Author: GeekMan

PhotoBloggery #01
Strike A Pose, There’s Nothing To It

• by GeekMan • In PhotoBloggery •   21

Who's a sexy beeyatch? Yeah, baby! That's right, I am. I'm a sexy beeyatch! Grrrrrr!It’s worse than it looks.

Oh yes, I know you’re thinking that it can’t be that bad. That I couldn’t possibly be that stupid, that naïve or that desperate. But it is true, my disgusted visitor. That is me in the picture and although you’re not having some horrible nightmare now, after seeing this picture you may never sleep again.

The GeekMan was once a wannabe model.

Sure, it started innocently enough. A few friends, some new clothes and a runway made of discarded cardboard from the breakdancers down the street. But soon my little hobby escalated into a full fledged obsession and I felt a burning desire to strut my stuff in front of the paparazzi in France and not my friends and their cheap Polaroid cameras in the living room. It was at this point that I crossed the line from ‘pathetic loser’ to ‘walking bully target’.

Can you believe I actually begged to take modeling classes?

My mother, after legally disowning me, brought me to the one place that she thought could possibly frighten me out of my insanity. The one place that has never had any credibility in the legitimate modeling world. The one modeling school that is responsible for more deaths and/or mutilations of young models hopes and dreams than all the Star Search and Pop Idol judges ever born put together.

Yes, dear reader. I was a Barbizon model.

My short tenure at Barbizon taught me many things. Things like, “Always let your face air dry because towels carry germs and germs cause blemishes and blemishes kill careers.” Just looking at my picture you can see all the little tidbits of wisdom that I gleaned from my instructors working together to help me become the biggest, best and most perfect stupid, Geeky loser I could be.

Let’s take a closer look at some of the highlights, shall we?

The Hair

After months of my instructors’ help and guidance, I had finally decided on what I must have thought was the perfect hairstyle for me to begin my modeling career. Doesn’t it look like I’m wearing a giant, hairy scrotum on my head like a hat? I can only imagine that as I put my brush to my head I said the magic phrase, “Wonderbrush powers, activate! Form of Testicles! Shape of Flaccid Penis!”

The Smile

Braces. Puberty. Need I say more?

The Shirt

You can’t read it in the picture, but the tag on the pocket reads, “News Staff.” Hey, GeekBoy! News flash! Wearing a striped, button-down shirt open to the third button when you have no hair on your chest, or even any chest to speak of, is a Very Bad Thing. Men laugh, women giggle and small children cry. Bad GeekBoy, no Dungeons and Dragons for you!

The Pants

Bright, bright, BRIGHT neon blue Dockers. Just answer one question for me, how the hell was I allowed to live after being seen in public wearing those horrid things? What’s the problem, were the fashion police all home sick that day? Were my instructors struck so dumb by my amazing lack of fashion sense that they became frozen on the spot and thus unable to club me to death like a baby seal? Neon blue pants, people! Come on!

The Footwear

White socks and black leather Reeboks. I want to say something here, but the amount of disgust I feel towards myself is causing my anus to clench so tightly that I think it’s formed its own gravitational pull not unlike a collapsed neutron star.

The Pose

Total JC Penny Summer Catalogue. If I could do it, I’d go back in time and kick my own ass and save the schoolyard bullies the time and effort. I believe the photographer said something like, “Show me your fun side, GeekBoy. Let me see the real you. The whole package.” And if you look close, you can almost see my ‘whole package’. Oh, ha freaking ha, wise guy. I said, ‘almost’, so you can put down the damn magnifying glass cause I don’t think you’re funny.

For those of you who might still be reading this and not vomiting all over the keyboard you’ll be happy to know that I quit Barbizon as soon as I realized that I was far too ugly to ever model anything other than paper bags.

And even then the bags might need to be on fire.

The Idea

• by GeekMan • In Experiments •   10

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.

Memories of Ghosts of Shadows of Thoughts Past

• by GeekMan • In Childhood Memories •   5

I had an idea.

