They’re Trying To Kill Me

[begin phone call]

“Hello?”

“Hi grandma. It’s your grandson, GeekMan. How are you today?”

“Who? WeakMan?”

“No. GeekMan.”

“Oh! GeekMan. I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I’m old.”

“Yes, grandma. I know you’re old. How are you feeling today?”

“What can I say? I’m alive, no thanks to your grandpa.”

“Ah. So, that’s good, I guess. How’s grandpa?”

“I hate him. He’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, at least he’s keeping busy.”

“GeekMan, when are we going to see you again? You never come to visit anymore.”

“I’ve been busy grandma, but I promise to come and visit you soon.”

“I have a steak for you, you know. It’s in the freezer.”

“Grandma, you don’t have to buy me anything. Just seeing you is enough.”

“I’ll make the steak any way you like. Just call me a few hours before you come over so I can defrost it.”

“Grandma, you really don’t have to…”

“I’ve been saving it for you for a long time now.”

“Well, that’s very nice but you really don’t… wait a minute. Grandma, when did you buy this steak?”

“It’s frozen, you know.”

“I know grandma, but how long has it been frozen?”

“Not long.”

“How long?”

“…”

“…”

“Do you want to talk to grandpa?”

“Not now, grandma.”

“He hates me, you know.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He’s trying to kill me.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No! Grandma, how long have you had this steak in the freezer?”

“…”

Grandma…”

“April.”

“Oh. Well why didn’t you say so? April’s not that bad…”

“April 1999.”

WHAT?!?

“Well, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“And you haven’t had a special occasion for three years?”

“Not with your grandpa still alive.”

“Grandma!”

“It’s true.”

“Stop that and tell me about the steak.”

“I forgot I had it.”

“You forgot you had a steak? In the freezer?”

“It was hidden under the frozen peas. I never put steak under the frozen peas. I think your grandpa was hiding it.”

“Why would he hide the steak?”

“To drive me insane.”

“Grandma…”

“He hates me, you know.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Yes he does.”

“Grandma…”

“He’s trying to drive me crazy.”

“Sigh. Grandma, you know the steak’s not good anymore. Just throw it away, ok?”

“It’s a good steak! I’m not throwing away good meat just because it’s been frozen for a little while.”

“Grandma! It’s been frozen for three years! It’s almost old enough to be mistaken for Wooly Mammoth meat, ferpetesake.”

“I don’t care. I paid $4.95 for it at MeatSavers so I could cook it for my grandson, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”

“I won’t eat it.”

“You won’t eat your grandmothers cooking? What kind of grandson are you?”

“It will make me sick.”

“My cooking will NOT make you sick. I’m a good cook.”

“I know you’re a good cook! It’s the steak that’ll make me sick, not your cooking.”

“I can’t believe you think my cooking will make you sick.”

“Grandma, I never said that your cooking would make me sick.”

“Yes you did. I don’t think you appreciate what a great grandmother you have.”

“I do appreciate you! I love you!”

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t say such mean things.”

“But the steak is three years old! It’s just not safe to eat anymore!”

“Are you saying you don’t want my steak?”

“No. I’m saying that I don’t want that steak. I’ll eat anything else you want to make for me, but not that.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Just promise me you’ll throw out that steak, ok?”

“Ok, GeekMan. You know I love to cook for you.”

“I know. And I love your cooking.”

“So, you think I’m a good cook?”

“Yes grandma, I think you’re a fabulous cook.”

“You’re a good boy.”

“Thank you, grandma.”

“Do you want to talk to grandpa now?”

“Sure.”

“…”

“Hello?”

“Hi grandpa. How are you?”

“I’m old.”

“I know you’re old.”

“Your grandma hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes she does. She wants to kill me.”

“Sigh. Grandpa…”

“You hate me, too.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t visit.”

“I promise to visit soon, ok?”

“Ok. Soon is good because soon I’ll be dead.”

