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Simon Seville
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 23, 2015
- Location
- Fuck Mountain
I: The Geek Wants Out OR : +3 to Hit / +5 to Damage.
-------------
At first glance
I probably appear to be a somewhat ordinary,
somewhat average looking fellow.
Calm, harmless, at ease.
But this is by design.
You see, it is through decades of research and rigorous training that I have crafted this facade of normalcy.
And now, through intense concentration,
I am able to function in a social setting.
I can speak at length with educated people about
pertinent matters of public importance,
such as literature,
or the current political climate in Europe.
I am capable of conversing with you
without ever revealing that just underneath the surface
of this manufactured veneer
there hides an altogether different person.
A monster, some might say.
My alter-ego.
He is the opposite of the image I project.
He is the antithesis of Cool.
He is the LAST person you want to get trapped in a conversation with.
He is The Geek.
The obsessive science fiction movie watching,
comic book collecting,
Monty Python dialogue memorizing,
Dungeons and Dragons playing GEEK
that I struggle daily to keep hidden from the world.
But The Geek Wants Out.
He want to talk to you.
He wants to give you his doctoral dissertation on why
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension
is the greatest fucking film of all time!
He wants to bitch slap you because
you've never seen Big Trouble in Little China.
What? Have you been living in a fucking cave?!
He wants to kick your ass in Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.
And he will.
Because he's a fucking Geek.
And he wants his toys.
He wants the complete set
in mint condition,
still in the box.
He wants every item on the planet that is even remotely related to Ultraman.
Because Ultraman is Airwolf!
He could give a squirt of piss
about sports or politics or rhetoric.
Such things are of no consequence to him.
What matters is the release date of the next Lord of the Rings movie!
You see, The Geek can't wait.
The Geek has no patience.
He wants what he wants when he wants it.
And all he wants is stupid shit!
He wants his own Tardis.
He wants his own light saber.
He wants to buy a DeLorean and he wants to drive it 88 miles per hour.
He wants movies.
He wants to see the Director's Cut.
He wants the impossible to find Japanese bootleg with
6 minutes of never-before-seen footage.
He wants to watch Blade Runner. Again.
He wants to watch Brazil. Again.
He wants to watch A Clockwork Orange.
Again and Again!
But I deprive him of these things, as best I can,
until I can no longer ignore his voice
screaming in my head.
I am Jekyl. He is Hyde.
I am Bruce Banner. He is the Hulk.
Especially the Hulk from issues #272 to #378.
But no longer!
I am putting a stop to all this nerdy shit right now!
I'm an adult, for Christ's sake!
And this body isn't big enough for the both of us.
One of us has to go, and it's gonna be him.
I banishing the Geek forever to the Phantom Zone,
just like in Superman II !
Because, in the end--
there can be only one.
----------------------
II: Nerd Porn Auteur OR :For the guys who make passes at the girls who wear glasses.
-----
I've noticed that there don't seem to be any porno movies
that are made for guys like me.
All the porn I've come across, The mainstream crap anyway
was targeted at beer-swilling sports bar dwelling alpha-males
Men who like their women stupid and submissive
Men who can only get it up for monosyllabic cock-hungry nymphos
with gargantuan breasts and a three-word vocabulary
Mainstream Adult films are populated with these collagen-injected
liposuctioned women
Many of whom have resorted to surgery and self-mutilation
in an attempt to look the way they have been told to look.
These aren't real women. They're objects.
And these movies aren't erotic. They're pathetic.
These vacuum-headed fuck bunnies don't turn me on.
They disgust me.
And it's not that I'm against pornography.
I mean, I'm a functioning human being. And people need porn.
Fact.
"Like a preacher needs pain, like a needle needs a vein,"
humans need porn.
But I don't wanna watch this misogynist he-man woman-hater porn.
I want porno movies that are made with guys like me in mind:
Guys who know that the sexiest thing in the world
is a woman who is smarter than you are.
