My Sudden Realization

Well after thinking about it for approximately two minutes in the shitter today, I realize that our faithful Gamestop clerk Chris only recognized my face but definitely didn't remember my name. When picking up another reserved game yesterday, he asked for my telephone number (for identification purposes people, not to have gay ritualistic sex with me). It was only after that point that he referred to me by my name.


This realization at first came as a relief to me. I may have many nerdish qualities, but I haven't plummeted into the world of Dungeon and Dragon-ers, Trekkies, and Comic-Con attendees. The fear of being recognized in an establishment like Gamestop like I was drinking at Cheers brought upon much worry that I could be associated with those types. Whew.

After the sudden relief, I became upset. I thought Chris and I had something deeper than the customer-retailer relationship. He was supposed to provide my much needed gaming camaraderie and allow me to boost my ego at his expense. Now I just feel used, much like the feeling you have the next morning when the night before a stripper used your weakness for her monetary gain. All Chris was after was my expendable income. But I should've seen the signs.

1) He always tried to sell me on something else whenever I was there, whether it was a game guide, a potential heater coming out in a few months with 50 hours of hardcore limb-decapitating gameplay, or a midnight release party where you could get a special gold colored in-game weapon or action figure.

2) He would ramble on about his gameplay experiences, his favorite games and the fact he got to demo games much earlier than his "non-industry" counterparts. He never asked me about my favorite games, if I liked long walks on the beach, or if I would like to join him on one of his gaming adventures. I would give and give and give, and he never gave back.

3) He made me wait in line with among the hordes of overweight, gouda smelling patrons. The game I picked up yesterday Fallout 3, he did not allow me to cut in front of this overweight man and his overweight wife. I thought my company was important to him but I found out the hard way he'll service anyone any age or size, pretty or ugly.

I feel about the same as when Cashmere the stripper told me I was cute and then took my money without finding out more about the real Higgy. All she did was do her little dance, take my money and run. Chris is nothing but a lousy stripper to me now. Unfortunately I have to see him again. I have one more game pre-ordered that I have to pick up next week and it is at that time I will let him know that I have to terminate my relationship with Gamestop. I will also have to tell him he will receive a poor rating from me on the online survey he requested me to fill out.

Why do I always put myself out there only to let myself get hurt?

Higgy: The Reigning King of all that is Nerd

So as I have posted before on this blog or what you may have gathered or based on the fact that the few of you that read this are my friends, you know I love video games. They are like my crack. It is a sad state of affairs right now because of the amount of games I've sold and bought at Gamestop, I have achieved a new level of loserdom. Here is how it went with our faithful Gamestop clerk, Chris (reference Find the Knob in the Picture).

Higgy: "Do you guys have Little Big Planet in?"
Chris: "No, we have to wait for the UPS guy to show up."

After 2 mins of conversation where Chris explains in way too much detail why other stores got it but his store did not, the UPS guy shows up with the game. Keep in mind it is a little after noon on a Saturday.

Chris: "Awesome, glad you're here because people have been waiting for this
game. Weren't you supposed to be here at 10?
UPS Guy: "Nah, at 12."
Chris: "Oh ok I could've sworn it was at 10 since we open then. (Of course he ahs to argue for nerd's sake) Well this guy right here (refering to me) is glad you came in."
UPS Guy (looking at me like a little fuckin kid): "Well sorry you had to wait, have a great day!"

So now someone else gets to not only acknowledge the fact that I'm a loser, but they then feel the need to apologize to me for my douchebagery . Thanks Chris. Thanks.

Now for the coup de grâce. Because I pre-ordered this game, normally one would have to show their driver's license in order to prove their identity in order to pick the game up. Not this guy.

Higgy attempts to hand his Driver's License
Chris: "I don't need to see that (Higgy), I know who you are."

Fuck, shit, piss out my ass. It was like Bill Gates walked into the room and dubbed me a sir in the Knighthood of Nerdery. Not really an honor I ever want to be given. It was quite the defeating blow to my ego to be well-known enough in a video game retailer. So I went home, head down in shame at my newfound self-realization of my rank in the totem pole of society and told my lovely girlfriend about my great misadventures. Would you expect her to be kind and understanding of the trauma my ego has suffered? Hells no. She let me have it with her patented impersonations which always start with, "My Name is (insert name here)" and are spoken in a voice that I can only describe as a more mentally impaired Napoleon Dynamite. Here are some of her gems.

The GF: "My name is (Higgy) and I like to play video games with my friend Chris.
We are bestest friends."

The GF: "Chris, me, you and Dale should play
video games together sometime."
Higgy: "Where did Dale come from?"
The GF: "I don't know, the name just sounds nerdy."
Higgy: "The name sounds hick but please continue."