“Grandpa…”

“So, you’ll come and visit and we’ll be happy. Good.”

“I promise.”

“Ok. Then we’ll talk when I see you.”

“Sure.”

“One more thing. If your grandmother makes steak, don’t eat it. She’s trying to kill me.”

[end phone call]

Martha Stewart VS Lynette Jennings

Round One

Turn a Mac Classic II into a backyard birdhouse using only the following materials:

  • Wood glue
  • Shiny pink sequins
  • Balsa wood
  • One soft rag or paper towels (one roll)
  • Acrylic paint (1 gallon)
  • Plaster of Paris
  • 10 reams of shredded legal documents
  • 5 square yards of blue chiffon material
  • 3lbs of sea shells

The judges for this round will be Christopher Lowell, Dean Johnson and Amy Wynn Pastor. Contestants will need to verbally explain each step in the process while doing a seductive striptease to Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s classic, “Baby Got Back”. Scores will be based on functionality, style, artistic merit and how long it takes the judges to regain their eyesight.

Round Two

Refurbish four Late Georgian Mahogany dining chairs (in Hepplewhite style with shield back and tapering front legs) in under six hours and for less than $500. They can use any materials found at a local Home Depot to complete the restoration, but final product must be historically accurate. Contestants must also be prepared to answer questions about their investment strategies for a down market and their true sexual orientation.

Round Three

A Deathmatch. After 5 days of forced starvation, the contestants are locked in a pit together and are given nothing but a MINIMITE® Cordless Tool from Dremel with which to fight. Hidden cameras will capture the ensuing fight and eventual cannibalism. The winner will be forced to design and build a late Victorian-style gazebo, and then be nailed to it and set ablaze in a public display of good taste.

Coming soon to Pay-Per-View. Set your Tivo.

PhotoBloggery 04
Monkey See…

Do you see what I see?“Pssst.”

“Yeah?”

“What are you looking at?”

“The humans.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing yet. But it should get interesting soon.”

“Yeah? Can I watch, too?”

“Sure, but be quiet.”

“…”

“…”

“Which one’s the male?”

“The one on its knees.”

“Is that normal?”

“I think so, he does it every night as far as I can tell.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know. I think, and this is only a guess mind you, but I think he’s trying to mate.”

“Does water always leek from his eyes?”

“Not every time, no. But when it’s been a long time since their last coupling he goes through this very peculiar ritual that our scientists have named, ‘begging’. I’m trying to figure out why he keeps ‘begging’ when it never seems to work.”

“And?”

“And, so far my only theory is that it’s some kind of ritual necessary for the male to successfully entice the female to copulate. Similar to a peacocks feather display, or a baboons butt coloration.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“…”

“So that one’s the female?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t seem to be too taken with the male’s approach, does she?”

“Actually, this approach never seems to work for the male.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Well, if it never works why do you suppose he keeps employing it?”

“You know, I was sent here months ago and after observing these two in action for all this time, I think I can actually answer that question.”

“So? What’s your answer? Why does this male human keep ‘begging’ to mate with his female when that approach has, time and time again, only lead him to failure?”

“He’s a Geek.”

“No!”

“Yes. And furthermore, I believe that he keeps attempting this approach towards copulation in the vain hope that one day his woman will pity him enough to consent.”

“That is so sad.”

“I know.”

“…”

“…”

“Wow, look at him ‘beg’! He really is pathetic. Do you think we should put him down and find her another, more suitable, male?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Think, my man. Think! He’s a sexually frustrated Geek! It’s a hell of a lot of fun to watch him suffer. Look at him cry like a baby. Look at him!”

“…”

“…”

“Heh.”

“Hehehe.”

[both] “HAHAHAHAHahahahahahahaHAHAHAHahaha!”

“Whew.”

“Oh, yeah. That was good. I’m crying here.”

“That was awesome! I’m glad I saw that. Funny as hell. Priceless.”

