I Hate Lists

Here are some things that happened to me this weekend.

  • Spoke about the proper way to choke a cock with a Chinese farmer while sitting in a beer garden in Queens, NY and drinking a $2 thimbleful of Sprite.
  • Saw, but was unable to capture on film, a man sitting in a café wearing an honest to goodness tinfoil hat.
  • Watched someone vomit in a beer garden.
  • Cursed.
  • Saw a boring movie.
  • Fixed my mother’s broken computer. Again.
  • Placed an order with Amazon.com only to be told that it would not be shipped until May. 2004!
  • Cursed some more.
  • Saw another boring movie.
  • Began once again researching laptop computers.
  • Cancelled my Amazon.com order, re-ordered the exact same items, and received a new ship date in August. 2005!
  • Discovered irrefutable proof that sitting on the toilet for more than 20 minutes will lead to mind-numbing pain in one’s feet when one attempts to walk away.
  • Invented new words just for the novelty of using them in curses.

So, how was your weekend?

Service With A Smile

I love CyberPower.

All last week I was having trouble with my computer’s CD-R/RW drive. No matter what I was trying to record to disc; files, music, pr0n, the drive would merely spin for a few moments making very unhappy noises and then spit out the completely empty, and now unusable, disc. I went through about 10 discs before giving up and admitting to myself that the drive was dead.

I was not a happy Geek.

Resigned to the thought of purchasing a new CD-R/RW drive, I began doing some research online. On Tuesday of this week, I mentioned to HoBiscuit that I needed a new drive and she wondered aloud how long I’ve had the computer. When I told her I thought it was less than a year, she called me a moron. Believing I had just been insulted, I stopped using one of our big, wooden spoons to bang the metal pot on my head and turned to my lovely fiancée.

Wiping the drool from my chin I asked, “What do pretty lady mean?”

She let out a big sigh and raised her eyes heavenward, as if to ask a higher power why she had ever agreed to marry such a blithering idiot like myself. Speaking slowly, she explained to me that most computers come with a ‘Warranty’ of at least one year. At my blank stare, she further explained that if my computer had this wondrous and magical ‘Warranty’ I might not need to purchase a new CD-R/RW on my own because the company I bought the computer from would simply replace the faulty component for me. For free.

O, Font of Wisdom! Thou hast saveth the day!

With my new understanding of the inner workings of the universe, I called the tech support number conveniently located on the side panel of my computer. In less than 30 seconds I was speaking with a real, live person who took down my name, telephone number and my computer’s Service Number. The last was a number was found on another sticker on the side panel of the computer, right below some other important numbers like the OS registration number, my bank account and HoBiscuits birthday.

Dammit, missed it again.

The kind woman on the phone then told me that a tech support person would call me later in the day to help me with my problem. Thinking that I had just been screwed, I was shocked and amazed when, less than an hour and a half later, someone actually did call!

I nearly fell over dead from the shock of it.

My guy, Dave by name, worked with me on the problem. After working on it with me for a while, he admitted that the drive itself had probably failed and, after making sure I was still under the protective custody of the ‘Warranty’, he put in a request for a new drive to be mailed to me.

This nearly caused me to have heart palpitations, but wait. There’s more.

Dave went on to ask me if I wanted to install the drive myself, or if I would rather have someone come to my home and do it for me. Aha, I thought, so that’s it! He expects me to pay for the pleasure of having Johnny Buttcrack install something for me when I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself! What kind of fool did Dave think I was?! But when I asked Dave how much such a service would cost me he said, “Not a dime.”

This time I did faint, but only for a moment.

So, I am now a charter member of the CyberPower Fan Club. Now, I have owned computers from almost all of the big name computer manufacturers out there, and even some of the smaller guys so I do understand that many other companies have this kind of service. Fast phone support answering times, replacing defective computer parts and even sending a technician to your home to help with component installation isn’t something exclusive to CyberPower. But I also know from first hand experience just how many hoops those other companies make you jump through before they’ll get to the point of sending a replacement and/or a technician. So in the future, if you ever ask me what computer to buy or what computer company is tops in service and support, I’ll say CyberPower without any hesitation.

