GeekMan’s High School Prom Night From Hell

Part I – The Limo of Doom

“Let me get one more picture, GeekMan. You look so handsome I could cry!”

Moooom!

I rolled my eyes while my mother made cooing noises and lined up the Polaroid like a shotgun at my acne covered face. We were standing outside our Brooklyn apartment building waiting for my rented limo to arrive and whisk me away to my High School Prom. I was dressed to the nines in a rather threadbare, black, rented tuxedo that smelled of mothballs and cheap detergent, and my $30 second-hand shoes had been shined to mirror brightness by a combination of a black magic marker, an old washcloth and generous amounts of spit. My brand new contact lenses were causing me to blink furiously and my eyes were watering at an almost biblical rate as I stared intently down the street and willed the limo to appear like magic and save me from yet another silly photograph. Catching a glimpse of myself on the window of a parked car, I cocked my head to the side and smirked at my reflection in my best Michael Knight impersonation.

Damn,” I thought as I straightened my bowtie. “Eat your heart out James Bond!”

I patted my Dipity-Doo and Aqua-Net styled hair back into its limp and very un-cool pompadour and tried to smile for the camera. As soon as the little black box had vomited forth yet another iron-clad example of why I should never be allowed to breed, I again asked my mother for the time.

“Mom, where do you think the limousine is?”

“Don’t worry Geek, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s a professional.”

“I know mom, but maybe we should call…”

“Stop fretting and let me take another picture of my darling boy.”

Mooooom!

The limousine was already almost an hour late. Being the one responsible for the limo, my friends had decided that I was to be the first person picked up. Of course, that made it my responsibility to make sure everyone was picked up on time so we could head off to our fancy dinner and the Prom. Even though not one of my friends had a real date for the evening, we were all prepared to enjoy ourselves to the max.

We were going to have fun Porky’s style.

Although I was all of seventeen, I was a real city boy so I didn’t own a car and hence had no idea how to actually drive to any of my friends’ houses. Because of this, I was hopeless at giving directions unless it was by foot or train. All I did know was my friends’ addresses (written down on a piece of paper for the limo driver) and their general locations on a map. I was positive that that was all I’d need to give the driver for him to find my friends.

It worked for taxis, so why not limo’s?

My friends lived all over the five boroughs so it had been calculated that we’d need about three hours to pick up everyone and make it to the restaurant in time for dinner. One of my friends lived close to me in Brooklyn, three lived in the wilds of Queens, one lived in the unknown and dangerous seeming Bronx and one would meet us outside the restaurant in Midtown Manhattan.

BTW, Staten Island doesn’t really count as a borough because… well, it’s Staten Island.

We had reservations for dinner at a fancy restaurant called Top of the Sixes at eight o’clock and it was already six. I was beginning to get worried, especially since I had gotten this limo based on a ‘friend of the family’ type connection and my friends were counting on me to pick them up and get them to the Prom on time. We had all decided to go to this shindig only two weeks before and finding a limo was very hard to do at the last minute during Prom season.

I didn’t want to let my friends down.

Just as I was about ready to explode into a fiery ball of anxiety, the limo turned the corner and I felt myself relax. I think I might have visibly shuddered as the pent up frustration in my body was expelled in one massive sigh of relief. My muscles relaxed to the point that I needed to hold on to something just to keep from falling down.

It was like a full body orgasm without the mess.

As the long, black limo pulled up to my apartment building, I smiled and waved farewell to my mother and walked out to the street. The limo driver was a young man, barely in his twenties and he immediately popped out from the drivers seat and opened the passenger door for me. As I got in he gave me the first warning of the horror that my night would turn out to be.

“Sorry I’m late, but I got lost.”

Unfortunately, my danger-sense was as yet undeveloped and I failed to comprehend this early warning of impending doom. I shrugged and let it slide figuring that anyone could get lost, even a New York limo driver. He shut the door smartly and hopped back into the front seat. With one final look at my mother standing in the doorway we were off.

Cue horror music.

As I sat there in the limo I became enamored with its sleek and sexy interior. It had big, wide leather seats that could easily accommodate all seven of us, little lights for reading, neon lights running around all the windows and a deep, black carpet. It also had a separate tape deck for the passengers, a mini bar and, oh my god, an actual car phone!

I felt like a rock star.

As we stopped at the light at the end of my block, the divider glass that separated the driver from the passenger lowered itself. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen. Alas, it would turn out to be the best thing about the entire evening.

“Where to, sir?”

Wow. He called me ‘Sir’.