You can have the whole cheerleading squad,
I want the girl in the tweed skirt and the horn-rimmed glasses:
Betty Finnebowski, the valedictorian.
Oh yes.
First I want to copy her Trig homework,
and then I want to make mad, passionate love to her
for hours and hours
until she reluctantly asks if we can stop
because she doesn't want to miss Battlestar Galactica.
Summa cum laude, baby!
That is what I call erotic.
But do you ever see that kind of a woman in a contemporary adult film?
No.
Which is why I'm going to start writing and directing Geek Porno.
I shall be the quintessential Nerd Porn Auteur.
And the women in my porno movies will be the kind
that drive nerds like me mad with desire.
I'm talking about the girls that used to fuck up the grading curve.
The girls in the Latin Club and the National Honor Society.
Chicks with weird clothes, braces, four eyes, and 4.0 GPAs.
Brainy articulate bookworms, with MENSA cards in their purses
and chips on their shoulders.
My porn starlets will come in all shapes and sizes.
My porn starlets will be too busy working on their PhD to go to the gym.
In my kind of porno movies the girls wouldn't even have to get naked.
They'd just take the guys down to the rec room and
beat them repeatedly at chess
and then talk to them for hours about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle
or the underlying social metaphors in the Aliens movies.
Buy stock in some hand cream companies
because there is about to be a major shortage.
And I'm not just talking about straight porn. Oh no.
There should be fuck films for my nerd brethren
of all sexual orientations.
Gay nerd porn flicks with titles like "Dungeons and Drag-queens."
This idea is a fucking gold mine.
I am gonna make millions,
because this country is full of database programmers
and electronics engineers
and they aren't getting the loving they so desperately need.
And you can help . . .
If you're an intelligent woman is interested in breaking into the adult film industry,
and if you can tell me the name of Luke Skywalker's home planet,
then you are hired.
It doesn't matter if you think you're overweight or unattractive.
It doesn't matter if you don't think you're beautiful.
You are beautiful. . .
And I will make you a star.
-------------------------
III: Where do You See yourself in Five Years
-------
I've never been much good at selling myself,
Which is probably why I rank Job Interviews right up there with, oh, say Water Torture, on my list of fun things to do.
I think I'd rather chew broken glass
at a Menudo Reunion Concert
being held in the third concentric circle of Dante's Inferno
than suffer the agony of auditioning myself
in some sanitized office
for some well-groomed stranger
who is intent on dissecting my identity
to match an eighty-word
computer-generated job description
while I sit there fidgeting and trying desperately to remember which parts of my resume are actually true.
But I do my best to dodge the barrage of calculated, probing questions strategically designed to lay my soul bare for easy corporate analysis:
"What makes you think you're qualified for this position?"
"What skills do you posses that set you apart from the other applicants?"
and the dreaded, inevitable:
"Tell me why I should hire YOU!???"
Me?
Well . . . because I'm a hard worker.
I'm dedicated.
I enjoy a challenge.
I enjoy working with people.
I work well independently.
I work well as part of a group.
I can give orders, I can take orders.
I show up on time. Hell, I usually show up early.
I have good personal hygiene.
I have a Can-Do attitude.
I'm a Self-Starter . . .
I've never been convicted of a felony.
I'm over 18, a U.S. Citizen,
and I'm authorized to work in this country.
I can take constructive criticism,
I keep my work space tidy,
I can probably pass your drug-test.
I follow through.
I manage time efficiently.
And I'm proficient with the Internet,
Hypertext Markup Language,
File Transfer Protocols, Microsoft Word,
Windows 3.1, 9x, NT, and
nine-millimeter Beretta Handguns.
I know how to make a thermonuclear device out of
everyday household items.
I know who really shot JFK.
If I wanted to, pal,
I could reach into your chest, pull out your heart,
show it to you while it's still beating,
AND THEN describe it's physiological layout, including the location of the Aorta,
and the Left and Right Ventricles.
You see, I've got what it takes.
I've got the world on a string.
I'm ambidextrous.
