Useless Quotes

• by GeekMan • In Experiments •   7

Did you see this?

Well, I did. And although there were many worthy quotes that made the list, there were also far, far too many that shouldn’t have been there at all. Not that they weren’t good quotes in and of themselves, but a lot of them have been surpassed by more recent movie quotes or aren’t nearly as relevant as they have been in the past. Plus, no matter how great the quotes were, some movies had far too many to be fair.

And that’s where I come in.

This week I’m going to be posting my own version of the top 100 movie quotes of all time. In some respects my own rules are a little more lenient than the AFI’s, but in other ways I’m a little more critical. For instance, I will only accept ONE quote from any single movie. That means that Casablanca will only have one quote on my list instead of the 6 it has on the AFI list. Also, no matter how influential the quote was in the past, if it is no longer relevant or part of the common consciousness of the general public, then it won’t be on my list.

So, “Hasta la vista”, Soylent Green.

Starting tomorrow I’ll begin posting my top 100 movie quotes of all time in installments of 25 per day. If you have a favorite quote that you’re afraid I might overlook and would like me to include it on the list, tell me. Leave me a comment here with the quote you like and the film it appears in and, depending on whether I agree with you or not, I’ll put it on the list. And if it just happens to be on AFI’s list, that’s ok too. But not if it’s from a pr0n movie. “Uh… oh baby, yeah.” Is not acceptable as a quotable movie quote, and I don’t care how many times you’ve said it in your life.

You hear me, Bread? No pr0n quotes! None!

You’ve Got Mail

• by GeekMan • In Rants •   1

Someone sold me out.

I don’t know who it was, but someone out there who thinks they know me, who thinks they know what I want and need in my life, has sold my contact info to marketers who in turn have begun sending stuff to my home address. It’s so obvious that it was some internet store that sold my info and that these people don’t know the first thing about me that I can’t do anything but laugh when I receive their letters, postcards and pamphlets in the mail addressed to, “HoBiscuit & The Mighty Geek”.

Yeah, it really says that. I’m not kidding.

I mean, if an actual human being was double checking these mailings they might have realized that name was bogus and then they’d remove me from their mailing list because anyone with even a quarter of a brain would know better than to send their stuff to someone named The Mighty Geek. And HoBiscuit? Come on! What the heck were they thinking?

Stupid, stupid marketer. No cookie for you!

Flip-Flop Hell

• by GeekMan • In Rants •   17

I hate flip-flops.

Especially on women at the workplace. Now, I know that many people, HoBiscuit included, absolutely adore their flip-flops and love wearing them every fricking day until it gets so cold that their toes turn to icicles, but for the life of me I can’t see why. I find them so uncomfortable and impractical that I’d rather walk barefoot over broken glass, rusty nails, salt and juiced lemons than wear flip-flops in public. I’d rather wear my own tongue on my feet and walk through the monkey cages at the zoo. I’d rather lose my toes, one by one over the course of several months, in horrific bear trap accidents and have to cauterize the wounds myself using nothing but some moose droppings and a faulty Zippo lighter.

I’d rather watch a full season of “My Awesome Sweet 16”.

Don’t get me wrong. I do understand that flip-flops have a place in society and that wearing them at the beach or on a really hot summer’s day can be both comfortable and practical. But it’s when the stupid things become your footwear of choice, when you own more pairs of flip-flops than there are days in a month, that I start losing my patience and begin looking for a book depository and an old rifle.

I’m not kidding.

Let me break it down for you. First, flip-flops aren’t comfortable. The stupid piece that sticks between your toes to hold the damn things on your feet is constantly rubbing, rubbing, rubbing the webbing between your toes and after only a few hours of use you’re almost guaranteed to have a nice, ripe blister when you take them off. And don’t even get me started on what happens should you trip on the street, or someone steps on your foot, or if you drop something heavy/sharp on your toes.

See? Just thinking about that made you wince.