“I have a list of addresses for my friends here. They’re listed in the order that they need to be picked up and we need to hurry because we have a dinner engagement at Top of the Sixes at eight.”

I handed him the list and sat back in the seat nearly bursting with pride because I’d managed to use the word ‘engagement’ in a real sentence. I amused myself for a while by daydreaming about using other grownup and important sounding words in sentences later on in life. Words like ‘loquacious’, ‘fastidious’ and ‘avocado’. Five minutes later we were on the Belt Parkway headed for NYC.

A small man with a large trumpet began playing ‘Revelry’ somewhere in the vicinity of my left temple. I hastily leaned forward and knocked on the privacy partition.

“Excuse me, driver?”

“Yes sir?”

“Shouldn’t we be picking up my friends?”

“Sir?”

“My friends. The people I’m going to the Prom with?

“I’m taking you to meet them at the restaurant now, Sir.”

The little man played louder.

“No. Nononono. You don’t understand. We need to pick up my friends first, ok?”

“Your friends, Sir?”

“You know, my friends? I gave you a list of their addresses a little while ago? We’re supposed to be picking them up so we can all go to dinner and then to our Prom?”

Oooohhhh! I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize you wanted to pick them up first. Although, to tell you the truth, I thought it was a little strange for you to be going to dinner all alone in a limo.”

The little man on the trumpet was joined by a choir singing ‘You’re Screwed’.

“OK. Well, we need to pick up my friends, starting with the one on the top. She lives only a few minutes from my house so all we need to do is go back to that area and get her and then we’re back on schedule, right?”

“Sure sir.”

“Great.”

The choir and trumpeter paused for dramatic effect as the marching band filed onstage and waited for their cue.

“Uh, Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know how to get there from here? I seem to be lost.”

The marching band burst into an ancient Scottish polka on their out-of-tune bagpipes. They were accompanied by the sounds of the veins in my forehead bursting like cannon-fire as I suddenly developed a twitch in my left eye.

“You’re lost?”

“I’m afraid so, Sir.”

“You don’t know where you are?”

“No Sir.”

“You. Are. Lost.”

“Yes Sir.”

“OK. Fine. No problem. I can handle this. I’m cool, I’m calm and I’m collected. There’s no need to panic. My friends won’t kill me, right? They’ll understand it wasn’t my fault, right? Right?”

“Sir?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Alright. I’ve got it. This limo has a car phone, right?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Great. Then I suggest you call your office and get directions.”

“Excellent idea, Sir.”

He looked directly at me from the front seat and slowly, ever so slowly, blinked. Neither of us moved to pick up the phone.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Would you happen to have the number to my office on you? I forgot to bring it with me.”

Oh. My. God.

*** Next time, the Prom Dinner Fiasco ***

Tooth Update

“You’re late.”

“I’m just great Doc, thank’s for asking. And how are you this fine afternoon?”

I thought I’d try starting off on a pleasant note considering our last encounter. By the look on Dr. D. Kay’s face, I shouldn’t have bothered.

“Sit down Mr. GeekMan, your humor is wasted here.”

I complied, noticing that the foul beast that was my doctor made absolutely sure to stay clear of my hands until he had secured me to the chair. As the restraints clicked into place I realized he had changed from leather straps to cool, unyielding metal handcuffs. Damn, there goes my ‘No-Pain’ insurance.

“As you can see Mr. GeekMan, I’m not going to fall for your little trick twice. This time we’re on my terms.”

He laughed then. Not the gentle chuckle of a kindly uncle, or even the loud happy screeches of a child, but the dry, humorless laugh of a man who has read about laughing in a book but has never done it himself. It sounded like a feral cat trying to cough up a hairball of pine cones and barbed wire.

It sounded painful.

A few moments later the giant needle of my nightmares was headed towards my mouth. I felt so vulnerable lying there, my mouth open and drooling slightly like a slack-jawed yokel. I think I whimpered like a frightened puppy when he leaned down to insert the needle into the soft tissue of my mouth.

The needle was about six feet long.

A quick pain was followed by a feeling of fluids rushing into my jaw, and then nothing. That’s right, nothing. My mouth was suddenly missing from my head. I know this because when I tried to ask the doctor what had happened my tongue just flopped around on my chest like a dying fish.

In alarm, I tried to draw “Help Me!” on the floor with my drool.

