The Cold That Wouldn’t Die

Ah-Freakin-Choo.

I just can’t seem to shake this stupid cold. Yesterday, HoBiscuit my girlfriend and I went for a walk around the city for no reason other than it was a beautiful day. Within a few blocks I was sweating as if I had been running a marathon through the Amazon jungle wearing a fur-lined, full body rubber suit. Naturally, being a card-carrying, certified macho man (without the Village People mustache, thank you), I ignored my quickly deteriorating condition until HoBiscuit my girlfriend tried to hug me and became repulsed by the sweat she squeezed from my clothing like dirty dishwater from a sponge. Of course, I told her I was fine and only needed a drink of water to recharge my batteries and even though I was obviously lying, she took what I said at face value because there was a great shoe sale going on a few blocks away.

Not really, but it does sound plausible, doesn’t it?

Actually, we headed back home where I proceeded to collapse into a pathetic, jiggling mass of wimp flavored jelly. HoBiscuit my girlfriend helped pour me into bed and the rest of the night is a blur of fevered nightmares and really, really bad Steven Seagal movies.

Yeah, that’s right, Steven Seagal movies.

Y’see, instead of being a smart Geek and going right to sleep, I somehow managed to stay awake and watch The Glimmer Man on TNT’s Movies for Guys Who Like Movies crapfest. In my defense I want it to be known that in my delirious state I must have been trying to frighten the cold away by subjecting it to the worst movie I could find on such short notice. By definition, any Seagal movie is bad, but The Glimmer Man goes above and beyond the call of duty by being so bad that the roaches in HoBiscuits my girlfriends apartment came out of hiding and demanded to be sprayed with Raid to end their suffering. I actually sat there, like some fungal growth that lacked the brainpower to use its newly formed, Darwinian granted appendages, and watched that entire putrid excuse for a movie while the remote control sat on the couch right next to me. Every five minutes HoBiscuit my girlfriend would ask me if I wanted to watch something else or go to sleep and I don’t think I ever answered her coherently.

I must have been in some cold-induced brain fog because for the life of me I swear I don’t know why I didn’t change the channel or at least use the remote to slit my wrists and end the agony.

Although I am still sick fear not dear reader, because the Mighty Geek is feeling better today and has decided to take it easy for the next few days. My goal this week is to surgically fuse my skinny, hairy ass to the Comfy-Couch of Super-Sleep and eat my body weight in Cup-O-Ramen soup. I figure that if I don’t recover by Friday then I might actually need to see a doctor. And as any guy knows, seeing a doctor is tantamount to admitting that you might not be an indestructible, costumed superhero in disguise. We all know that every man in the world believes deep down in his secret, hidden soul that he is either a rock star or a superhero. I know I can’t sing, as the many restraining orders against me from karaoke bars attest, so it stands to reason that I must be a superhero who has some sort of amnesia.

No doubt my pathetic life is nothing less than a plot to destroy me masterminded by my archenemy, whose name escapes me right now but who will make his evil plans known to me at some future date. Oh, the humanity.

Well, I’m off to the CCoSS to watch The Great Muppet Caper now. And to help keep everyone happy while I’m laughing so hard my snot hits my tv, here’s the first and only picture of me I’ve ever posted. Enjoy.