Secondly, you can’t possibly run, fight or even move quickly while wearing the silly things. I mean, honestly. How are you supposed to play a nice game of football wearing flip-flops? Have you ever tried to ‘go long’ while wearing a pair? If you haven’t, don’t bother. It’s impossible. And heaven forbid you’re at the bank when a robber bursts in demanding money and you’re the only one who can stop him and save the day. Springing into action is very difficult to do when your footwear keeps falling off mid-step.

And there is truly no possible way to look dashing in flip-flops.

Now ladies, please don’t send me hate mail about how wonderful your flip-flops are and how comfortable you are while wearing them. I already know you like them because every single one of you reading this out there owns a pair or twenty. And I also know that you’ve all gone too fricking far with how much you adore them because this past weekend I actually saw a woman walking confidently down the street in a mother-fricking Armani business suit with a pair of cheap, plastic-and-rubber, dime store flips-flops on her perfectly manicured feet!

ARGH! Flip-flops drive me nuts!

The Secret Life Of A Straight-Edge III

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life •   7

Read part 1 here and part 2 here.

So there I am, trying to do the Right Thing™ and drive two extremely drunk girls home from a college party at 2am in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback Dodge Omni of Virginity when, in the words of almost any jaded Hollywood executive, “Wackiness Ensued”. The beautiful girl in the front seat, Front Seat Girl (FSG), had come to the conclusion that I was cute and so needed to be thanked for driving them home by receiving a patented “Best BJ Evah”, while the pretty girl in the back seat, Back Seat Girl (BSG), had stripped off all her clothes and thrown them out the window in an attempt to cool off her overheated body. And right about now you’re wondering how any of this could be bad.

You optimistic fool.

Let me show you why my life is cursed. You see, FSG had managed to expose my tighty-whities by getting my belt and zipper undone when she froze completely and uttered the three little words no sober person EVER wants to hear an inebriated person say, “I feel funny.” As soon as she uttered those words my rational thought process, which until that very moment had been stifled by my heretofore repressed libido with wild ideas like, “Threesome”, “Orgy” and “Huminah-huminah-huminah!” came roaring back into action like a herd of wild rhinos.

“Holy crapoly, Libido! She’s gonna hurl all over you!”
“What?!”
“FSG just said she felt funny.”
“Oh, that’s OK then. Maybe she’s has a thing for telling a joke before getting busy…”
“Are you fricking kidding me?!”
“Hey! I’m not the thinker around here, you are!”
“That’s right, and I’m telling you we need to get her head away from our lap!”
“But she’s so close!”
“Yeah, too close.”
“Can’t we ask her to hold it in for a few seconds? That’s all it would take. I swear!”
“And what do we do when it all comes back up? Hold our breath?”
“Dammit! She was gonna blow me!”
“She’s gonna blow you, alright. In a BAD way!”
“I fricking hate you.”

By the time my internal conversation concluded, FSG had come to the same realization that I had and she muttered another three words even more frightening than the three she had already said. This time she said, “Hold my hair.” Let me just say here and now that I am still amazed at the reaction this evoked from BSG, who until that moment had seemed oblivious to the action taking place in the front seat of the car, not more than 3 feet from her. Suddenly, BSG went stone-cold sober, reached forward, grabbed FSG’s hair and held it out of the way.

That’s when FSG turned into the little girl from the Exorcist.

Imagine the scene; a guy with his pants open, a girl in the seat next to him with her face in his lap and another girl with her hand on the back of the first girl’s head. If it weren’t for all the vomit coming out of FSG’s body it would have been one of my favorite fantasies come to life.

And, OMG, the smell…

The amount of chunky, steaming, stinking fluids that FSG pumped onto my lap, the floor, the door and, I swear to heaven above, the entire dashboard of my car was astonishing. Even more amazing was that when she was done, when I was literally sitting in a puddle of puke as streams of vomit trickled down my legs to form squishy pools inside my shoes, FSG sat up and didn’t have a drop of puke in her hair!

I remember wondering at the time if I should applaud.

When we reached the dorms, BSG and I managed to manhandle FSG into her room and into bed. Of course this was after I gave BSG my shirt so she could at least pretend to not be completely naked. All the while FSG was insisting that I come inside with her so she could ‘make it up’ to me with a night of wanton sex. By this time even my overactive libido had had enough, so I politely refused and left her alone to sleep.