And I can use words like obsequious and ubiquitous correctly in a sentence.
I can make weapons-grade Plutonium
into a yummy casserole.
I can make a difference.
I can locate Botswana on a map.
I can swing dance.
I'm a team player.
And I've been a puppet, a poet, a preacher, a pauper, a pawn, and a king.
I am not now, nor have I ever been, a homosexual,
but I may be willing to learn.
I can play Heart and Soul on the piano with my toes.
I can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan.
I can quote Shakespeare when I'm drunk.
You see, I am the One the Legend spoke of.
I can pull the Sword from the Stone,
hook up free cable, make Denver Omelets,
and program my VCR.
I don't take long lunch breaks,
I don't steal office supplies,
And I rarely, if ever, call in sick.
And in case you're about to ask me if I have any weaknesses...
FUCK NO, I don't have any weaknesses,
unless you count Kryptonite.
I have been know to fly into vengeful fits of homicidal rage when I get turned down for a job by some self-important, balding, baby-boomer fuckhead like you.
But other than that, no . . .
No real weaknesses.
So why don't you climb down off your high horse,
and just give me a yes or no answer, pal.
Because these are just a few of the reasons,
right off the top of my head,
why you
should hire
me
------------------------
IV: Technical Support
Hello, you've reached Technical Support
Yes, this is Technical Support,
Thank you for calling Technical Support
This is Simon.
My name is Simon.
I am the one they call Simon.
Simon speaking.
How may I help you?
How may I help you this evening?
What seems to be the problem?
Is your computer generating an error message?
Well, when did this happen?
How did this happen?
What in the hell did you do to it?
My god, what the fuck have you done?
Relax.
It's cool.
I'll help you.
That's why I'm here.
I'm here to help you.
All day, all night.
Just a big fat twitching BRAIN
wired up to a telephone
waiting to answer every goddamn computer-related question that you have.
You need my help.
And I'm here to help you.
Now, tell me what's wrong?
It's the Internet, right?
You need to get on the Internet.
Booted up,
Jacked in,
Online.
It's imperative.
And I understand. I mean, after all,
"the Internet is a revolutionary means of communication that can decentralize power by providing everyone with a voice, since it is the only truly free medium of global information exchange, as it is not controlled by any one organization, corporation, government, or media cartel."
But YOU,
You just wanna download pictures of Gillian Anderson's pussy, right?
You wanna send e-mail.
You wanna send e-mail to Jerry Springer.
You're just dying to visit Stone Cold Steve Austin's website.
The entire world is at your fingertips and this is the best that you can come up with.
You want stock quotes,
bomb schematics,
bestiality centerfolds.
You want to use the pseudonym "HotCock007" to pick up Japanese schoolgirls on Skype.
But you CAN'T, can you, Captain Caveman?
Because "Computer is broken."
And the problem could be hardware, software,
fucking Tupperware for all you know.
Christ, you can't even remember your password.
You're in over your head.
You're out of your depth.
You're five kinds of stupid
and you want somebody to hold your hand
and tell you exactly what to do.
Help me, Simon
Save me, Simon.
Fix it, Simon.
Simon, kiss my hard drive and make it better.
Relax.
You're in good hands.
I can help you.
The Internet is my bitch.
You see, the computer and I are one.
I speak its language.
I'm like fucking TRON.
Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto.
You see, it's manifest destiny.
This is my job.
This is what I do.
The imposition of Order on Chaos.
System on Fact.
Classification on Data.
I measure time in bits, bytes, kilobytes, megabytes, terabytes.
The future has teeth.
And you're seeing all of your worst fear about technology come true.
Not only is big brother watching you,
He knows your PIN number.
Welcome, my son, to the machine.
Your fate is being decided by forces you can't even begin to comprehend
and you feel like a hairless pink fetus
floating in a Plexiglas bathtub
somewhere deep inside The Matrix.
But don't worry, Coppertop.
It's cool.
You've reached Technical Support.
This is Technical Support.