It was a good idea, brilliant actually, and I was excited enough about it to get up from my Comfy Couch of Super Sleep to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it. I know I walked over to the kitchen table to find a pen and, when that proved fruitless, I distinctly remember thinking that turning on the computer would take too long and so I kept looking for a pen.

Because, I had an idea.

I knew this idea was going to be important to me later on in life and if I didn’t at least write it down somewhere I’d regret it for as long as I lived. I walked into my home office where I found a pen but for some reason or another decided that putting my idea into the computer was better than simply writing it down. So, I turned on my computer and waited for it to boot up.

And still, I had an idea.

While I was waiting, my mind got to thinking about all the money and fame I would garner because of this wonderful idea. I began thinking of all the things my newfound fame and fortune could buy me. Things like fast cars, expensive mansions, Britney Spears’ ‘virginity’ and even computer equipment that would make Bill Gates green with envy. By the time my computer was ready I was singing ‘Money Makes The World Go Round’ and trying to figure out the after-tax interest I could earn on a gazillion dollars.

All because I had an idea.

When MS Word finally popped up and I came face to screen with that completely empty white space, my mind froze. Somehow, in a way that can only be explained using complex quantum-mechanical equations, experimental psychoanalytical procedures and a full color, animated PowerPoint presentation utilizing at least one instance of the ‘applause’ sound effect, I had lost my train of thought.

Suddenly, I had no idea.

My idea, the one that could change my life to such an extreme that all the girls I ever liked in my entire life would find their way to my front door and beg me to make James Bond-style love to them, was gone. And as I sit here writing this entry, I cannot for the life of me remember anything about my great idea. I think it might have packed its bags, put on its coat and hat and snuck out of my right ear to pursue an acting career and now I am left with nothing but a vague recollection of someone saying something on some channel on TV that made something in my head sit up and take notice.

It may have involved helicopters. And Gummi Worms. I think. Damn.

I had an idea.

10 Embarrassing Things I Have Done In A Movie Theater

• by GeekMan • In Rants •   6
  • Made the entire theater do the Macarena
  • While on a date, spilled a full, giant-sized cup of soda on my shoes and, as I leaned down to pick up the cup, somehow managed to dump an entire super-sized bag of popcorn on the back of my head
  • Started a massive 500+ person sing-a-long to Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’
  • Made out on the balcony during a G rated Disney movie (I still feel dirty)
  • Fallen into a deep, loud, snore inducing sleep because the theater was air-conditioned and my apartment wasn’t
  • Dressed in drag, danced and sung along to the movie
  • Eaten a full meal consisting of a whole fried chicken, potatoes, green beans and a large soda and shared it with the stranger who was the only other person watching the movie with me
  • Gotten into a screaming match with the projectionist
  • After paying for my ticket, waited in the lobby because I was too scared to watch the movie (I was 10)
  • Attempted to be cool and impress a girl with my studly Fonzie-ness by jumping seats to get from my row to hers so I could ask her on a date and instead tripped and fell face first into her mini-skirt covered lap

My god, I am such a loser.

Paybacks Stink

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life •   4

I didn’t want to talk to him.

In any other situation, at any other time, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me and neither of us ever expected to meet again in the future. But since I was standing behind him while waiting to use the men’s room at the restaurant, and I had made the mistake of making eye contact, manly etiquette demanded at least a token attempt at conversation.

Heaving a mighty sigh in my mind, I fired the first salvo.

“Hot day.”

“Yep.”

“Mmm, mmm.”

And that should have been it. We should have just looked at each other for an awkward moment and then gone about our pathetic lives as if that conversation had never happened. But, in what I can only assume was a desperate attempt to escape from my presence, he smiled at me, walked over to the bathroom door and jiggled the handle!

What the…?

I was flabbergasted. Apparently, even though I had only spoken two words to him thus far, he had already determined that I was so terminally boring that he needed to get away from me or he would die. He was even willing to disturb whoever was in the bathroom to do it. I’m surprised he didn’t begin banging on the door and shouting, “Hurry up! I’ve got to go peepee and this guy scares me!”