I don’t think she even noticed when we left.

I walked BSG back to her room where she confessed to me that even though she was still a little drunk (no-duh!) she still thought I was cute. I told her that if she still felt that way in the morning that she should come talk to me about it. Leaving her a note with my room number on it, I left and went home to wash my privates for about half an hour. My clothes I threw away, including my one-month old shoes. I vowed never to be the designated driver for another college drinkfest ever again, went to bed and fell into a blissfully uneventful coma for the night.

Oh, I bet you’re wondering whatever happened with me and BSG.

Well, the very next day I awoke to a knocking on my door. Waiting for me outside was a man of enormous size and density. To tell you he was on the football team would not do his physical presence justice, better to say he was the football team. And if I said he was upset it would be as if I described the ocean as ‘wet’ which, while technically correct, would still be so very, very wrong that you’d probably hit me. It turned out that this gargantuan man was BSG’s long-term boyfriend and he had come to my room courtesy of the note he had found stuffed in my shirt pocket that I had left with BSG the night before. He wanted to discuss the amazing connection between my laying eyes on BSG again and my ability to continue breathing without the help of a machine. I had never thought that there was a connection between those two disparate things, but rest assured that Mr. Reason helped me see the light so fast I swear I saw spots for a week.

The Mighty Geek, loser is as loser does.

The Secret Life Of A Straight-Edge II

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life •   3

Read part 1 here.

Let me recap the scene for you.

I, a completely sober and typical college ‘nice guy’ Geek, am the designated driver for a college drinking party. During this party two very beautiful girls get so drunk that they are actually evicted from said college party for being too drunk to stand up under their own power. While driving them back to the dorms in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback Dodge Omni of Virginity the girl in the front seat tells me she wants to thank me for being so nice by giving me a bj and the girl in the back seat decides to combat the warm spring night’s heat by stripping off all her clothes.

What follows is proof positive that my life is cursed.

Now, because of Front Seat Girls’ (FSG) declaration of my immanent “Happy Ending” my mind had understandably stopped functioning properly, so the only reason I knew Back Seat Girl (BSG) was stripping was that she threw her bra at me. Not being aerodynamically designed for drunken flight, BSG’s bra missed me but did manage to get stuck on my rearview mirror. This caused FSG to start laughing again which in turn caused my brain to register the fact that I was now driving at a ridiculously fast speed down a residential street known as a speed-trap for the cops. I quickly downshifted from third gear to second thinking that as soon as I reached a safer speed I would remove the bra from my rearview mirror so the local police wouldn’t pull me over for indecent exposure or something.

That was mistake number one.

That’s because as soon as I put my hand on the gear shift, which as anyone who has ever driven a manual car will attest is located between the driver and passenger seats, FSG leaned over and started trying to undo my pants. This had two immediate and very different consequences. First, my right arm was now pinned underneath FSG’s body making it impossible for me to change gears and second, my libido started screaming at the top of its metaphorical lungs at my rational brain while my rational brain tried its darndest to keep me on the path of righteousness. The gist of this conversation can be summed up as follows:

