HoBiscuit

Leftover Angst

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Rants •   5

I don’t like to eat leftovers.

To my male friends this is perfectly acceptable; to the lovely HoBiscuit however, this is a crime of such heinous proportions that flogging would be too good for me. She feels that if I cook a meal for the two of us and we don’t finish the entire thing in one setting, that we MUST save the leftovers and eat the exact same meal the following night.

Even if all that’s left over is one frickin taco.

It’s even worse when we go out to dinner. It’s gotten so bad that I’m actually frightened to ask her if she wants to eat out. It’s true! If I order some food and don’t finish everything on my plate HoBiscuit will give me *The Look™ and I’ll find myself quivering in a corner begging for forgiveness for the rest of the night.

*The Look™ is a skill passed down to women, from Mother to Daughter, ever since the first caveman pissed off the first cavewoman. The Look™ has one single use, and that is to put the FEAR OF GOD in any man or child who pisses off said woman. If you have never been the recipient of The Look™ then count yourself lucky and join a men only monastery before it’s too late.

I’m not kidding. It’s frickin scary.

Now, I don’t know exactly where it’s written, but somewhere within the Holy Books of Immaculate Foodology there must be a passage that says something like;

And spaketh He, “Ifith thou dost not cleaneth thy plate at every meal, whether it be at thine own table or upon the table of stranger or friend, thou shalt burn in the fiery pits of the netherworld and forevermore be forsaken from the gates of my kingdom.” So spaketh He, so it is written and so it shall be done.

Can I get an Amen?

Anywaste, we fight all the time about leftover food. I don’t like to eat it, no matter how artfully it’s concealed under sauces, cleverly mixed with other leftovers or shockingly re-spiced. Meanwhile HoBiscuit gets angry with me whenever I suggest eating out or ordering in if we have even one plastic container of leftover mystery meat. I’m scared to eat in my own home unless HoBiscuit gives my choice of food the nod. And now, she’s getting upset with me when I won’t make food decisions without her input due to my fear of The Look™. She’s beginning to think I’m a helpless moron, but I’m not. I just don’t feel safe eating anything anymore unless she tells me I can.

For some reason, that makes her even angrier.

Oh well, I guess this is all part of learning to live together and getting married. Fighting over leftovers will just be one of those things we’ll do as a couple that will drive us, and everyone around us, crazy. We’ll just have to learn to live with it. That reminds me, Honey? Can I make myself a sandwich for lunch, or should I eat the leftover taco first?

Call me, I’m hungry.

Note To Self

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Rants •   2

You are a frickin Moron.

When next you get the urge to install Sony Clie versions of the Palm desktop onto your computer at 11pm on a Sunday night, do your level best to resist the temptation. If you are unable to resist and you actually begin the installation process you will not be surprised to find that problems arise causing your computer to freeze and then refuse to boot. At that point in your horrid, sorry excuse for a life, you must try your frickin hardest to accept your own stupidity and simply turn off the computer and wait until a more reasonable hour to troubleshoot.

For example, 3:00 pm on Doomsday, the Day of Ultimate Judgment.

Whatever you do, do not, I repeat, do not use Windows System Restore to try and save your Geeky anus. Especially at 1:30 in the morning the day before a very important conference call during which you abso-frickin-lutely know you will need to use your computer. Doing so will only lead to heartache and pain.

And cursing. Lord forbid we forget the cursing.

In conclusion, the next time HoBiscuit politely asks you to install something on the computer, think carefully before attempting to help her. Should you somehow find that you have inadvertently gone ahead and installed the Palm software, leading to the System Restore fiasco, and culminating in a frantic attempt to rebuild an entire computer’s software installation and preferences overnight, allow me, that is, you, to offer these last few words of advice.

Don’t be frickin stupid. Buying her a new Clie sure beats going to jail for murder.

I Hate Laundry

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Rants •   9

Can anyone explain this to me?