His uncouth actions demanded a response.

“Been waiting long?”

“A couple of minutes now.”

“Gotta go pretty bad, huh?”

“Oh… uh, yeah.”

At that point, just as I was ready to get all Columbo on his ass, the door opened and a young female came out of the bathroom. Remember, this was a bathroom in a nice restaurant and even though I know that sometimes it’s necessary to cross gender lines in public facilities, neither of us were prepared to see a girl come out of the men’s room when the women’s room was right next door.

Especially when it was vacant and we were waiting in line.

As she walked past the guy ahead of me, I saw a look of repulsion cross his face. I remember thinking to myself that the women’s room might have been occupied earlier and that just because she was using the men’s room was no reason for this guy to act that way. I mean, it might be a social faux pas, but that certainly wasn’t any reason to look at her as if she were Quasimodo’s ugly step-sister.

At least, that’s what I thought until the smell hit me.

Now, I guess on some intellectual level I’ve always understood that women must have smelly poo. And sometimes, when they’re not feeling well or something, I’m sure their poo can smell as bad as mine after a night of eating my infamous Nuclear Tacos of Gastrointestinal Destruction. But physically and emotionally, I was completely unprepared for the nasal assault that emanated from this poor woman as she passed me in that narrow corridor. My gag reflex was almost overpowering and it was only by reaching down into the depths of my soul that I found the inner strength to hold back my fast-rising, half digested breakfast.

Even still, when I swallowed I could taste eggs.

When I thought it was safe to breath again, I turned back towards the bathroom to wait my turn and found the guy standing in the open doorway. By the slump in his shoulders I could tell he was distraught and defeated by whatever awaited him within. After a moment or two of watching him just stand there I had to know what was holding him back. Looking over his shoulder into the bathroom I let out a low whistle.

“Damn.” I said in disgusted awe, “That is just foul.”

“Yeah,” he replied with revulsion. “I can’t believe she didn’t flush.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“Dude, you jiggled the handle.”

“Oh. Son of a bitch.”

With that, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and entered the room. I’ll bet that he never jiggles the handle again for the rest of his life.

I know I won’t.

Note To Self #701734702

• by GeekMan • In Breaking News •   3

No matter how frustrated you are with the circular, nonsensical and completely illogical argument presented to you by your significant other, it is never, ever a good idea to say the following;

“If it’s so simple and easy to do, then why can’t you put the toilet seat down your own damn self?”

Doing so will only lead to the loss of Sweet Loving Privileges for a length of time of no shorter than, “When I say so and not before.”

That is all.

The Mighty Writer

• by GeekMan • In Breaking News •   7

Ahem.

I am both proud and horrified to announce that I am now an official Big, Stupid, Blogging Loser. I now know this to be a completely true statement because I am being published in a book. Yeah, as in paper pages and everything. And not just any book mind you, but one about web logs and Blogging entitled, “We’ve Got Blog”.

Oh, the humanity.

The book is basically a collection of Blog entries about Blogs and Blogging from Bloggerdom’s best and brightest, among which I definitely do NOT count myself. You might be asking yourself what I, a lowly, pathetic, immature, intellectually and emotionally stunted member of the online community, could possibly have to offer these shining stars the Blogging elite. Well, my fine faceless friend, I am happy to answer this excellent question.

In a word, “Nothing.”

Luckily for me, the publisher failed to notice that I am a complete and utter moron and actually used my Credo within the pages of their otherwise wonderful and intelligent tome of well written essays. I can only hope and pray that they don’t realize their mistake and remove my chapter (#19) before sending the book out to the stores. If anyone out there, aside from my mother, wishes to purchase this great and powerful archive of knowledge, you should take some anti-depressants immediately and go lie down.

There are far less painful ways to commit suicide.

If, after all of these warnings, you still want to purchase the book then all I can say is “Bless you.” I would wish you a long life and prosperity, but you’re obviously psychologically unstable and will most likely wind up selling all your worldly possessions and moving to Sri Lanka to become a used llama salesperson.

