Freaks, Geeks & A Sexo

One of the best weekends away I had with a bunch of strange men – the others were a disaster that I’d rather not speak about – was Coopsies stag do. The theme for which was ‘Freaks, Geeks and a Sexo’.

Coops, being the groom (and a sexo) was of course, the sexo. The rest of us were, well, self explanatory really but we made quite the sight, especially as we got changed at the top of the Rimutaka Hill and stayed in costume the whole weekend. Coops was the star of course, resplendent in his leather vest, chaps, bikers cap and studded dog collar.

Some of us stayed in costume that was. I saw more male genitalia that weekend than I have the entire time my arse has faced South but that’s what you get really when you mix men in raincoats (and only raincoats) with alcohol.

Mind you, when a couple of them decided to try teeing off with a golf cub in the hands of one and the tee held between the buttocks of another, even before the drinking really starts, you know you’re in for a special, special weekend.

I was reminded of freaks and geeks when I finally got round to watching ‘The Social Network’ the other day. I know it came out some time ago but that’s just how I am with movies, I treat them like I do the hot girl across the street who so wants you to check her because she knows how hot she is. I don’t play that game. I am immune to their power and I never look. Not while they’re looking anyway.

Likewise I very seldom go and see movies when they come out despite their hotness. Besides it works the same anyway; once you’re one of the first to see it you try and tell everyone about it only you can’t, because they haven’t seen it and by the time they do, you’ve forgotten all the little details anyway. Just like the hot girl across the street.

The Social Network is a film about that social network, Facebook and how it came to be. It’s full of geeks because it’s the story of one major poindexter making a website that apparently is quite popular. Only the geeks in this make believe version look way better than they do here in the real world. How does that work? Two of the principal characters are The Winkelvoss twins, who in the film, are ironically played by just the one good looking guy. Very convincingly too, I might add.

Now grown twins, especially men, freak me the fuck out. I don’t know what it is but to me there’s something spectacularly scary about two guys being the exact copy of each other and these two aren't just doppelgangers; they're ex Olympian rowers too, so they’re huge carbon copies of each other.

I have the same fear about what it would be like if you met your body double face to face. Six degrees of whatever aside, these things aren't suppose to happen because it's just too damn freaky. I did meet mine once and it was grotesque; he was into the Venga Boys...

Twins are supposed to be cute and depending what kind of websites or magazines you like to read the articles in / on, sexy. I never did understand the whole twins fantasy though because at the end of the day they’re sisters; they’re not going to want to be with each other in that way any more than you want to be with your Mum, in that way.

At least I don’t think so. If I knew some sexy twins I would even be willing to take that particular experiment to test the theory. Oh sure, it would be pleasant, but I wouldn’t enjoy it.

So long as it was the Winkelvoss boys, they're some freaky geeks them two *shiver*.

That's a huge bitch...and your brother too.

The Birth Of Geek

I came across this picture today. Not literally although it's true to say I’ve rubbed one out to worse. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.



No it’s interesting because of what this group are doing.



They could be, I suppose, submitting a casting application for some freaks & geeks fantasy film, or perusing a David Bain knit sale online. They could even be creating a ‘group’ NZ Dating profile.



They’re not though. The date in the picture probably gives it away, if you’re a poindexter that is and let’s face it, these winners are. It’s the birth of the internet and it’s being shown at some show for the desperate and dateless where they get excited about things like binary code.



What this picture really reminds me of is those countless hours you spent at some wealthy mates house watching HIM play HIS computer game. We all knew some guy like that didn't we, who always got to one level off clocking the fucken thing and took ages doing it. Unlike you, who, having only ever played the game for forty seconds, promptly died in 41 when it was finally your turn again.



I wonder how much porn was on the Net back in those early days. Cause now I’m pretty sure if they took all of the porn off the damn thing there would only be two sites left; one called ‘Hey What Happened To All The Porn?’ and the other ‘Bring Back The Porn’.



Maybe this group got so excited at what they saw they went off and created the first upload?



Now there’s a scary thought.

I Am The Punisher (Just Don't Tell Anyone).

One of my life long ambitions is to be a vigilante.

And by vigilante I don’t mean like a lentil growing, tofu eating, seldom bathing hippie that goes around poking holes in spy stations. What a bunch of winners those guys turned out to be. The irony is of course that they got off the charges which just reinforce my belief that this country is crying out for some vigilante justice.

Why someone hasn’t does this already is beyond me. Maybe not here in NZ but in some far off country where guns come in cereal boxes, like the States. There’s plenty of gun toting nut bars over there but yet none of them has identified the niche market that is the borderline psycho crime fighter.

I on the other hand, have always wanted to be one since the day I took the online ‘Which Marvel Character Are You?’ test. It was quite thorough and I was pleasantly stoked to find that at the end of it I was ‘The Punisher’. Stoked because not only is the Punisher too cool for school but he doesn’t wear a costume. Well, not really. The man is a spandex free zone.