When I was living alone, doing laundry was a simple task. Put all my clothes into a laundry bag, take said bag to the Laundromat and then pick them up the next day. Overnight, my laundry would be magically cleaned, fluffed and expertly folded so that the only thing I needed to do on my own was put them into the proper drawers in the dresser.

And then came HoBiscuit the Taskmaster.

Now, not only am I supposed to do my own laundry, but I have to do hers as well. And let me tell you understanding the finer points of washing sweaters ( ‘delicate’ cycle only, extra spin and then medium dry) versus delicates (‘gentle’ cycle, low dry) versus blouses (‘gentle’, hang dry) is enough to drive anyone mad. But what makes it even worse is that apparently my clothes don’t warrant such attention. The only excuse she seems willing to give me is that my clothes are somehow ‘stronger’ than hers when it comes to washing care.

Why her jeans need to be carefully and meticulously turned inside out before washing while mine are simply thrown into the washer as is, is beyond me.

But all of that is peanuts when you take into account the horrible affront to my clothings’ civil liberties that HoBiscuit enacts each and every laundry day. It is horrible, simply horrible. Do you know what she’s doing? She’s teaching me to segregate my laundry, you know, separate the colors from the whites? Wasn’t that made illegal with the thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution? I tried that argument with HoBiscuit, but she simply ignored me and went about her business telling me that I should stop my whining and grow up.

Well my friends, I have a Dream.

[begin Martin Luther King, Jr. voice]

I have a Dream.

I have a Dream that one day every Washer shall be exalted, every Bleach and Softener shall be made low, the Dryer Sheet will be made unnecessary, and the Single Loader will be made Double, and the glory of the Laundry shall be revealed, and all Fabrics shall see it together.

I have a Dream that one day, White clothing, and Dark Clothing, and clothes of all the colors of the rainbow can be washed together in peace and harmony.

This is my hope. This is the faith with which I return to the Doing Of Laundry. With this faith I will be able to hew out of the Mountain Of Dirty Clothes a Sock Of Hope. With this faith I will be able to transform the tattered remains of my favorite T-Shirt into a beautiful Sweater. With this faith I will be able to work, to pray, to struggle, and to stand up for righteousness, knowing that my clothes will be free one day.

That will be the day when all of Geek’s clothing will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My clothing, ’tis of thee, sweet clothes that are dirty, of thee I sing. Wash where my colors died, wash of the Snuggles pride, from every Cheer and Tide, let freedom ring.”

Let Freedom Ring!

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every Sit-N-Spin and every Wash-N-Go, from every Bubble Heaven and every Spot-Less, we will be able to speed up that day when all the world’s Clothing, black clothes and white clothes, silk and cotton, nylon and rayon, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Laundromat spiritual,

“Clean at last! Clean at last! Thank God Almighty, we are clean at last!”

[end Martin Luther King, Jr. voice]

Annoy The Geek Day

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Rants •   7

Sunday was one of those days.

It started out innocently enough, HoBiscuit and I were going to visit the GeekMom, GeekGrandparents and then check on the Ho-Parents house, since they’re away on vacation for three weeks. And, even though it was a cold and rainy day and we didn’t really want to go; we got up early in the morning to pick up MotherGeek. Of course, being the Geek that I am, I knew that my day would involve at least one person I saw demanding that I ‘fix’ something before it was over.

What I didn’t expect was everyone to ask me to fix everything.

GrandmaGeek greeted us at the door with the heartwarming phrase, “That stupid man. He’s driving me crazy!” Quickly followed by the traditional Geek welcome of, “GeekMan, you need to look at the computer…” This soon degenerated into a screaming match between Grandma and GrandpaGeek as they blamed each other for ‘breaking’ the computer. Of course, their idea of a broken computer meant that the shortcut to Mahjong had disappeared and they hadn’t been able to play it in the last 12 hours.

Tragedy.

After ‘fixing’ the computer, I was offered a frozen steak as a reward and then asked to fix their radio, fire alarm, answering machine and telephone. When they began asking if I thought the couch might look better on the other side of the room I grabbed HoBiscuit and MotherGeek and beat a hasty retreat. Just as we were leaving however, GeekMom informed HoBiscuit and I that we just had to visit a friend of hers before we went to HoBiscuits parents house.