Now, if only they made laptops…

Dropping More Than The Soap

Riddle me this, Batman.

What’s the proper etiquette when you’re in the shower with someone and you feel a really nasty fart coming on? Do you warn your showermate, thus giving them the option of fleeing in abject terror, or do you simply try to squeeze it out silently and pray that your soapy friend won’t keel over and fall to the bathtub floor in convulsions?

Either way, it sure is fun to blow those anal bubbles, isn’t it?!

Interview #3 – Analyze That Interview

[JadedJu and GeekMan are sitting many feet apart from each other in a room lined with tinfoil. The tinfoil has been painted upon in what appears to be a childish attempt to make it look like wallpaper. Both the GeekMan and JadedJu have a pair of pants tied on their heads, although JadedJu’s pants are clearly marked as “Made by Versace.”]

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Interview #2 – The Un-Credible Geek

JadedJu:
Welcome back.

Many of you were with us yesterday as I, JadedJu, attempted to interview GeekMan of The Mighty Geek. As you may recall, due to what we are now going to characterize as a “misunderstanding”, we were unable to proceed with any of our questions. This was particularly disappointing given that GeekMan’s fans had hoped to finally learn exactly what it is that makes the Geekman so lovable. Initially, I was reluctant to attempt another interview, as it seemed possible that GeekMan had experienced some sort of permanent break with reality yesterday.
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Interview – The Beginning

JadedJu:
Hello everyone, my name is JadedJu and I’m delighted to be here today with GeekMan of The Mighty Geek. In case you’re not familiar with Mr. GeekMan, he’s a man of a thousand funny posts and an infamous New York City gadabout. After many years of elusiveness, GeekMan has agreed to allow me to ask him a few probing questions in order to allow his readership some new insight into exactly what it is that makes him tick. He has generously agreed that no topic is out of bounds, so we’re hoping today to finally learn the truth behind the many internet rumors that seem to swirl around him. So, let’s begin.
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Stay Tuned

Next week will be fun.

I’m not kidding, it really will be. That’s because JadedJu of JadedJu.com will be here interviewing me all week. I’ve agreed to answer any and all questions she might throw at me, so you all might just find out something new and revolting about me!

Won’t that be fun?

So remember to mark your calendars and clear your schedules, because next week is Geek Week right here at The Mighty Geek! Look out Pat O’Brien, because one day soon GeekMan is coming to Access Hollywood! And you better believe I’ll be grabbing some O’Dell buttock while I’m there! Boo-Yah!

Man! This level of entertainment just can’t be Tivo’d!

Laundry Pixies

I don’t understand.

Last week, HoBiscuit and I did the laundry together, leaving behind nothing unwashed. Today we once again have a full hamper. Nothing strange or noteworthy about that since we do tend to wear clothing during the normal course of our day, but what is strange is that all of the clothes in the hamper appear to be mine.

Say, “Wha?”

Did I miss something here? Is HoBiscuit doing her laundry at 4am while I’m asleep, or something? Do we have Laundry Pixies? How the heck can I, and only I, have a basket full of dirty clothes when HoBiscuit goes to work in a different outfit every morning while I lie in bed in my pajamas until noon?

Elementary math says this just doesn’t add up!

I count eight pairs of my shorts, ten of my shirts, my workout clothes, my pajamas and a whole slew of my socks and underwear, and all I see here that belongs to HoBiscuit are about two hundred pairs of panties! Ladies, help me out here. One of you, please, have pity on this poor Geek and explain to him why his woman has no dirty laundry to speak of after a whole week of wearing clothes. It’s driving me insane!

For the love of llamas, there aren’t even any BRAS!

Forgive Me

There’s this guy who rides the F train…

He’s not exactly a homeless bum, but you can tell by the way he dresses and the way he smells that he’s not exactly one of the rich and famous of NY. He carries around a big, black guitar and he uses it to beg for money from all the rush-hour riders on the train. And before you ask; no, he doesn’t hit people with it, he actually plays it.