“Thankyougod! We’re going to get some!”
“Ohmygod! We’re going to die!”
“Thankyougod!”
“Ohmygod!”
“Dammit! Don’t be such a baby! We’re not going to die when we’re only going 45mph down a completely empty street at 2am!”
“OK, maybe not, but I can’t shift gears so when we need to make a turn…”
“You were planning on making turns with FSG’s head in your lap?”
“What? What do you mean… Hey! Will you look at that? FSG’s got her head in my lap!”
“Yeah, and if you sit still a bit longer she’ll do something even better.”
“Woah! You know, driving a stick-shift with only one hand free and a girls head in your lap may not be the smartest of things to do…”
“But it’ll sure be fun!”
“Wait! They’re both drunk and I’m sure they’ll feel horrible about all this in the morning, so we should stop this before it goes any further.”
“Pansy! Loser! Moron!”
“Shut up!”
“FSG’s got her face in your lap and her hands on your belt and you’re going to tell us to stop?!”
“Well, it’s the right thing to do…”
“And BSG’s nearly naked in the back seat!”
“What?! When did that happen?”
“Where the heck did you think that bra came from? The Boobie Fairy?”
“Uh…”
“Think, you idiot! THINK! What happens in all those movies we see that start off this way?”
“Uhm… we’ll all be hunted down by a psychotic killer until the last one alive blows him up or sets him on fire and he sinks to the bottom of a creepy lake?”
“Nonono! The other movies.”
“Uhm… we’ll all go back to their room and…”
“And…?”
“Oh. OH!”
“That’s right, man! Threesome!”
“Holy crap, what was I thinking?! Stop this?! Let’s get this party started!”
“Thankyougod!”
“Hallelujah!”

So, one of my hands was trapped underneath FSG, who by this time is done with my belt and was now working on my zipper, and BSG was nearly completely naked except for her miniskirt and panties. Well, I guess BSG was still hot because not a moment later her miniskirt was gone. Poof, gone. Just like that. I’m not positive, but I believe she actually threw it out the window, along with her shirt. I say I’m not positive because, while she was becoming one with nature, FSG managed to unzip my fly and expose my bulging tighty-whities to the world which had my libido screaming, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank god almighty, we’re free at last!”

Which I guess was just blasphemous enough to piss someone off.

You see, now that my tighty-whities were exposed I was at the complete mercy of any higher being that might have been watching me, and as we all know higher beings have a very low sense of humor. So, at the exact moment that my pants came undone FSG froze like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi and said, “I feel funny.”

Oh. Crap.

To be continued…

The Secret Life Of A Straight-Edge I

• by GeekMan • In Geek Life •   4

This one time, in college…

I was at a party and, being the only non-drinker present, I became the designated driver for all the drunken people who couldn’t otherwise get back home. During one trip from said party to the dorms, I had two very pretty girls sitting in my 4-speed, 2-door, hatchback, Dodge Omni of Virginity who were so amazingly drunk that they literally could not see and had to be poured into the car by myself and a random guy at the party who was sober enough to notice their plight. Also, he thought my name was ‘T-Bone’ and that I was going to bring him back some weed.

You know, I think he’s a doctor now.

About halfway back to the dorms, the girl sitting in the front seat decided that I was cute. I know this because she studied my profile for about four minutes and then shouted to her friend in the back seat that I was cute. Her friend, who at the time was laying face down on the floor of my car, yelled back that if she thought I was cute then she should “Thank the cutie for giving us a ride home.”

And now it gets weird.

Front Seat Girl (FSG) then stage whispers to me that she thinks I’m cute, as if I haven’t heard her screaming it to her friend already, and informs me that she’s a little drunk. Being the gentleman that I am, I shift into third gear and tell her that it’s because she’s so drunk that I’m taking her home. Party rules were that if you couldn’t stand under your own power, you went home.

Take note kids because that’s still a darn good rule.

FSG laughed at my comment and told me that I was such a good guy that I deserved a ‘reward’. Not knowing what to expect I said that I would leave her my room number and she could thank me the next day by sending me a note. FSG seemed to find that extremely funny and she laughed and laughed until she started making pig-snorting noises at which point she began to choke on her own spit and then coughed until she cried.

Yes, very attractive, I know.

Meanwhile, Back Seat Girl (BSG) managed to sit up and lean forward until her head was between her friend and me in the front. Looking straight ahead out the front windshield of my car, BSG very matter-of-factly stated, “I’m hot.” Since my poor Dodge Omni had no a/c and the windows were already rolled down I told her there was nothing I could do. Still looking dead ahead, and without even a hint of emotion, BSG said, “Oh. OK then.” and then she sat back and closed her eyes, for all intents and purposes dead asleep. At which point FSG stopped snort-laughing and turned to me with a very serious expression on her extremely drunk face and said, “I know how to thank you. I’ll give you a BJ! I give the BEST BJs. Ask anybody.”

