Dearest GeekMan,

I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, it feels like we haven’t really communicated in a long, long time, so I’m writing you this letter in the hopes of getting through to you so we can give us another chance. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye lately, but I don’t want what we’ve had through the years to come to an end without at least trying to work things out between us. I miss you so much it hurts.

Don’t you love me anymore?

When we were together things seemed so good. Now that we’re apart, why does everything feel so bad? I was your comfort zone, your best friend and your moral support all rolled into one tasty, cream-filled, edible, golden phallic symbol. Without me, lunch back in the fourth grade was a disaster. You used to hold me and tell me how much you loved me, and you never cared who knew. You used to savor being with me, spending time with me, and when I wasn’t there you missed me with every fiber of your being until the moment we were together again.

Where has the love gone?

I miss you terribly GeekMan, and every moment we’re apart I feel like I’m expiring. I know that you’re trying to find something to replace that empty feeling deep inside you, that vacant space that I used to fill. But we both know that while they may treat you better, be healthier for you or impress your friends, those others will never be as good to you as I was. Give me another chance to make you feel good and I promise you won’t regret it.

Not like last time.

Give me just one more chance and I swear things will be different. I won’t call out to you before breakfast or try to tempt you after a workout ever again. And I swear, I’ll never again wake you up in the middle of the night and make you sit on the toilet for hours and hours calling out to the gods above to strike you down and end the pain. Please GeekMan, I miss you so much and I know, somewhere deep inside, you miss me too. Just give me this one chance to make it all up to you and I promise you won’t regret it.

Yours, now and forevermore,

Twinkie The Kid

PhotoBloggery. Take a picture. Write a story. Post the results.

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.