Your standard hero is hard to mimic. There are just too many variables, manly reality, standing in your way. Sure, there’s a guy called ‘The Human Spider Man’ on account he free climbs some tall buildings but he doesn’t swing from them on account of his ability to shoot webbing from some mysterious area above his wrist, so he just doesn’t cut it.

But then there’s guys like the Punisher, or girls like Elektra, who, if we were going to be fan boy honest, does have ‘powers’ but it’s not those that we fan boys get a woodie over...

The best thing about being a bad ass vigilante is I don’t think the cops would bother with you. Oh sure, they’d make like they were but if you started knocking off gang bangers, p heads, kiddie fiddlers and douche bags that throw full beer bottles at elderly women out walking, then you’d be doing them and society a favour.

Now I have a few mates in the Five-O, like Coops and when I start cleaning up the streets I’ll be leaning on them for some Intel. They’ll be my insiders. They’ll put two and two together of course and realise it’s me doing the business but it’ll be like Commissioner Gordon and Batman; an ask no questions homo erotic relationship.

I’ll need some hardware of course but I’ve got that covered too; DG Macca has some pistolas so he’ll be my weapons expert. He and I also managed to smuggle back a small arsenal from our time in Nam and so what he can’t get me I can machine with my bare hands, in Bruiser's garage, which is good because that shit can’t be traced.

I’ll need some wheels and although the passion wagon is built for speed its sparse interior, lack of airbags and side impact beams doesn’t make for a ramrod of a ride. It’s also white, which as we all know, is the colour of surrender. I’m torn then, between pinching the father-in-laws big fuck off shiny Merc, or beating up the wife’s car and painting it as black as a black man’s cape.

Finally I need a look and I was going to go for the whole Punisher thing because the white skull on black is classic ‘don’t fuck with me’. Just like a pirate. But then I saw one of the geekiest poindexters I know buying one before me at Armageddon and I may not be exactly super hero physique, but this guy has no damn right to be wearing one. The tit.

So I guess I’ll be pulling on the mantard and doing an Elektra. Ah well.

I make this shit look good. Real good.

A Life Less Ordinary

If you ever want to take a look into the world of a life less ordinary then visit your local supermarket at some ungodly hour.

It is a microcosm of the freaks and geeks of this world who you might not otherwise see. Oh how they must have collectively rejoiced when supermarkets decided to open all night. Finally they could shop in peace and be left alone to count the grains of rice in each packet to see which was the best value for money.

I had to nip down and get some milk the other night and it was as if I had passed through some trans dimensional portal into the twilight zone on the drive down. Which I don’t think I did but hey, anything is possible when I’m alone in the passion wagon, distracted ever so slightly by my rocking to a beat from my playlist that I destroy with my unstoppable flows.

Mind you this was the time of night when the shelf packers are on duty and they’re hardly members of Mensa; one nearly wiped me out with a trolley despite my sticking to the same path all the way up the aisle and another lost half his trolley load of boxes in a fuck up of spectacular proportions. The cause of which was a relatively minor issue – the dude had all the stacking skills of an infant.

Then there are the customers. Now I’ve been disappointed on occasion to find my favourite item is out of stock but I have never quite felt the need to launch into a swear fest over it like the guy who couldn’t find his favourite jar of jam. Or the lady who appeared to be quite attractive until she went through her receipt line by line, checking that every item was in the bag and fair enough too, because those bloody checkout girls, they’re always stealing your stuff.

The funny thing is that once, long ago, I used to daydream about living a life where I would frequent supermarkets at bizarre times and would meet funky chicks there. Not funky as in unclean, but crazy girls. Not crazy like mental, but odd and not odd as in spastic, but quirky. Well they would have to be to be shopping at that time wouldn’t they?

I also had this warped idea that if I visited enough of them I could meet a sheila in some obscure second hand bookshop that only three people knew about and frequented. When that failed I took to the internet pretending to be the kind of guy who did his shopping in the wee small hours and frequented second hand bookshops.

It worked too. I started corresponding with a 17 year old girl who did the same and we ended up sending each other poems composed from our favourite bits of movie dialogue. Eventually we professed our love to each other through gratuitous use of emoticons. She lived in Shannon and seeing as I had no car at that time, borrowed some money from my flate mate and bought a bus ticket there.

When I arrived I was disappointed to find that she had lied to me; the supermarket in Shannon closed at 6pm, there was only one second hand bookstore and she was actually a he. We made love so as to not waste the bus fare but it was awkward, to say the least. Why can’t people just be honest?

Woodville has a lot of second hand bookstores, as DougalMac and I discovered whilst passing through on our way to the girls wedding last week. And going by the titles they have on display I’m guessing there are a good few folk who can’t wait for Woodville to a) get a supermarket and b) have it open 23 hours a day so they can do their shopping...