Dr. D. Kay didn’t waste a moment trying to decipher my desperate attempts at communication. He grabbed what looked like a pair of dirty, rusty pliers from a toolbox in the corner and wiped them on his pants, leaving ugly, copper colored streaks on his Khaki Dockers. Using his knee to hold down my lower jaw and an elbow on my forehead, he propped open my mouth and proceeded to lever the offending tooth from my skull. He used the patented back and forth motion guaranteed to cause as much discomfort in the patient as possible while uttering such soothing words as, “This might hurt a little.”

He was right. It certainly did hurt. A lot.

The Dr. and my tooth struggled for what seemed like hours. It was amazing, but my body seemed to suddenly and unanimously decide that this rotten, decrepit tooth was so vitally important to my continued survival that it simply could not and would not be removed at this time. It was as if my brain had sent orders to the rest of my body and my spine had reached out and grabbed the root of this tooth in the hopes of keeping it within the confines of my mouth. My tooth held on for as long as it could, but in the end it lost the war and came out of its safe, warm and moist cave to see the world it was never meant to see.

Upon seeing my face it promptly screamed in terror and turned to dust.

Here’s a picture of the horrid little thing I used to call my wisdom tooth. Look upon it at your own risk as it has the power to cause gingivitis with a glance. I’m in pain right now, but not as much as I thought and it seems like I’ll be fine in a day or so. Unfortunately, I’ve got to go back in two weeks to have the other tooth removed, but for now I can look forward to a dinner of soup and lukewarm water.

Lucky friggin me.

You can't handle the Tooth!  It's rotten baby, yeah!

Painful Procrastination

It’s going to be one of those days.

I’m getting ready to go to my sadistic dentist’s office so Dr. D. Kay can rip out two of my wisdom teeth. I’m sure it’ll be fun (for him) and extremely painful for me, but maybe I can keep the teeth and turn them into miniature dice or something.

Come on seven! Papa needs some new dentures!

I don’t expect to be able to eat for the next couple of days and I’ve been practicing my moans of pain and despair, so if you happen to be walking by my apartment this week be sure to clap to show your appreciation of my pain.

Monetary donations are also welcome.

The wedding I went to this weekend was both beautiful and sweet. It was so nice in fact, that even I was smiling at the end of the ceremony. Now, it may have been an evil smile of impending doom, but it was a smile nonetheless.

That poor boy doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.

The reception was a lot of fun and even though I was roped into being the emcee by the bride and groom, I managed to pay them back by making them play some of those humiliating wedding games we all know and love. Games like “Guess Your Bride”, “Which Butt Is The Grooms’?” and “Eat The Cherries”. We all had a good laugh poking fun at the newlyweds.

I barely noticed the threats they made to my life.

Starting tomorrow I’ll be posting my horrible High School Prom story and by Saturday the pictures and commentary of my Scotland trip should be ready. I hope something I do will be funny soon. It’s pretty depressing having a life and being so busy that I can’t even stop and tell the world about it. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with the Master of Pain.

Pray for me.

Happy Blogiversary

Today is my Blogiversary. To celebrate, I am going to forgo torturing all of you with another song parody I was working on and simply say that it’s been fun so far and I hope to continue for a long time to come. I’d say something funny now, but I’m too sick to make the effort.

Is it just me, or do tissue companies use the same paper stock as sandpaper?

Well, here’s a little bit of a Dr. Seuss inspired poem I was working on for my Blogiversary. It’s not very good, but at least I can always say I’m sick. What’s your excuse for actually reading it?

On behalf of the site you see

Written by me, The Mighty Geek

It’s time to throw a big party

Cause it’s my Blogiversary!

I’ve entertained you all for free

Posting merely thrice a week

Reached my goal and now it be

My one year Blogiversary!

Pinger, dog, song parody,

Alter ego, bike story,

I even write ‘bout family

Bless this Blogiversary!

I am so sick, I cough and sneeze

Can barely write, forget funny

This song just was not meant to be

Stupid Blogiversary!

Anywaste, I hope everyone has enjoyed reading my stupid crap funny stories during this last year. I certainly enjoy writing them. I’ll be back next week on a more regular schedule of funny posts and silly stories. Right now, I’ve got to go back to bed and pray to some deity of the netherworld to give me back my health in return for my soul.

And won’t they be surprised when they discover that by ‘soul’ I meant my shoe?

Hahahaha

*cough*

Haha

*weeze*

Hahaha

*hackcoughhackhack*

Haha

*GeekMan shaped explosion of phlegm*

The Return Of The Geek

I’m baaaaaack.