Thank you for calling Technical Support.
This is Simon . . . speaking.
-------------
At first glance
I probably appear to be a somewhat ordinary,
somewhat average looking fellow.
Calm, harmless, at ease.
But this is by design.
You see, it is through decades of research and rigorous training that I have crafted this facade of normalcy.
And now, through intense concentration,
I am able to function in a social setting.
I can speak at length with educated people about
pertinent matters of public importance,
such as literature,
or the current political climate in Europe.
I am capable of conversing with you
without ever revealing that just underneath the surface
of this manufactured veneer
there hides an altogether different person.
A monster, some might say.
My alter-ego.
He is the opposite of the image I project.
He is the antithesis of Cool.
He is the LAST person you want to get trapped in a conversation with.
He is The Geek.
The obsessive science fiction movie watching,
comic book collecting,
Monty Python dialogue memorizing,
Dungeons and Dragons playing GEEK
that I struggle daily to keep hidden from the world.
But The Geek Wants Out.
He want to talk to you.
He wants to give you his doctoral dissertation on why
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension
is the greatest fucking film of all time!
He wants to bitch slap you because
you've never seen Big Trouble in Little China.
What? Have you been living in a fucking cave?!
He wants to kick your ass in Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.
And he will.
Because he's a fucking Geek.
And he wants his toys.
He wants the complete set
in mint condition,
still in the box.
He wants every item on the planet that is even remotely related to Ultraman.
Because Ultraman is Airwolf!
He could give a squirt of piss
about sports or politics or rhetoric.
Such things are of no consequence to him.
What matters is the release date of the next Lord of the Rings movie!
You see, The Geek can't wait.
The Geek has no patience.
He wants what he wants when he wants it.
And all he wants is stupid shit!
He wants his own Tardis.
He wants his own light saber.
He wants to buy a DeLorean and he wants to drive it 88 miles per hour.
He wants movies.
He wants to see the Director's Cut.
He wants the impossible to find Japanese bootleg with
6 minutes of never-before-seen footage.
He wants to watch Blade Runner. Again.
He wants to watch Brazil. Again.
He wants to watch A Clockwork Orange.
Again and Again!
But I deprive him of these things, as best I can,
until I can no longer ignore his voice
screaming in my head.
I am Jekyl. He is Hyde.
I am Bruce Banner. He is the Hulk.
Especially the Hulk from issues #272 to #378.
But no longer!
I am putting a stop to all this nerdy shit right now!
I'm an adult, for Christ's sake!
And this body isn't big enough for the both of us.
One of us has to go, and it's gonna be him.
I banishing the Geek forever to the Phantom Zone,
just like in Superman II !
Because, in the end--
there can be only one.
----------------------
II: Nerd Porn Auteur OR :For the guys who make passes at the girls who wear glasses.
-----
I've noticed that there don't seem to be any porno movies
that are made for guys like me.
All the porn I've come across, The mainstream crap anyway
was targeted at beer-swilling sports bar dwelling alpha-males
Men who like their women stupid and submissive
Men who can only get it up for monosyllabic cock-hungry nymphos
with gargantuan breasts and a three-word vocabulary
Mainstream Adult films are populated with these collagen-injected
liposuctioned women
Many of whom have resorted to surgery and self-mutilation
in an attempt to look the way they have been told to look.
These aren't real women. They're objects.
And these movies aren't erotic. They're pathetic.
These vacuum-headed fuck bunnies don't turn me on.
They disgust me.
And it's not that I'm against pornography.
I mean, I'm a functioning human being. And people need porn.
Fact.
"Like a preacher needs pain, like a needle needs a vein,"
humans need porn.
But I don't wanna watch this misogynist he-man woman-hater porn.
I want porno movies that are made with guys like me in mind:
Guys who know that the sexiest thing in the world
is a woman who is smarter than you are.
You can have the whole cheerleading squad,
I want the girl in the tweed skirt and the horn-rimmed glasses:
Betty Finnebowski, the valedictorian.