And that’s when BSG started stripping…

To be continued…

GeekMan’s S3 – #3

• by GeekMan • In Childhood Memories •   2

Even at age 11, Stacy was a goddess.

I didn’t quite understand the feelings that overcame me whenever she would look my way and smile, but on some instinctual level I knew I would do almost anything if she would just keep doing it forever. Stacy, being mature for her age, was the first girl in school to realize that boys could be manipulated into doing anything she wanted them to do just by smiling at them, or sometimes, if the boy was particularly dense, by touching their arm or shoulder in a ‘friendly’ way. I, on the other hand, being the cleverest boy in school, was the first one to play stupid with her on purpose so she would touch me.

Mama didn’t raise no dummy.

One day, as I sat in the school library, Stacy and two of her friends came over to where I was sitting and asked me if I wanted to play a game with them. Being smarter than the average bear I knew something was up by the wicked gleam in their collective eyes, but the warning my rational brain was sending was being overridden by the my libido screaming, “She’s wearing a low-cut shirt! A low-cut shirt!”

Stacy, for those who haven’t guessed, was an early bloomer.

And, like the rest of her, her young-lady boobies were perfect. Neither large nor small, they nevertheless were the envy of all the other girls in school. A few years later, she would be a solid C-cup, but at the time she was probably a small B. But to my mind they were a dream and she was all that and a bag of chips.

And she was leaning over the table to talk to me.

“GeekMan, would you like to play a game with us?”
[libido] “Boobs-AHOY!”
“Ahhh… errmm…buh-hurmmmm…”
“GeekMan?”
“Yeah! Game! Play! You! Yes!!!”
“OK, GeekMan. You need to come with us over to that corner out of the librarian’s view, though. Is that OK?”
[libido] “Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!”
“Gah… ermmm… uhhhh…”
“…giggle…”
“Ahem. Ok, let’s go play, shall we?”

I was like a lamb to the slaughter.

“OK GeekMan, here are the rules. You have to stand right here with your back to the wall. I’m going to name some animals and you say yes or no. Yes if you’ve ever had that animal as a pet and no if you haven’t. OK?”
“Uh, so what’s the fun in that?”
“Well, if you’re lucky, you could win a prize.”
[other two girls] “…giggle…”
[libido] “There is a god!”
[rational brain] “Danger!”
[libido] “Stacy’s not wearing a bra!”
“Game on!”

Yes, I know I’m an idiot. Shut up.

“OK GeekMan. Remember, only ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”
“OK.”
“Monkey.”
“No.”
“Dog.”
“Yes.”
“Whale.”
“No.”
“Mouse.”
“No.”
“Duck.”
“No.”

And that’s when the cutest girl in school punched me in the face.

As I lay on the ground, desperately trying to keep my left eyeball from popping out of its socket, Stacy leaned over me and, in a whisper I could barely hear over the peels of laughter coming from her two friends and the pounding headache I could feel building behind my soon-to-be horribly inflated eye, said…

“Silly boy. I told you to duck!”

GeekMan’s S3 – #2

• by GeekMan • In Childhood Memories •   1

I was an evil little man.

My younger cousin Princess, her older sister Dee, my brother FishMan and I were all playing together one day when I came up with a great way to torment FishMan and Princess while at the same time Dee and I could have fun playing with our toys without their annoying interference. In essence, I wanted to play with all the toys and the only way I could do it was to get rid of my cousin and my brother without their realizing what I was doing.

And so, together with Dee, I hatched a plan.