Smartass.

Now, playing the guitar (and I use the word ‘playing’ very loosely here) on a crowded train is bad enough, but apparently this guy enjoys torturing his sadly captive audience too much to let it go at that.

You see, he also sings.

You must understand, his singing isn’t all that horrible. In fact, if it weren’t for the song itself I might even find it moderately listenable for a short period of time. Say from 14th street to 34th street. But it’s not just the guitar playing or the singing that gets me crazy. You see, if it were just that I’d simply listen in “pleading-for-death” silence while he played and then avert my eyes and ignore him as he passed by after his ‘set’ asking me, and all the other tortured souls on the air conditioner-less subway car to hell, for our spare change. But it’s not just the guitar playing and the singing that make me want to lunge for his throat every time I see him, it’s his fricking song.

Forgive me
I’m just trying to get by with my life
I’m down on my luck, I’m feeling strife

Forgive me
Lend a hand and help someone who’s poor
Begging now but not forevermore

Forgive me
Forgive me
For Give Me

There’s more to the song but I swear to you, if I ever hear it again someone’s going to die. Horribly and slowly. What really kills me is that I’m willing to pay this guy top dollar if he would only stop singing, but I doubt he ever will. He seems too fricking happy to be out there ruining other people’s day to ever want to stop. I bet if he ever won the lottery or got a recording contract he would still be out there every day, making perfect strangers band together in their hatred for his stupid, fricking songs.

I swear that yesterday when he got on I heard someone ask for a pitchfork and a torch.

The worst part of the whole ordeal is that the damn song is so fricking catchy. Hours after I’ve left that singing/begging bastard behind I find I’m still humming it, and no matter what I try I can’t get it out of my head until I exorcise it with something equally annoying, inane and catchy. Something like, “Girl You Know It’s True” or “Talking In Your Sleep”.

Forgive you? How about I just kill you and we call it even, hmmm?

But I Still Won’t Eat It

It was a beautiful day.

It was sunny and warm outside with a cool breeze beckoning me to leave the sanctity of my somber sanctuary. So instead of sitting in my dark room in front of my computer, I decided to head the call of summer and go outside to play. Grabbing my wallet and my keys, I left the dark and dreary cave I called home to join the chorus of bright and shiny happiness right outside my door.

It was going to be the most glorious of summer days.

Before I even reached the outer door I was already planning the use of my valuable free time. First some lunch, then some ice cream then a nice walk by the water to be followed by even more ice cream. Maybe I would even take some time to read a book in the sun at one of the myriad of outdoor café’s in the neighborhood. Perhaps I would once again walk by the water and cross the Brooklyn Bridge to meet HoBiscuit for a lovely dinner in the city and then take a moonlit stroll with the most beautiful woman in the world.

Stars and city lights would guide us home.

As I opened the outer door, smile upon my face at the thought of the after-walk sex my lady and I would have that evening, I felt my first summer breeze of the day across my face, chest and legs. My smile wavered as I pondered the feeling, knowing that something was wrong, but unable to fathom what it could be. When the neighborhood children stopped in their tracks to stare at me in shocked disbelief, I began to suspect the truth. When the pack of old ladies walking by began to point at me and giggle reality finally poked me in the eye with the stick of comprehension, and suddenly I realized my Great Error.

Somehow, I had forgotten to get dressed.

Closing the door in shame I turned back to my den of dark comforts. Ignoring one of the 7 year old girls’ catcall of, “My baby brother’s bigger’n that wittle thing!” I somehow managed to walk, not crawl, to the bed and pull the covers over my head before bursting into tears. Pulling out my “Dr Joel’s Professional Pumping System” manhood enhancer from under the bed, I vigorously set about turning that little girl, and all the other little girls like her, into the lying little whores that I knew they were. “One day.” I whispered to the darkness. “One day we’ll show them all.”

Pump. Pump. Pump.