Oh yes.
First I want to copy her Trig homework,
and then I want to make mad, passionate love to her
for hours and hours
until she reluctantly asks if we can stop
because she doesn't want to miss Battlestar Galactica.
Summa cum laude, baby!
That is what I call erotic.
But do you ever see that kind of a woman in a contemporary adult film?
No.
Which is why I'm going to start writing and directing Geek Porno.
I shall be the quintessential Nerd Porn Auteur.
And the women in my porno movies will be the kind
that drive nerds like me mad with desire.
I'm talking about the girls that used to fuck up the grading curve.
The girls in the Latin Club and the National Honor Society.
Chicks with weird clothes, braces, four eyes, and 4.0 GPAs.
Brainy articulate bookworms, with MENSA cards in their purses
and chips on their shoulders.
My porn starlets will come in all shapes and sizes.
My porn starlets will be too busy working on their PhD to go to the gym.
In my kind of porno movies the girls wouldn't even have to get naked.
They'd just take the guys down to the rec room and
beat them repeatedly at chess
and then talk to them for hours about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle
or the underlying social metaphors in the Aliens movies.
Buy stock in some hand cream companies
because there is about to be a major shortage.
And I'm not just talking about straight porn. Oh no.
There should be fuck films for my nerd brethren
of all sexual orientations.
Gay nerd porn flicks with titles like "Dungeons and Drag-queens."
This idea is a fucking gold mine.
I am gonna make millions,
because this country is full of database programmers
and electronics engineers
and they aren't getting the loving they so desperately need.
And you can help . . .
If you're an intelligent woman is interested in breaking into the adult film industry,
and if you can tell me the name of Luke Skywalker's home planet,
then you are hired.
It doesn't matter if you think you're overweight or unattractive.
It doesn't matter if you don't think you're beautiful.
You are beautiful. . .
And I will make you a star.
-------------------------
III: Where do You See yourself in Five Years
-------
I've never been much good at selling myself,
Which is probably why I rank Job Interviews right up there with, oh, say Water Torture, on my list of fun things to do.
I think I'd rather chew broken glass
at a Menudo Reunion Concert
being held in the third concentric circle of Dante's Inferno
than suffer the agony of auditioning myself
in some sanitized office
for some well-groomed stranger
who is intent on dissecting my identity
to match an eighty-word
computer-generated job description
while I sit there fidgeting and trying desperately to remember which parts of my resume are actually true.
But I do my best to dodge the barrage of calculated, probing questions strategically designed to lay my soul bare for easy corporate analysis:
"What makes you think you're qualified for this position?"
"What skills do you posses that set you apart from the other applicants?"
and the dreaded, inevitable:
"Tell me why I should hire YOU!???"
Me?
Well . . . because I'm a hard worker.
I'm dedicated.
I enjoy a challenge.
I enjoy working with people.
I work well independently.
I work well as part of a group.
I can give orders, I can take orders.
I show up on time. Hell, I usually show up early.
I have good personal hygiene.
I have a Can-Do attitude.
I'm a Self-Starter . . .
I've never been convicted of a felony.
I'm over 18, a U.S. Citizen,
and I'm authorized to work in this country.
I can take constructive criticism,
I keep my work space tidy,
I can probably pass your drug-test.
I follow through.
I manage time efficiently.
And I'm proficient with the Internet,
Hypertext Markup Language,
File Transfer Protocols, Microsoft Word,
Windows 3.1, 9x, NT, and
nine-millimeter Beretta Handguns.
I know how to make a thermonuclear device out of
everyday household items.
I know who really shot JFK.
If I wanted to, pal,
I could reach into your chest, pull out your heart,
show it to you while it's still beating,
AND THEN describe it's physiological layout, including the location of the Aorta,
and the Left and Right Ventricles.
You see, I've got what it takes.
I've got the world on a string.
I'm ambidextrous.
And I can use words like obsequious and ubiquitous correctly in a sentence.
I can make weapons-grade Plutonium
into a yummy casserole.