That’s when this giant vein on the right side of my forehead began throbbing.

On the way to MotherGeek friends’ house Mom explained a little problem she was having with her cell phone and asked me to take a look at it. Well, by ‘asked me to take a look at it’ I really mean she demanded I fix her phone right then and there, while I was driving and before we got to her friends house.

Throb. Throb.

When we got to her friends’ house we were invited inside under the pretense of seeing her new kitten. And, as if she were the lead in a really bad high school play, she “suddenly” remembered a few computer questions she had conveniently written down on three, legal-paper-sized, college-ruled pieces of paper.

THROB. THROB.

After managing to escape that sub-basement of the lower regions of Hell, HoBiscuit and I drove through almost two hours of traffic to her parents’ house. On the way there, I received two phone calls for tech support from my Uncle and one from a friend. Seeing my growing distress HoBiscuit suggested we stop off at a local Worst Buy and pick up some CD-Rs that were on sale. As we were paying for the CD-Rs I had to explain to the cashier how to scan in the coupons so we would get the proper discount!

Throb. Throb.

Finally, HoBiscuit and I reach her parents house where she needs to check the mail and water the plants. Just as we walk in the door HoBiscuit turns to me and sheepishly asks that I look at her parent’s computer because it’s been giving them some problems lately. And, just as my throbbing vein was about to burst from my skull and drench her with my life’s blood as I collapsed to the floor in a convulsing heap, she kisses me and says,

“You’re the best, most patient and loveable man in the whole wide world. I love you.”

Oh sure, I knew it was a ploy to get me to fix her parent’s computer without getting angry at her. And I also knew that it meant the computer was probably FUBARed and it would take me hours to fix as I sat in their ice-cold home wondering if both my testicles would freeze solid, or just the weaker one as they fought for the squatting rights to my body’s gonad cavity. I knew all this and yet I still found myself smiling back at her and agreeing to fix the computer no matter how long it took or how cold I was. And do you know why everyone treats me this way and why I always find myself fixing things for people no matter how annoying inconvenient or time consuming it might be for me?

That’s right. Because I’m stupid, that’s why.

THROB. THROB.

Happy, Happy. Frag, Frag.

• by GeekMan • In Breaking News, Geek Life, HoBiscuit •   4

Note to self: Remember to shower

Two weeks ago I went to my local video game store and reserved a copy of what will most surely become the abso-frickin-lutely best video game of the year. It’s got guns, huge landscapes, blood, gore and even internet enabled, voice activated insults.

That’s right fellow Geeks, I’m getting Unreal Championship.

Miss Ex-Boxx is all hot & bothered and literally moaning in anticipation of having this game filling her slot. My handwritten note of challenge has been accepted by Bread and we’ve cleared our calendars for the next two to four months. So we won’t be bothered by mundane things such as working, eating, sleeping or paying attention to HoBiscuit while we slaughter each other in virtual mayhem.

Unless HoBiscuit’s wearing that cute little outfit I like so much. Rowr!

Of course, nothing will stop me from updating this site, so you don’t need to write me hundreds of thousands of “Where are you? Please update or I’ll die!” emails. I’ve got my priorities straight; I know what I have to do to keep you happy. And no matter what, I plan on doing my best to make you happy. So, without further ado, here’s some guy eating pussy.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to frag some friends. Boo-Yah!

No Ordinary Wednesday

• by GeekMan • In Bread, Breaking News, Experiments, Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Rants •   11

I’m not dead, yet.

It has come to my attention, through various IM chats, email with my virtual friends, and the tumbling tumbleweeds rolling through my server logs, that I’m not famous. No, no, don’t look so shocked. I know it might come as a surprise to some of you, but trust me when I tell you that it’s true nonetheless.