I’m also sick, tired and surrounded by dirty laundry and overdue bills. Lucky me. Trust me when I say that the life of the jet-setter is not everything those cheap novels would have you believe. However, if I wasn’t so busy wiping greenish-yellow mucus from my nose & eyes, sneezing my brains out and coughing up whatever was left of my spleen, I would tell you what a fabulous time I had during the last month.

Even though my body continues to find new and exciting ways to thoroughly disgust me.

I doubt anybody actually even noticed my absence, but in case any of you woke up in the wee hours of a cold morning in a pool of your own sweat and urine screaming, “Where’s GeekMan?!?” to the ghosts in your closet, let me say that you’re concern is touching.

Pathetic, but touching nevertheless.

During this last month, I got to stay in a two bedroom condo in Florida while being paid to go fishing, visit Scotland and tour the entire country with my lovely girlfriend, and finally got paid to sail on the Queen Elizabeth 2 out of NYC for 6 days.

I know, I know. But what can I say? I’m a martyr for my work.

It will take me a few days to recover from my cold, which means I’ll be healthy just in time to go to another wedding this weekend. I don’t really expect to post on a regular schedule until next Monday at the earliest. Next week I plan on having a story about my Scotland trip up on the site, complete with lots of pictures and some silly commentary. Since I took over 1,000 pictures in Scotland, it will take me a couple of days to sort them properly and size them for the web.

Have I told you how much I love my camera? No? Well then, there it is.

Anywaste, even though I had a wonderful time this last month, I’m glad to be back home. I plan on returning to writing here on a regular schedule again by next week, right after I attend another wedding and right before I have another meeting with my dentist, Dr. D. Kay.

Now, does anyone know if a lung is yellowish-tan with flecks of blood? Because I think I just coughed it up onto my desk. Ew.

A Quick Note

I’ve only got a couple of hours before my plane leaves for Scotland, but instead of eating or going to the bathroom I decided to upload a few pictures I took of my hotel room in Florida. I want it noted here and now that I am forgoing my own bodily functions and dietary needs in order to show faceless and nameless people I’ve never met some silly photographs of no educational or intellectual value.

Never let it be said that the Mighty Geek doesn’t live to serve his readership.

You can find these pictures of stupendous valueless-ness in the photographic section of my Media area. Or by simply clicking here. As my stomach has just used my own lower intestines to garrote me in a desperate attempt to get my attention, I will now say farewell and attempt to appease the Demon of Starvation by eating my own back teeth and knuckle hair.

Then, I shall find myself some cottony-soft tissue and a very strong toilet.

On The Road Again

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri… Click.

Hello.

You have reached the website of GeekMan, The Mighty Geek at www.themightygeek.com. He’s away from his site right now and unable to keep you entertained, but if you’ll leave your name, URL and a brief comment after this post, he’ll get back to you as soon as he can.

Thank you, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Beep!

The Movie In My Mind

Fade in:

Scene: The GeekMan’s front door. The scene begins when some people arrive at the door and begin knocking. There doesn’t seem to be a response.

[knock, knock-knock]

“Mr. GeekMan? Mr. GeekMan, it’s Uncle Sam. Are you at home?”

[old woman voice from inside]

“Geldman? There’s no Geldman here, sonny. Now go away, unless you’re here to give me my eight o’clock Ben-Gay rubdown and bunion massage.”

[/old woman voice]

“Mr. GeekMan, is that you?”

[little boy voice from inside]

“My grandma’s very sick, mister man. You better go and get tested for E. coli right away before you get sick and die. Like my grandpa did, cause he was stupid like you.”

[/little boy voice]

[more knocking]

“That’s not funny, Mr. GeekMan. We know you’re in there. Stop playing around and open this door so we can talk like civilized people.”

“Who says I’m civilized? Maybe I’m a crazed, rabid llama wearing a full-body human-suit made out of fried jellyfish. Maybe I’m in here plotting to take over the world by inventing rubber hair replacements for middle-aged men in Shri Lanka. You better run. I’m not civilized. I might eat your spleen!”

“Mr. GeekMan…”

“For that matter, who says you’re civilized? From what I can see through this peephole you look more like forked-tongued, shark-toothed mafia collection bruisers to me…”

“Mr. GeekMan, please. You know very well who I am and why I’m here, so stop stalling and open up. We have a lot to discuss and I’ve got a lot of other people to fleece… errr, I mean ‘tax’ today and I’d appreciate it if you would stop these shenanigans and let me do my job before I call my superiors and order you to be audited.”