I can make a difference.
I can locate Botswana on a map.
I can swing dance.
I'm a team player.
And I've been a puppet, a poet, a preacher, a pauper, a pawn, and a king.
I am not now, nor have I ever been, a homosexual,
but I may be willing to learn.
I can play Heart and Soul on the piano with my toes.
I can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan.
I can quote Shakespeare when I'm drunk.
You see, I am the One the Legend spoke of.
I can pull the Sword from the Stone,
hook up free cable, make Denver Omelets,
and program my VCR.
I don't take long lunch breaks,
I don't steal office supplies,
And I rarely, if ever, call in sick.
And in case you're about to ask me if I have any weaknesses...
FUCK NO, I don't have any weaknesses,
unless you count Kryptonite.
I have been know to fly into vengeful fits of homicidal rage when I get turned down for a job by some self-important, balding, baby-boomer fuckhead like you.
But other than that, no . . .
No real weaknesses.
So why don't you climb down off your high horse,
and just give me a yes or no answer, pal.
Because these are just a few of the reasons,
right off the top of my head,
why you
should hire
me
------------------------
IV: Technical Support
Hello, you've reached Technical Support
Yes, this is Technical Support,
Thank you for calling Technical Support
This is Simon.
My name is Simon.
I am the one they call Simon.
Simon speaking.
How may I help you?
How may I help you this evening?
What seems to be the problem?
Is your computer generating an error message?
Well, when did this happen?
How did this happen?
What in the hell did you do to it?
My god, what the fuck have you done?
Relax.
It's cool.
I'll help you.
That's why I'm here.
I'm here to help you.
All day, all night.
Just a big fat twitching BRAIN
wired up to a telephone
waiting to answer every goddamn computer-related question that you have.
You need my help.
And I'm here to help you.
Now, tell me what's wrong?
It's the Internet, right?
You need to get on the Internet.
Booted up,
Jacked in,
Online.
It's imperative.
And I understand. I mean, after all,
"the Internet is a revolutionary means of communication that can decentralize power by providing everyone with a voice, since it is the only truly free medium of global information exchange, as it is not controlled by any one organization, corporation, government, or media cartel."
But YOU,
You just wanna download pictures of Gillian Anderson's pussy, right?
You wanna send e-mail.
You wanna send e-mail to Jerry Springer.
You're just dying to visit Stone Cold Steve Austin's website.
The entire world is at your fingertips and this is the best that you can come up with.
You want stock quotes,
bomb schematics,
bestiality centerfolds.
You want to use the pseudonym "HotCock007" to pick up Japanese schoolgirls on Skype.
But you CAN'T, can you, Captain Caveman?
Because "Computer is broken."
And the problem could be hardware, software,
fucking Tupperware for all you know.
Christ, you can't even remember your password.
You're in over your head.
You're out of your depth.
You're five kinds of stupid
and you want somebody to hold your hand
and tell you exactly what to do.
Help me, Simon
Save me, Simon.
Fix it, Simon.
Simon, kiss my hard drive and make it better.
Relax.
You're in good hands.
I can help you.
The Internet is my bitch.
You see, the computer and I are one.
I speak its language.
I'm like fucking TRON.
Domo Arrigato, Mr. Roboto.
You see, it's manifest destiny.
This is my job.
This is what I do.
The imposition of Order on Chaos.
System on Fact.
Classification on Data.
I measure time in bits, bytes, kilobytes, megabytes, terabytes.
The future has teeth.
And you're seeing all of your worst fear about technology come true.
Not only is big brother watching you,
He knows your PIN number.
Welcome, my son, to the machine.
Your fate is being decided by forces you can't even begin to comprehend
and you feel like a hairless pink fetus
floating in a Plexiglas bathtub
somewhere deep inside The Matrix.
But don't worry, Coppertop.
It's cool.
You've reached Technical Support.
This is Technical Support.
Thank you for calling Technical Support.
This is Simon . . . speaking.
