m not making a penny off of any of the sales. And what’s with the lousy super powers? ‘Opposite Sex Repulsion’ I can understand but ‘Less Than Ideal Personal Hygiene Routine’? Puh-LEASE! I shower once a week like any other decent human being, thankyouverymuch.
I even use soap twice a month, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.
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I’m traveling again.
Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve stopped caring. You’ve found another website or three with funnier content that’s updated more than once a week and you no longer give a dirty rat’s behind whether I’m alive, dead or lying in a coma in a small Guatemalan village as the local witch doctor prepares to exorcise the evil spirits holding me hostage by removing my gallbladder using a pointed stick and some fresh elephant dung.
Hey, it could happen. And then wouldn’t you feel just horrible?
Anywaste, I’m headed to Phoenix this weekend and I’ll be back next Thursday. When I return I’m going to be focusing my attention on a brand new redesign of this site and, starting in March, quite possibly going back to my normal routine of daily updates. So, if you’ve taken me off your Favorites list and banished me from your BlogRoll because you were sure I was going to fade away to nothingness, shame on you for your faithlessness. And by you, I mean YOU.
No, the other one. Next to you. With the hat. Yes. You.
*Warning*
The following rant is not particularly funny. It’s a real, honest-to-crappiness rant about mortgages and really, how funny can one make a mortgage rant sound? It’s also meant to help inform other self-employed individuals like me who might be looking into purchasing a home. So, if you read this post be prepared for informative silliness, not a funny story. But don’t worry, I’ll be funny tomorrow. Promise. Thank you for your indulgence.
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Here on my site I call my brother Fishman.
And on Tuesday, that’s tomorrow for all you self-employed people without calendars, you can all find out why. Well, only if you’re willing to put up with watching a stupid, insipid and idiotic television show called America’s Next Top Model. That’s because this Tuesday one of my brother’s creations will be featured on that show and I couldn’t be more proud. Please watch the show in support of my brother so that he might get some business from it and thus be able to pay me back the money he has owed me for the last 20 years.
Plus interest, Fishman. Plus interest.
Today I have all of three minutes to write.
I thought it might be fun to do a stream of conscious type post, where I write free-form, completely free of my usual censorship and editing. So, without further ado, here’s GeekMan: Exposed!
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Time:
Sometime during my college years.
Place:
My college dorm.
“Oh yeah, baby. Come to papa.”
The young man stared into the bathroom mirror with such concentration that his own reflection seemed to waver before his eyes like a heat mirage. His eyes became slits and his brow a study of determination as he concentrated on the task at hand. He knew that he had but a moment or two before someone would knock on the bathroom door to demand entry and thus end his chances of successfully fulfilling his desire. Even worse, he might be caught in the process. And for this task, failure was a HECK of a lot better than being caught in the act. Repressing a shudder at the thought of what would happen should he get caught… again, the young man redoubled his efforts, causing a ‘squishy’ noise to permeate the small room.
“Yeah, baby. Oh yeah. That’s it… thaaaat’s it. That’s the spot. Almost there, baby. Just a little more…”
The ‘squishy’ noises continued for a few moments in silence.
“Oh… yeeeaaahhh… That’s it. Uh… Mmmm… Come to Papa, beyatch. Come to Papa…”
Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open to reveal an angry and thoroughly disgusted young woman. Unable to stop what he’s doing in time, the young man turns to the woman in embarrassment, knowing that he will never live this episode down no matter how long he might live. Shaking her head in resigned disgust, the young woman turns away from the red-faced young man and slowly closes the door behind her. Just before the door shuts completely, she whispers;
“It’s not that you do it, that I could understand. I could even forgive you for enjoying it as much as you do. But must you make so much noise while you’re at it?”
The young man remains silent, leaving his head bowed in shame until the door is fully closed behind his young girlfriend. Signing softly to himself, he turns around like a condemned man to face his reflection in the mirror. He knows she’s right, that what he’s doing is disgustingly vulgar at best, but he also knows he won’t be able to rest until he’s finished what he started. Resigned to his fate, the young Geek shrugs to himself as he once again extends his index finger and raises it to his face.
And shoves it deep into his left nostril.