“Damn right, that was priceless. I laugh like that almost every night. He’s one stupid, pathetic Geek and I just love to watch him make an ass of himself.”

“You’re a cruel gargoyle, man. But I like that about you.”

“Yeah, I know. Now shut up, I think he’s going to try to touch her boobies…”

[slap]

HAHAHAHAHahahahahaHAHAHAHAHA!

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

Please Forgive Me

I apologize in advance for any emotional damage the following announcement will cause my readership.

After months of derisive insults and weeks of threats to my physical health and emotional well being, I finally caved in and granted his request. I’m ashamed to reveal this unnatural travesty to the world at large, but if I don’t he’s going to hound me until I die of a bleeding, cancerous ulcer. In light of that fact I have no choice, so here goes nothing. Ladies and gentlemen of the Internet, lock your doors and hide the butter because evil incarnate is coming to dinner.

Bread is on the web. May god have mercy on us all.

Come On Down To Crazy Geeky’s

Are you pining away for attention of the mocking kind from the other kids in your class?

Do you feel left out when the lowly nerds get beat up by the neighborhood bully at school and you don’t?

Late at night, when no one’s around, do you lie awake wishing that there was some way for you to be even more of an outcast from society than you are now?

My eyes!  My eyes!  They're on fire!  Oh the agony!Well, fear not my fellow Geeks because The Mighty Shop is here to help! You say you wish you had a burn-your-retina-to-a-crisp, bright, neon yellow bag to help you get the gasps of sympathy/disgust/fear you’ve been pining away for? Not only do we have one available, but it even sports the hideous visage of the king-lord of Geeks himself, GeekMan! We guarantee that should this bag fail to garner the ridicule, derision and insults that you think you deserve for carrying it around, just write us and we’ll insult you ourselves!

But wait, there’s more!

In order to entice you to purchase our cheap and crappy products, we’ve lowered prices on some select items. Need a wife-beater t-shirt? We’ve got them on sale! Wish you had a hat just like Gilligan? Now you can wear one that’s even uglier! Is your physique less than ideal for sports, yet you still want to be part of the team? Join Team Geek by wearing one of our stylish, will-the-football-team-please-kick-my-butt jersey’s! Even our hideous I-don’t-know-how-to-play-poker visors are on sale!

With prices like these, we’re practically giving it all away!

We’ve got backpacks, briefcases, cups, mugs, coasters, mouse pads and even Frisbees! And if you act now, shipping is only $5! And if you’re rich (please lord, let them be rich) and you purchase over $50 worth of our crap, then shipping is free! That’s right, free shipping! So bring your penny-pinching, cheap and miserly butt down to our store now and buy ten of everything!

The Mighty Shop. We’re INSAAAAAANE!!!

It’s A Raid!

It was the size of my big toe.

I’ve lived in my apartment for the last 5 years without a single sighting. Not once has my neat and clean home been soiled by their ugly, dirty, creepy-crawly presence. I am fanatical in my cleanliness and spare no expense in making my whole apartment proof against their intrusion.

And yet, there it was.

It was sitting there, in plain view, waiting patiently to be noticed. It was not trying to hide, it did not run away when I approached and it certainly didn’t appear to be frightened. In fact, if I were to believe my eyes, it was leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette and reading a teeny-tiny magazine.

PlayBug Magazine, to be exact.

Normally, when one walks into a dark room and turns on a very bright light, all the little nasties will run for the dark corners of the room like a wild herd of llamas for a watering hole in the desert. But not this bugger. It simply lowered the magazine, took a puff of its cigarette and gave me the finger.

I was shocked. Shocked!

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be scared?”

“Screw you.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘screw you’, Jackoff. You got a hearing problem?”

“I don’t believe this. A talking bug.”

“Believe it, human. Now shut your trap and listen up, cause I only want to say this once. I’m hungry. I’ve been running around this freaking apartment for the last 4 hours and haven’t found a damn thing to eat. I figure there’s got to be food around here somewhere and it’s up to you to give it to me. Or else.”