Ew. Now that’s just sad.

[looks left]

[looks right]

Is anyone still reading this?

Anyone?

No?

Good.

Hot DAY-UHM! I’ve been published!

How We Met

• by GeekMan • In HoBiscuit •   1

It was going to be his lucky night.

The boy checked himself out again in the bathroom mirror and smiled. His black Dockers and black, silk button-down shirt looked lint-free and perfectly ironed. Bringing his attention back to his freshly shaved face he inspected the damage of his earlier shaving mishap. Turning this way and that he made sure that the multitude of tiny nicks and scrapes on his face had stopped bleeding before carefully removing the wads of red-tinted tissue paper and slapping on some after-shave. His screams of pain as the alcohol based lotion burned into his face left him breathless.

He swore never to shave using a cheap disposable razor and cold water again. Ever.

Quickly rinsing his face until the burning feeling subsided, our hero muffled his sobs in an oversized, fluffy and soft towel. He gave himself another spritz or five of his favorite cologne (Drakar Noir, because he was cool like that. Yo.) and moved into the living room to look for the final piece of his New Years Eve Celebratory Party-Crashing Outfit.

He needed to find his hat.

As he moved through the newly furnished, Bachelor Pad of Sin and Seduction, he noted with great satisfaction that it was primed and ready for action should any female companion(s) wish to follow him home that evening. He went through his mental checklist of Lures and Mood Setting Paraphernalia one last time.

  • Seductive CD next to the CD Player? Check.
  • Chocolates in the fridge? Check.
  • Tea candles and matches? Check.
  • Stinky incense? Check.
  • Condoms (ribbed for her pleasure) hidden next to the bed? Double Check.

He nodded to the room in general. The room, of course, ignored him. He was as ready as he could be for a night of sexual pleasure if only he could find his special hat to complete his outfit, and so lure an unsuspecting woman to his Magnificent Den of Amazing Sexual Pleasure.

The hat was vital to his Top Secret “Get Some” Plan.

Knowing that he would be out on the town with a group of eight other virile young men all looking to meet Miss Right(Now), our hero had concocted a plan to make himself the most memorable of the group. Since our hero was a Geek of stupendous magnitude, it was a given that his friends were better looking, smarter and more charming than he. With that in mind, he had come up with a sure-fire method of catching a woman’s eye no matter how many other suitors she might have during the night. The plan was perfect in its simplicity and it was practically guaranteed to work. The beauty of it was that it involved nothing more than introducing himself to a woman while wearing a hat.

More specifically, a multicolored, oversized jesters hat. With bells.

He grinned to himself at the perfect simplicity of his plan. The women he met at any of the partys he would crash that evening would have no choice but to remember the crazy guy in the jesters hat who introduced himself to anything with breasts and a pulse. And, as every man knows, being remembered greatly improves ones chances of getting some sweet loving from drunk women at a party.

Or, of being rejected with mortifying regularity. Whatever.

He finally finds his hat sitting complacently on top of his neatly made, ready for action, queen-sized bed. Placing it upon his hard-as-a-rock, Aqua-Net covered hair, he heads for the door and leaves his manly sanctuary. All he has to do now is take the train into the city and meet up with his friends and the night of revelry and debauchery could begin. He allows his mouth to curl into a knowing smile one last time as he locks his door and heads to the subway, his hat jingle-jangling on his head.

He stoically ignored his fellow snickering passengers on the train.

He meets his friends and they begin their sorry, pathetic march from party to party hoping against hope that at least one of their number will get the ‘hook-up’. None do. By the time they approach what will be the final party of the evening even our hero is beginning to wonder at the plausibility of his Hat of Remembrance theory. He’s beginning to think he should just call it a night, go home and masturbate. He was even thinking of keeping the hat on while doing it.

You know, for the novelty.