“All right, all right. Bureaucratic paper-pusher. No sense of humor…”

[sounds of many locks, chains and bolts being undone]

“That’s better Mr. GeekMan. Can we come in?”

“Before I let you in, would you mind telling me who your friends are?”

“Oh, sure. This is Mr. Hugh Ohmemore, Mr. Sid Deetax and Miss Stakesullcostya. The two big guys in the back are with the ‘We Break 4U’ moving company and I believe you already know Mr. Quarterly.”

“Moving company?”

“I’ll explain once you let us in. You are going to let us in, aren’t you?”

“What if I say ‘no’?”

“You know that nice homeless man who talks to himself and hangs out in front of the train station every morning with no teeth and a paper cup? The one who smells like year-old urine and stale beer?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be his love-bitch.”

“Uncle Sam! Old buddy, old pal! Don’t just stand out there like a stranger; come on in! Can I get you a Fresca?”

“No thank you, Mr. GeekMan. We’re just here to collect what you owe us so if you’ll just stand aside, we’ll take what’s ours and be on our merry way.”

“What? Wait a minute; I just dropped off my tax stuff this morning and I know I sent checks in those envelopes. Big, fat, bank account hemorrhaging, ‘I’m going to need to sell blood and body parts to cover this’ –type checks. How could you be here already?”

“I can’t divulge all our secrets to you Mr. GeekMan. Let’s just say we’ve had our eye on you for some time and leave it at that, ok?”

“…”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s just that when I clear my throat it sometimes sounds like ‘son of a bitch’. Ignore it.”

“Hmmm… That was ‘humor’. I recognize that.”

“Alrighty, then. Why are you here Uncle Sam?”

“To collect what’s due. According to our records, you made a small sum of money last year and, since you’re a Freelance Graphic Designer, we get roughly 99.9% of your yearly gross. After looking into your bank accounts we knew you wouldn’t be able to pay us so rather then let you pawn your fabulous geeky toys in order to raise cash, we’ve decided to simply come to you and help ourselves to your most prized possessions in lieu of payment. This saves you the hassle and embarrassment of a full-fledged audit and helps get the money your government needs to run properly into its coffers faster. Wasn’t that thoughtful of us?”

“Oh crap. Uh, why are those two moving guys looking at my home theater speakers?”

“Correction. ‘MY’ speakers, Mr. GeekMan.”

“Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I can’t owe that much, can I?”

“Oh my, Mr. GeekMan. This is only the beginning! Your front and center speakers belong to me now, the rear speakers and subwoofer are going to the State, and Sid here gets your DVD player and TV.”

[GeekMan is in complete shock]

“I think it was very generous of us to leave Miss Ex-Boxx in your care. Don’t you agree?”

“Wait a minute! I can pay you! Don’t take my baby away! How much do I owe?”

“You can see for yourself right here on this document…”

[paper shuffles]

“Holy horse jockey with hemorrhoids! I can’t pay this much. Dammit man, Bill Gates couldn’t even pay this!”

“I thought as much. Ok boys, grab our new stuff.”

“Oh. My. God. Not my home theater. Please, anything but that…”

“Sorry Mr. GeekMan, rules are rules.”

“You bastard. Do you expect me to pay?”

“No, Mr. GeekMan. I expect you to cry.”

Scene ends: GeekMan is crying on the floor of a now desolate and empty apartment.

Fade to Black

I really, really, really hate tax season.

Dear Mr. Dvorak

I can’t Blog a lie

I’m not that naive

I’m just out to write

The Geeky part of me

I’m more than a blurb

I’m more than a link

I’m more than some pretty face upon the screen

It’s not easy to be Geek

Wish that I could type

All my memories

Find a way to write

About a world you’ll never see

It may sound absurd

But don’t you believe

Even Bloggers have the right to speak?

They may be unheard

Or site of the week

Even Bloggers have the right to dream

It’s not easy to be Geek

Up ahead a man he comes for me

But it’s alright

You can all surf safe tonight

I’m not leaving

Or anything

I can’t Blog a lie

I’m not that naive

Men, women should write

With words that fit their needs

I’m only a man

A silly web Geek

Digging for dynamite in my memories

Only a man

A funny web Geek

Looking to expose things inside of me

Inside of me

Inside of me

Inside of me

Inside of me

I’m only a man

A funny web Geek

I’m only a man

With my freedom of speech

I’m only a man

A funny web Geek

It’s not easy

It’s not easy to be Geek

This is a parody of Five for Fighting’s song Superman (It’s Not Easy). Don’t know the song? Listen to it here.