The last was said in the classic gangster movie, veiled threat voice.

“Or else, what?”

“Or else me and the boys are going to be paying you a visit. At night. Every night. In your bed.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Try not to think of it as a threat. Think of it more as, ‘gentile persuasion’.”

“Persuasion? Hey, you sound like the Bugmob!”

“Bugmob? Bugmob? I never said that, did I? Did you hear me mention a fictional organization of bugs with the power and ability to get what they want through the use of force, fear and coercion? Did you?”

“Uhhh…”

“Hey! Look at me. I axed you a question. Did you hear me say ‘Bugmob’?”

“Uhhhh, no. No, sir. You didn’t say Bugmob.”

“Damn right, I didn’t. And you better not mention it in my presence again, got me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, where’s that food you said you’d get for me?”

Thinking quickly, I looked around the room as carefully and inconspicuously as I could and realized that there weren’t any other bugs in evidence. This bastard was going it alone. I never had bugs before and I was moving into a new apartment in less than a month. No one would ever know. And by the time the other bugs figured out what happened, I’d be safe in a new apartment on the other side of the city. They’d never find me.

“Uh, you want food?”

“That’s right, Jackoff. Food, and make it quick.”

“You’re in luck, sir. It just so happens that I’ve got some food right here.”

“Where?”

“Right here, under my foot.”

“Really? Well? What are you waiting for, Jackoff? Let me have it!”

“Sure.”

Later on, as I wiped up his little buggy-guts from the floor, I replayed the sound he made as I stomped him to death over and over in my mind. For some reason, I truly love the sound those nasty bugs make as you squish their body between two hard and unyielding surfaces. It’s like… well, have you ever popped Bubble-wrap? If you have, then that’s exactly what it sounded like when I crushed that little bastard with my size 10’s and ground his horrid little body into the floorboards.

Damn, I just love Bubble-wrap. Don’t you?

PhotoBloggery 03
Fantastick Spastic Split

Bowling for LosersTime for another round of personal torture therapy.

Before I begin, I would like to offer up a warning to those of you who have not plucked out your own eyeballs and smashed them underfoot upon catching a glimpse of the picture I have chosen for today. What you see to the left of these words may shred any and all faith you have in the intellectual superiority of humans over the less evolved creatures of the world. By allowing you to view this picture, I may very well become known as the man who destroyed civilization as it is and set humanity’s evolutionary clock back by a thousand years or more.

Remember, you were warned.

For those of you who have made it this far, allow me to explain that what you are seeing in this picture is not my prepubescent attempt to become the worlds first disco-ballerina. Nor is it my frantic attempt to stop myself from wetting my pants in public. What is happening here is much, much worse than anything you might be able to imagine on your own.

You see, I am attempting to bowl.

Notice my teeny, tiny, extra tight, powder blue shorts. See how they hug my nonexistent buttocks in an attempt to cut off circulation to my legs and thus force me to fall, convulsing, onto the local Bowl-O-Rama’s floor? Look carefully and become amazed at my complete lack of male genitalia.

And we won’t even get started on the haircut.

Am I not the epitome of style, with my Adidas wrist band and tri-band socks pulled up nearly to my knees? Do you not swoon in adoration at my stoic and manly pose of bowling professionalism? My jutting lower jaw, flopping, useless arms and blindingly white, sticklike legs ensured that only the most attractive of the “Super-Fly Bowl-O-Rama Hotties” hanging around would dare to approach me. And, if I remember correctly, not one of them was brave enough to even make the attempt.

I was that sexy. Believe it.

One last thing to note, this picture was actually taken at my birthday party as I attempted to make the most difficult spare in the sport of bowling. That’s right, the dreaded seven-ten split. This would help explain my use of the never before caught on film, patented “I’m a Little Teapot”, ball-control-through-body-English, bowling ball toss. It also helps explain why all my friends called me “The Gay Bowler” for a few months after the party.