“Hey guys! I just thought of a great game to play!”
“What game?”
“Yeah! Tell us, GeekMan! Tell us!”
“Well, it’s a fun game but it involves acting. It might be too hard for you little kids to play so maybe we shouldn’t…”
“No fair! You always keep us from playing the fun games!”
“Yeah! You better let us play in this game or I’m telling mom!”
“Are you sure you want to play?”
“Yeah!”
“You bet!”
“OK, but don’t say I didn’t tell you it would be hard for you.”
“We can take it!”
“Anything you can do, I can do, too!”
“Alright. Here’s the rules…”
“Yay!”
“Shhhh! We have to listen so we don’t break the rules!”
“Sorry FishMan. I just got excited.”
“OK Princess, just listen close or GeekMan won’t let us play.”
“OK.”
“Are you too done? Are you sure you want to play this game?”
“We do.”
“Word.”
“Word? FishMan, did you just say ‘word’ instead of yes?”
“Yeah. I heard it at school the other day and it sounded def so I thought I’d use it, too.”
“Deaf? Like you can’t hear?”
“No. Def, as in ‘the bomb’.”
“Oh. I see. Word, huh? That’s fresh, I can dig it.”
“Word.”
“Word.”
“GeekMan, could you tell us the rules now please?”
“Sure thing, Princess. The rules are that Dee and I are going to go into the other room and close the door while you and FishMan stay here in the hallway and sit in those two chairs. When it’s your turn to come inside and join the game Dee will come out and take one of you into the other room where we’ll play. Sounds easy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, that’s because the hardest part of playing this game is sitting out here waiting to come inside to play. You need to pretend that you’re patients waiting to see the doctor. I’m going to be the doctor and Dee is the nurse. You two are the patients, so think up some really def illnesses so we can ‘cure’ you, ok?”
“Wow! This is a cool game!”
“Yeah! I’m going to be suffering from a head wound! Like from a sword!”
“OK then, you two stay here and pretend to be sick while we go set up the other room…”
“OK!”
“Word!”
[door slams]
“Bwahahahahahaha!”

And thus, The Waiting Room Game was born.

GeekMan’s S3 – #1

• by GeekMan • In Childhood Memories •   3

Her name was Shirley.

Shirley owned and operated the tiny little candy/convenience store a few blocks away from our apartment that Mr. Hentai and I would visit every day on our way to school. Each and every day, as we left the store with our single piece of candy each, Shirley would remind us to hurry or we’d be late and get detention. Then she’d laugh and turn to the next customer in line.

It was the laugh that kept us coming back.

You see, Shirley was not a pretty woman, in fact you could almost say she was ugly. Overweight and under-tall, Shirley had a pockmarked face, flabby arms and hair that would make even Medusa’s hairdresser groan in agony. Plus, she smelled of sour milk and old medicine. But none of that really mattered to us.

What mattered were her giant boobies.

Shirley had boobies of a most awe inspiring size. Honestly, they were truly astonishing to behold. They were each literally as large as my entire head and when Shirley laughed they seemed to move in ways simultaneously foreign to the realm of physics and magical in nature. These whale-sized mammary glands were the only reason why Mr. Hentai and I put up with Shirley’s brusque manner, her overpriced and crappy selection of candy and even her horrid, horrid stench. It was all just to see those two massive mounds of human flesh do their mesmerizing dance of joy as she shooed us out the door.

The memory of which got me through many a boring Spanish class.

One day, as we perused the sad collection of candy on display at Shirley’s establishment, I decided to buy a package of Whoppers for my before school snack but when I reached into the box I realized that this particular package of Whoppers just happened to be the very last one on display. As I picked up the Whoppers I discovered the dried out husk of a roach sitting inside the now empty display box, looking sad and alone as I took away its very last friend. Being a child I rationalized that the candy was inside the package and therefore safe to eat, not once connecting the dead bug and thick layer of dust on the package to the length of time it might have been sitting in the display waiting for some fool child to come along and purchase its freedom. Once outside I ripped open the package and popped one of the crusty, flakey, not-quite-correct-color-for-chocolate balls in my mouth…

And bit into Chocolate Hell.

Sandy, powdery, yet still crunchy innards spilled into my mouth and down my throat as I choked on the 2,000 year old Whopper. Coughing and sputtering as if I had just swallowed the sandman’s semen I insisted that Mr. Hentai try one so he would know I was not overreacting. And idiot that he is, he did. From that day forward, Mr. Hentai and I have had a saying between us for any situation where we feel someone should proceed with caution. And that saying is;

Don’t eat Shirley’s Whoppers!