I know, I know. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Anywaste, after talking it over with some people this morning, and thinking about it for a few hours this afternoon, I have finally come to understand what it would take for me to become a bigwig blog-type person. So, without further ado, here’s a list of what I need to do;

  • Write shorter entries
  • Post pictures of naked Boobies
  • Write more angry diatribes about unimportant minutia
  • Upload pictures of Breasts
  • Open up and tell people more about me
  • Show some Cleavage
  • Let Bread speak more often
  • Show really big Knockers in tight-fitting, wet t-shirts
  • Accept that I will not be funny all the time
  • Take pictures of small, fist-sized Boobs with erect, pencil-eraser-sized nipples and post them
  • Turn gay, or at least bi, and write about my sordid sex life
  • Boobies, Boobies, Boobies, Boobies!

Now, while I don’t have Boobies to take pictures of, or a sordid sex life to talk about, I think I might manage the other things on the list. Like making shorter entries, letting myself get angry and accepting the fact that I won’t always be funny. Like the time I peed in my friend’s pool and told everyone that the areas of warm water were due to global warming.

Sure, it’s funny now.

So, beginning tomorrow you will see a slowly evolving GeekMan website here. I’ll write shorter entries, try to reveal a little more about myself, and even do some ranting, bitching and moaning via Bread. Not everything I write will be explicitly for laughs anymore, but it will all be at least tongue-in-cheek. Things I won’t do are curse, discuss work (due to NDAs), or turn gay. Not even bi. HoBiscuit would not be amused. However, I will see what I can do about that Boobie thing.

Because, you know, they’re Boobies.

Your Honor, I Can Explain

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Poetry, Rants •   2

The life of a Geek is never normal.

Let me give you an example. Saturday night a whole bunch of friends came over to visit HoBiscuit and I in our new apartment for the very first time. We had food and drink and a massive X-Box Halo bloodfest. By the end of the night there was a whole lot of garbage that needed to be disposed of, including the battered and bloody egos of some of my friends when Bread showed up unannounced and trashed us all using only the wimpy Needler. It wasn’t until everyone had left that I remembered garbage collection day was not until Tuesday night! That meant I would have to hold on to the three large & smelly bags of trash for three whole days before I could throw them away.

This was absolutely unacceptable to the dainty and cleanly HoBiscuit.

In a fit of devilishly clever brilliance my sweet woman not only devised a method of throwing out the trash on our non-trash day, but also figured out how to do it without getting her own hands dirty in the process.

“Honey?”
“Yes, my sweet HoBiscuit?”
“Are you going to bed now?”
“Well, seeing as how I’m in my pajamas in our completely dark bedroom and lying next to you in our soft & warm bed, I would think the answer is obvious.”
“Aren’t you afraid that the garbage will attract bugs?”
“There’s not much I can do about it right now, sweetie. It’s not our garbage night.”
“…”
“…”
“Honey?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Are you the Man?”
“…”
“Well?”
“I’m wondering if my answer will improve my chances of getting lucky tonight.”
“That all depends on your answer.”
“I see.”
“So, are you the Man?”
“With the understanding that I know I’m digging a hole for myself, even if I don’t know exactly how yet, I have to say ‘yes’. I am the Man. Why?”
“Because real men take out the garbage.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen of the court, explains why I was wandering the streets at four AM on a Sunday morning in the rain, wearing nothing but my pajamas, holding three giant-sized, black trash bags and cursing my ‘Ho’. Now, if it will please the court, I would like to take a moment to pound these shards of broken glass into my own gonads using a rubber mallet while chanting “I Am Not The Man” to the tune of the Lumberjack Song.

I am not the Man
And that’s OK
I treat her right
Till I go insane…

Doing It For Love

• by GeekMan • In Bread, Geek Life, HoBiscuit, Moving •   3

“So, how’s it feel?”
“How’s what feel, Bread?”
“Don’t give me that innocent crap, GeekMan. You and HoBiscuit haven’t had it in weeks. I want to know what it’s like to go without for so long.”
“None of your frickin business, you little bastard.”
“Oh, come on! Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Go away.”