Bastards.

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

And You Are…?

It’s all my mothers fault.

I have an unfortunate affliction that causes me to fail miserably every time I attempt to be ‘cool’ and interesting at a social gathering. This horrible disease has no cure and I’m afraid that one day I’ll be as bad as my mentally addled mother.

You see, I can’t remember names.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t mean just the names of strangers I meet at a party and will never see again. No. I’m talking about the names of my extended family who I see at the GeekMan Family Gatherings once or twice a year. A typical conversation at one of those might sound like the following;

“GeekMan! It’s been too long. Why don’t you ever call me anymore?”

“Uh, hello?”

“GeekMan. Don’t you recognize me?”

“I’m sorry. The face is familiar but…?”

“I’m your mother, dammit! Your poor, ever-suffering mother!”

This is usually followed by a stinging slap and my banishment to the children’s table for the rest of dinner.

I can honestly blame this mental deficiency on my mother, who never, ever remembers my name. Whenever she’s introducing me to her friends it always goes something like this;

“Friend, this is my son, Fishman. Fishman, this is Friend.”

“Uh, mom. I’m not Fishman, I’m the older one.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Friend. This is Husband. No wait, Dog1. Dog2. GeekMan! Yes, that’s it. Friend, this is GeekMan.”

“I’m your son, dammit! Your poor, ever-suffering son!”

This is usually followed by a stinging slap and my banishment to the children’s table for the rest of dinner.

So, should you ever have the misfortune of meeting me and wonder why I don’t ever refer to you by your name, now you know. And, unless we meet in a very small group, it’s highly unlikely that I’ll remember who you are the next time we meet.

What? Oh, because I’m a fricken moron, that’s why.

Coming Soon…

The following is a message for the readers of themightygeek.com from SoD Don “Hogarth” Rumsfeld.

My fellow visitors. I have been asked by the GeekMan to hold this press conference to inform you of a grave matter of international security. It has come to our attention that an individual, known only under the alias of ‘Bread’, has managed to escape from his place of incarceration at Casa de Geek and is now at large amongst the general populace of the Internet. Due to his mean and petty disposition, he should be considered armed with a razor-sharp tongue and very dangerous.

Do not be alarmed.

It is our understanding that Bread is not the smartest of individuals and so will almost certainly attempt to create his own website. We don’t know how, we don’t know when and we don’t know where, but we must be ever vigilant in our… uh, vigilance. Damn, I’ve got to remember to fire my speechwriter.

Where was I? Oh yes, ‘ever vigilant’, right.

We must remain ever vigilant because if Bread does create his ‘bread-site’ then life, liberty, freedom and the very stability of the world as we know it could come crashing down around us. He is a vile and evil little monster and must be stopped by whatever means necessary. Even if that means covering him in honey and feeding him to specially trained attack pigeons.

Consider this a Code Lavender warning.

Due to his immense ego and annoying habit of inserting himself into any gathering or conversation, it is our expert opinion that he cannot last more than one week without being able to insult someone. Although it might take Bread longer to actually create his site, our experts seem to believe that he will make his move soon, for fear of missing an opportunity to cause GeekMan great emotional damage. And whenever he does make his move, that’s when we’ll pounce on him like rabid camel spiders.

And believe me, those suckers are damn quick.

I want to take a moment to assure the general public that we expect to have this villain in custody almost as quickly as we captured Mr. Bin Laden, so there is no need for panic. Stay indoors, visit this site on a regular basis for updates and whatever you do, should someone about the size and shape of a slice of white bread knock on your door and beg for Internet access, do not let them inside.

Even if they swear that they’re only a land shark.

The behind-the-scenes, super-top-secret, worldwide conglomerate of egomaniacal overlords thanks you for your time. Now, go about your daily lives as if you didn’t really believe we existed and perhaps we won’t audit you this year. And yes, I’m talking to you.

That is all.