I also got a code with the game to redeem to get extra characters in this game and it wasn't working so I had to call Gamestop back up. My girlfriend's mockery continued.

The GF: "Are you calling your buddy Chris? Hopefully he can make it aaallllll better."

No one knows how to stroke my ego like her. Maybe Chris could make it better.

Racial, Social, and Political Menstrals

I apologize in advance for the Seinfeld-esque rant that is to follow. But I'm sorry, this is something that has been bothering me for awhile.

Why does everybody who are considered remotely different or have a random interest in something retarded have to have a celebratory month out of the year? My company thrives on these types of celebrations bringing "awarenesss" to shit that doesn't need light shed upon it. February is Black History Month. June is LGBT awareness month. September 15th begins Hispanic Heritage month. So I'm used to these kind of months. These groups of people feel slighted over the years by ignorant people so they need a whole month to shove their lifestyle into other people's faces. I understand that. Ok I don't understand it since March isn't "Caucasian Invasion" month, but as I said, I'm used to it. But the line was crossed a couple of days ago when the corporate intranet website had an article about Disability Awareness Month. Motherfucker.

Do these people actually want more attention than they already have? Probably not. I'm fully aware of these people everytime I go to a Kroger, watch an after school special or try to park anywhere at work. Their presence is already well-known with their handi-capable parking spaces and their stutters, limps, awkward gaits, deformed faces, lacking mental capacity, powder filled hands due to their inability to stop jacking off making them rub their dick raw, and other abnormalities that I doubt have gone unnoticed by the general populace. So let's put these people in more of a spotlight than the one God has already placed upon these people. Yikes.

But then I was thinking, who counts as disabled? Anyone who has a handicapped placard in their car? Anyone who never graduated from high school? Anyone who is unaware of the fact they have no talent yet still pursue acting and music careers just to end up as soft-core porn actresses? I feel the disabled population encompasses more people than the Disability Awareness Month braintrust imagined.

Then I was listening on the radio and I heard October is Domestic Abuse Awareness Month. When does this stop? Maybe I am naive, but I feel most people are aware that wife-beating hicks and football players exist in the world today. This month only brings about awareness that more of these assholes need to get got when they are in the womb. Ah...more abortion would make our world a much better place.

So I think I should come up with a random month awareness celebration of my own. Since we're on the subject of bringing awareness to something that we are already aware of, I plan on bringing awareness to I hereby declare November to be Bad Blowjob Etiquette Awareness Month.

Now I know what you're thinking, "Yes I've had a bad blowjob, who hasn't?" It's true, we've all been there and much like being black or white, getting beaten by your spouse, or fuck-tarding your way through life, you can't avoid a bad blow job here and there. Ladies, don't feel like I'm singling you out. I'm pretty sure you get the worst of it since you probably orgasm every solar eclipse. And I'm sure this includes anytime your significant other, random schmuck off the street or hired help feel inclined to dive all in your muff.

Now I am by no means an expert in teasing the clit let alone finding the female orgasm much to my girlfriend's disdain. However my real issue is not the execution but the etiquette by which the felatio is performed. Some sex expert well versed in genatalia could tell you how to suck, fuck, lick and stick right, but I want to bring back some common courtesy to the blow job. Some consideration and even appreciation needs to be displayed when applying your orals. Below is just a preview of random Blow Job Etiquette guidelines to follow in the month of November.


1) Thank your suck therapist even if the attempt failed.
Consider this the participation trophy you received for sitting on the bench in third grade basketball. This means give them a nice thank you, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or even a kiss on the mouth if you're not weirded out by your life force being in their orifice. This does not mean pat them on the head like they are your lap dog unless you have no respect for them.

2) When felating for the love of God don't use your teeth.
Please do not gnaw on the knob unless specifically requested. Don't try to "change shit up or get real kinky" without expressed written and/or verbal consent. Our dicks are pretty much the most treasured item in our lives, please show them the respect that they deserve. That being said, I'm pretty sure many a labia have been mistreated by some ambitious nibbling.


3) Don't be afraid to give constructive criticism when your fuck buddy is terrible
Honestly, if what they're doing isn't helping you bust some ectoplasm it should be kosher to let them know. Don't knock the eager beaver for trying but sometimes you just need to lead the fox to the hole. For instance it should be socially acceptable to tell your mate, "Just because it's called a blowjob does not mean you literally blow on my penis like a candle on your birthday cake."

4) Accept constructive criticism when you're told you're terrible at felating.
If you're told that sticking any and all digits in their anus is neither pleasurable nor appreciated, sack it up, don't take it personally and try something else. This also applies when you're told "I'm not Vince Vaughn so let's not play the game 'Just the Tip'," "that slurping sound just doesn't do it for me" and "Would you please not yell 'Charge!!!' when blowing your load?"