Back home again, I’m glad to say.
It’s been a crazy couple of weeks for your friendly neighborhood Geek. Not only have I gotten married, but I’ve also had to forego the traditional honeymoon for a summer rain check because I had to fly out to Vegas for work immediately following my wedding day so I could pay for the uber-expensive wedding reception.
Which also means I ain’t getting any for at least 6 months. Dammit.
Anywaste, I just thought I’d drop by and let everyone who sent me an email inquiring about my whereabouts and/or my (mental/emotional) health know that I haven’t died or been re-abducted by alien llamas bent on taking over the world by forcibly shoving giant, angry porcupines playing grand pianos into the rectal cavities of poor unsuspecting Geeks.
Don’t ask, because I don’t know.
I’ve just been really busy working for MightyWife (formally HoBiscuit, unless she decides to keep that old moniker because it’s damn cute) and I haven’t had the time to worry about little things like eating, sleeping or updating this tumbleweed infested website. I do hope to get back to my regular update schedule soon, and you’ll know when that is when the look of the site changes. Until that day however, updates will happen whenever I can get online without incurring the wrath of my overlords.
You know; The Mighty Wife or my Clients of Doom.
In other words;
Due to Real Life being beyond our control, The Mighty Geek will, for the foreseeable future, be only sporadically updated. We’re sorry for the inconvenience our recent and continued absence will no doubt cause you, our valued readership, but to be quite honest we could give a rat’s left testicle because we’re too busy to care. Should you truly need a ‘fix’ of Geeky Humor we humbly suggest some of the links provided on our sidebar as the sites listed therein, while not nearly as humorous as we are, are still good enough to get you by until the real thing is available again because let’s face it, we’re the fricking bestest of the bestest and nobody really wants NutraSweet when they can have Domino Sugar, right? Right? Yeah, we thought you’d see it it our way. Boo-yah.
Peace-out.
It just occurred to me that I’m going to have sex.
What I mean is; I’m married now so at some point in the future I almost have to get lucky. Right? Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even for years and years and years. But one day HoBiscuit will turn to me and say those three little words that every Geek ever born knows will lead to hot monkey sex, and this is one Geek who’s going to start training now so he’ll be ready for that big day.
50 pushups every night. No hands.
That’s right people; GeekMan is ready for action! I won’t be caught unawares. I’m going to be a lean, mean, sex machine. My moment in the sun, my time to set off fireworks to the music of the night is fast approaching and I’m going to be ready. Ready for HoBiscuit to finally give in to my charms, my suave and debonair advances, my begging & pleading and utter those three, sweet, sexy words that’ll lead to sweaty bodies and stained sheets.
“I want kids.”
Oh man, just writing that made my nipples hard. Yeah baby, YEAH!
It was supposed to be a quiet night at home.
I had three days of freedom left until I tied the knot and all I wanted to do was spend some quality time with my future wife in the relative peace and quiet of our home. I had spent most of the day driving all over New Jersey running last minute errands for the wedding and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep away my growing trepidation and fear. I was so tired that I was even looking forward to my regular nightmare of four golden llamas dragging me through town by the neck as a silk noose slowly choked me to death. When the llamas stopped, the village children would take turns kicking me in the nads while singing The Bride Cuts The Cake.
I usually woke up right before they set me on fire.
Anywaste, I had just gotten home from running errands in New Jersey and needed some sleep in order to be in top form for my wedding. One of the errands I had run was picking up all of the tuxedos for my groomsmen, so I had called all of them and asked them to meet me at my home so they could try them on and we could make sure everything was in order before wearing them on the big day. They all came over and, in-between rounds of Halo, began trying on the tuxedos while I took notes on what needed to be exchanged or altered the next day.
I knew something was up when no one asked about ordering dinner.
At about 8:30pm I was sitting on the couch talking to HoBiscuit, who was on the floor and thus had a good view of everything happening behind me, when she suddenly began to smile. The tiny wheels of coherent thought in my head started to turn and I suddenly remembered that I had not yet had a bachelor party. And, wouldn’t you know it, my entire groomsman party just happened to be in my apartment three fricking days before my actual wedding. And wasn’t it strange how quiet it had gotten all of a sudden, especially since just a few seconds ago everyone but HoBiscuit and I was in the kitchen whispering like a secretive group of super villains plotting world conquest? I mean, it’s not as if I got scared or anything, but when the silence of your own home is shattered by an angry mob of voices screaming, “Get him!” right before you are tackled from behind you tend to get a little freaked out.