But he doesn’t call it quits for the night. He and his friends climb up the four flights of stairs to reach the apartment where the party is being held and it’s a good thing they did. I say it was a good thing because this party just happens to be hosted by the girl of his dreams. Beautiful, witty, funny and smart, she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman.

And most importantly, she was drunk.

At some point during the evening they are introduced and the sparks fly almost immediately. After the firemen arrive and put out the fire in the kitchen, our hero and his new infatuation go to her bedroom a quiet spot to sit and talk. She compliments his choice of headwear and he makes a mental note to laugh in all his friends faces. They look deep into each others eyes and, as he leans towards her for a kiss, she giggles as the hats little bells jingle. What happens for the rest of that evening is a blur of happiness better off not brought into closer focus.

And by better off, I mean less painful for me.

Whoops! I didn’t mean that. What I meant to say was, our hero. Yeah, that’s it. Our hero, not me. Because this isn’t about me and you honey. It’s just a story. You know, make believe? Because, uh… we’re not like that, right?

…

Right?

…

Honey? You know I was just playing, right?

…

Sweetie? Where are you going…?

…

Damn.

This was not going to be his lucky night…

Super Secret Government Meetings

• by GeekMan • In Rants •   4

What’s a Geek to do?

I want to Blog almost every day, but every day something new crops up that demands my attention and I need to put off updating my site for just a bit longer. It’s almost like a conspiracy. A massive government cover-up to thwart my every attempt to corrupt the minds of the world with my amazingly inane and pathetically un-humorous drivel.

I can just imagine what the secret meeting would be like.

“OK Dick, thanks for coming to my office.”

“What are we doing today Dubya?”

“Well Dick, it seems that GeekMan is trying to write another one of his silly little posts and we don’t want to let him do that. National Security and all that.”

“Why the hell not? He seems pretty harmless to me. He’s not even that funny.”

“No he’s not. But he’s not harmless, either. He tries to hide it, but we now know he’s really an agent working for the elite forces of the New Guinean National Bureau of Super-Duper Top Secrets. How else can you explain how he knew I was using Miss Cleo?”

“Ok, so what should we do? You want he should ‘disappear’?”

“Nothing like that. Let’s just keep him so busy that he can’t take the time to write anything.”

“OK, so I gather you want me to get him hired for work somewhere or have some of our ‘people’ show him some promising new apartments and then snatch them away at the last minute?”

“That sounds good. And also, you should make sure his girlfriend, the one he calls biscuit-something…”

“HoBiscuit, you moron.”

“HoBiscuit?”

“Yeah, HoBiscuit.”

“That’s a stupid name.”

“No worse than Dubya.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Dick.”

“Listen you idiot…”

“Whatever. Just make sure that his girl has a couple of really bad days at work so she can be cranky. That always makes him forget to post.”

“Ok. Fine. Is that all?”

“No, Dick. That is not all. I also think I should do another speech or something. You know, something about the evil people over there in Saudi Afghanistanabia. Or Al Kay-duh.”

“Yeah right, Dubya. As if anyone actually listens to you and your little speeches.”

“That’s enough out of you, Dick. I’m the President of the YOU-nited States of ‘Merica and you’d better listen to me or you’ll be in trouble.”

“I’ll listen when you can spell ‘President’ without a teleprompter.”

“You think you’re so smart. Let’s see you out-think the back of my hand you old, ugly sum-bitch.”

“Bring it on you dumb, monkey-looking daddy’s boy.”

“Don’t talk about my daddy!”

“Or what? You gonna call him and cry, sissy-boy?”

I don’t need my pappy for the likes of you, Dick!”

[Dubya slaps Dick]

“Your daddy’s not here to bail you out this time, Dubya!”

[Dick slaps Dubya]

“I’m calling my daddy!”

“I’ll kick his ass, too!”

[begin sissy slap-fight sequence]

Dear god, what has become of me? I promise, my next update will be more entertaining than dumping a bucketful of live prawns into your pants.

And who doesn’t love doing the Prawns-In-My-Pants Dance?