I turned away from the smug look on his face and quickly dove into another cardboard box labeled ‘Amazingly Heavy Books’ and began emptying its contents into the bookshelves. Anyone who tells you that packing up your life into cardboard boxes and moving to a new location is hard is lying or stupid. Moving isn’t the hard part. The hard part is unpacking all your stuff and wondering why you ever bothered to pack it in the first place.

“I’ll bet you miss it.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll bet you lay awake at night dreaming about it.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t you think she misses it, too? Maybe she lays awake at night right next to you, dreaming about it just like you do.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll bet she wants it right now…”
“SHUT UP!”

I glared at him as he looked down at me from the top of the bookcase, safely out of reach. One day I swore I’d figure out how something with no hands or feet was able to climb a seven foot bookcase, but right then all I wanted to do was climb up there and throttle him.

“Ooooo. Is someone a little cranky?”
“I swear Bread, if you don’t shut up I’m going to toast you.”
“Look at me, I’m shaking.”
“You little…”
“Spare me, wimp. You know you can’t actually catch me. I’m like the frickin Gingerbread Man. Anyway, if you just caved in and let HoBiscuit have it like you know she wants it, you wouldn’t be so cranky.”
“I am not cranky. I’m just a little frustrated about unpacking, is all.”
“You say toMAYto, I say toMAHto…”
“Shut up.”

Miraculously, he did. For a few moments, there was no sound other than that of books being laboriously alphabetized and put onto shelves, punctuated by an occasional sneeze.

“Why won’t you do it?”
“Don’t bother me.”
“Hey, come on numbnuts, I’m serious. Why won’t you just do it? Has HoBiscuit been bad or something? Are you punishing her?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. This wouldn’t even be a good punishment, since I miss it just as much as she does. You know, this isn’t easy for either of us.”
“Then why don’t you just cave in and do it already?”
“If you must know, it’s because I’m not ready yet. We’ve just moved in together, in a new home in a new area, and I just want everything to be perfect before we take such a big step.”
“That’s crazy talk! Things won’t ever be ‘perfect’! All she wants is some of that old magic back, some of the ‘wow’ and ‘pizzazz’. That’s all. Can’t you just give in already and give it to her?”

I knew he was right. That was all she wanted. And it would be really great to finally do it and make her happy again. She had been a little bit cranky the last few days and truth be told, I was finding it harder and harder to resist when she would…

“Wait a second! Since when have you ever cared if HoBiscuit or I suffered? Usually, you revel in our pain and try your damnedest to make our suffering greater. What the hell’s going on here?”
“Dammit!”
“Hah! I knew it! What are you up to, Bread? What diabolical scheme have you got up your proverbial sleeve?”

He looked down at me in consternation as I laughed and pointed at him in glee. I had finally caught on to one of his little schemes before it exploded in my face and I planned on enjoying my moment in the sun to the utmost. He wouldn’t catch me off-guard the way he had when he offered to put ice in my drink. I still shuddered at the mental picture of those cockroaches running around inside the ice cubes as they floated in my drink. To this day I still can’t figure out how Bread managed to keep the roaches alive in their frozen prisons.

“So? What’s the scam this time, loser?”
“Sigh. If you must know Geek, there is no scam.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true. No scam.”
“Then why do you care that Hobiscuit and I haven’t had it in so long?”
“I don’t, Lamebrain. Did you ever stop and think that maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one who’s suffering?”

Well, I’ll be a llama’s uncle.

“Since when have you ever..?”
“All the time, moron. Whenever you and HoBiscuit were doing it, I did it too.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. And now I miss it, too. It’s all I can think about. Day and night, night and day. I miss it. I really need it and I need it bad.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Miss Ex-Boxx feels the same way I do. In fact, she asked me to talk with you about it. So did HoBiscuit.”
“They did? Really?”
“Really. The truth is that we need it so bad that I’ve been sent to ask you, no, to beg you to please do it. Do it for you, for HoBiscuit, do it for Miss Ex-Boxx, but most of all, do it for me. Please.”

I didn’t believe it.