Note to self; remember to clean pee stain off of couch.
One moment I was sitting there minding my own business, and the next I was the bottom layer in a Six Layer GeekMan Pound Cake. Someone grabbed my arms and, quick-like-a-bunny, I was fitted with a new shirt before I could even begin to formulate a protest. Now, I’ve owned my fair share of snazzy new shirts before, but never have I ever had the pleasure of wearing one that actually tied in the back! Yes, that’s right, my friends had somehow managed to not only find, but actually force me into wearing, a real honest-to-goodness straight jacket. Not a costume. Not a fake. But a REAL straight jacket.
I’ll even post pictures as proof as soon as I get them.
After the straight jacket I was forced into a mask a-la Silence of the Lambs and then I was marched out the door, into the street and forcibly thrown into the back of a fricking van. Apparently the original plan had called for a hand truck to wheel me around in, but my brother hadn’t been able to get it in time so they made do with simply man-handling me as if I were a rag doll. After I got into the van I started to recover my wits and began insulting them left and right.
Sadly for me, they had also planned for this inevitability.
Out came the mutha-fricking duct tape and suddenly I had lost my last line of defense. My spirit broke and I was at my kidnapper’s mercy. By this time it was after nine, we were driving around the City That Never Sleeps and I could do nothing but shoot my ex-friends dirty looks and pray that they would leave me alone long enough so I could slip my bonds and kill them all.
Needless to say, they actually posted guards on me. I’m not kidding.
Our first stop was…
Due to issues of national defense and homeland security, the rest of the evening’s activities has been edited to their core essence and shall be forevermore summed up as, “Stuff Happened”. Any further inquiries into this matter will be met with strong resistance by all parties involved. Should anyone ever be unfortunate enough to attempt to delve deeper into this issue, they will be found and destroyed like a soiled piece of toilet tissue that has been fired into the very heart of the sun.
We now continue with your regularly scheduled posting.
As I entered the apartment at 5:30 am the next morning, my head filled with cotton, my tongue needing a shave and my body weak from the night’s activities, I saw my lovely fiancé lying in bed waiting for me.
“Did you have fun?”
“I had a blast, honey.”
“What did you do?”
“Uh… Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“We had dinner?”
“You mean to tell me that your friends tied you up, threw you in the back of a van and sped off into the night as if the hordes of hell were after them just to take you out for a 12-hour dinner?”[icy winds]
“Ah… ahem, the restaurant is very strict about their reservations. Very.”
[crickets]
And that’s all I have to say about that. The end.
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I live again. Kinda.
It’s a whole new world for me now. I’m no longer the pathetic little Geekman you might remember from just a few short weeks ago. Things have changed for me, much is different, and nothing will ever be the same again. There’s a ring on my finger, a humongous wedding bill in my mailbox and a burn on my forehead from the ceremonial branding iron that reads, OWNED.
Sorry ladies, I’m now a married man Geek.
For those who might care about such things as a tell-all about the bachelor party debauchery, or a description of the beautiful wedding ceremony, or a play by play analysis of the action-packed and activity filled reception, please keep your panties from getting tied in a knot and be patient for just a little bit longer. The gory details, complete with some pictures, will be forthcoming. But for right now, the new Mrs. GeekMan and I are fricking tired and are going to spend a little while together doing married couple things.
For example; sleep like the dead.
And after an eight hour party for almost 200 of our closest family and friends, I think we deserve some sleep. Don’t you? And before anyone asks, the answer is no. Bread did NOT make it into the bridal suite to videotape me begging for some newlywed nookie. And just to make it perfectly clear right now, I slept on the couch because my back hurt and not because I had any performance anxiety regarding my sexual prowess. I’ll have you know I’m a tiger in bed. That’s right, a tiger.
A. Fricking. TIGER.
Rowr.
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