“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, bub. This is the first and last time you’ll ever hear me ask for something so don’t get used to it, ok? The girls want it so much they’re practically foaming at the mouth to get it so as men, our job is clear. And anywaste, we both want it too, so why wait?”
“Wow. I had no idea you guys all felt this way.”
“We do.”
“Right. So, I guess I’ll just have to do it, then.”
“You will? Really?”
“Really, really.”
“Thank god.”
“And then, when I’m done, we can all do it together.”
“Well? What the heck are you waiting for?”
“Right.”

I dialed the number.

“Hello? Hi. I’d like to have digital cable installed in my new apartment please…”

True Fear

• by GeekMan • In HoBiscuit, Moving •   4

In the center of a small city of packing tape and cardboard, he stands.

Majestic and proud, the Geek overlooks his vast kingdom and smiles with satisfaction as it expands before his very eyes. Worker drones with powerful muscles, and even more powerful odors, carry his kingdom, piece by piece, up from the lowly depths of the mortal world below to their new places in the skies above. There is only one reason that these worker drones would toil away like this. Only one Prize, one Reward, one Payment would be great enough to make these powerful beings follow the orders of such a cruel, evil and heartless dictator.

Free beer.

Cube upon cube of CO3 Type B Microondulated Standard 200lb Board Test Corrugated Shipping Boxes are stacked, one upon the other, by the tireless worker drones as they dream of the carbonated alcoholic beverages being held tantalizingly out of reach by their evil overlord. In less time than it takes to tell it, the last box is placed upon the final tower and the entire city is finished. Moments later, the beer is gone and so are the worker drones, no doubt off to the next would-be dictator with a miniature kingdom in need of relocation.

And so, the Geek stands alone in his paper city and looks upon it in awe and admiration.

And he stands.

And he looks.

And he…

…

He wonders what the hell he and his woman are going to do with all this crap, is what he does. Box upon box upon box of crap fills the living room and spills out down the hallway until it washes up on the shore of the queen-sized bed in the bedroom like water on the beach. Scattered among the boxes, like so many small islands in the south pacific, are tables, chairs, bookcases and couches. No flat surface in the place has been left box-less. Not the kitchen counter, not the windowsills, not even the bed.

Would you believe, even the toilet is covered by a box?

Feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the task before him, the Geek attempts to find something, anything, that will help him procrastinate long enough for HoBiscuit to arrive home from work and thus help him begin the unpacking phase of the move. Suddenly, a thought bubbles to the surface of his tiny mind.

Blog.

Hot DAY-um! That would certainly keep him busy for an hour or so! And didn’t he promise to update his loyal readership on the first of October? Damn straight he did, and by golly, he always keeps his promises, doesn’t he? Nodding like a chimp with a broken neck on Ecstasy, the Geek begins his search for the greatest procrastination device ever invented.

The computer.

By sheer luck, the special computer bag with his lovely laptop just happens to be visible next to the back wall of the dining room. It should only take him about half an hour to clear a pathway to that area and then he could write to his hearts content until HoBiscuit came home and yelled at him for being lazy.

A plan so crazy it just might work.

45 minutes later we find our hero sitting on a box labeled ‘Fragile – Glassware’ with his laptop balanced precariously on his knees, typing furiously. An hour after that, as he finishes with his story, he suddenly looks up from the computer and says, to no one in particular;

“Hey, how the hell am I going to find the phone jack?!?”

At that exact moment, the door opens and HoBiscuit enters. She is greeted with the sight of her man, who was supposed to be unpacking, sitting amongst a sea of still-packed boxes, with his computer in his lap and the words ‘phone jack’ still hanging in the air. The look she gave him would have chilled the heart of Beelzebub’s mother-in-law.

“If you even THINK of going online until each and every one of these boxes is empty, I’m going to be very, very upset. Is that clear?”

Woo, boy. Was it ever.

And that, my friends, is why the new design is not yet live. But at least I’m being allowed online long enough to tell my tale. If you don’t hear from me by Wednesday it’s not because I don’t want to write for this site.

It’s because I’m not allowed to yet.

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…