Bad Blowjob Etiquette Awareness Month is all about promoting a healthy dialogue between sexual partners that allow the benefits of bumping uglies to be shared by all parties involved. I want to live in a world where you get what you want, when you want it and not feel ashamed to say it.

Note: These guidelines do not apply if you have no respect for the hole currently attempting to please your junk. I fully believe in making someone who should feel worthless actually feel that they aren't even a worthy suck/fuck pad.

New Beerlympics Training Regimen

As I detailed last week, my ability to handle alcohol has become non-existent. Therefore in order to handle a visit from my Columbus compadres and as a vow to myself to be less of a loose vag, I have made an effort to drink two beers a night until their arrival Halloween weekend in the heart of the Confederacy. I must be fully prepared to drink some firewater and verbally pillage on some douchebags this weekend. Here is how the training went for Week 1.


Monday Night - I was still in Columbus giving that entrance test for my employer to the cheating youth of America. I caught Seung Cho (too soon for that joke?) in the front row trying to get a head start on the test before everyone else and attempted to continue completing the test once the timer went off. It took everything I had not to burn the test right in front of him. After that bullshit, I needed to hang out with the guys so I went over to Hova's house while in Columbus and drank a beer. Hova, being the genius he is came up with a random Ohio State basketball trivia question that he knew I would answer. The resulting prize from this trivia question was a bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. I haven't drank that shit since I was interning in Boston and not getting any mouth hugs on my penis. Citris in my alcoholic drink just doesn't sit well with me since a Cinco de Mayo celebration with Mills resulted in me drinking Corona's with lime juice instead of limes thus causing me to exorcise my demons in another pube lined commode.


Tuesday Night - Due to flying all day and eating shitty food, my pussy was out like Lindsay Lohan's. Needless to say I abstained from drinking and let down my brethren. Story of my life.


Wednesday Night - I definitely did not plan on drinking but I got a call from T-Pain telling me he had a shitty ass day covering for dumbasses and that he needed to drink. Since he lives 10 feet away from me, I honestly couldn't say no. He brought over some Scotch and some fudge. Quite the queer combination I know, but his maple fudge was fucking delicious. Anyways I realized I was too much of a wet fuck hole to drink Scotch on the rocks so we ended up having Jack and Coke, while watching Indiana Jones get raped on South Park. My girlfriend called and said, "How full is your bucket?" Great motivation from my so-called coach.


Thursday Night - My coach/girlfriend who has also been pushing me to drink two beers a day asked me to stay the night, but had no beers in her fridge. Pretty damn weak on her part. So we ended up watching The Happening. This is the worst movie I have seen in a long time. When you cast Mark Wahlberg as a high-school science teacher who talks about the scientific method, you definitely have failed as a director and as a human being. That performance was as believable as my girlfriend pretending to enjoy the 30 seconds of pleasure my penis can provide. Halfway through my coach asks me if we should stop watching and I tell her no because "there's always a twist at the end that will make or break Shymalan's movies." Well that was a crock of shit. Pretty much you were told plants were releasing toxins in the air forcing people to off themselves as humans have become a scourge of the planet. Then their attack all of a sudden stops and all is right with the world. "Heart-pounding apocalyptic thriller" my ass. I will never watch an M. Night Shymalan film again. I should've learned my lesson from The Village.



Friday Night - Had two beers before 6:30 at a local hole in the wall 5 blocks away from my residence. People then convened at my crib and we drank while watching Robot Chicken, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and my dog being a jackass. Early in the evening I began to yawn and my girlfriend pushed my jaw up calling me a "Pansy." She was counting down the minutes to 10:30, the time at which I went convulsive on everybody. "Can you last another 30 minutes?" Total bitch move but I she did have a point. I did make it well past 10:30 thank God. My coach later in the evening was looking very tired trying to keep up with my pace while nursing her beer. Weak sauce. Even though she can't back up her words, I do appreciate how I'm moulding her into a shit-talking asshole. I'm proud.



Saturday Night - After a thrilling day running wild with my dog which ended with a Narc ending our fun at the park by calling 911 on us, T-Pain and myself went over to Simi's place to play beer pong and watch the UFC fight. I wasn't really watching much of the UFC fight as T-Pain and I were cleaning house with beer pong. I was on fire and I was letting my opponents know it. Drinking and talking shit go hand and hand with me. I normally pick on the weaker of the two opponents, this time it was Simi's girlfriend who I met for the first time. After exchanging pleasantries I pissed her off enough to huck the ping pong ball directly at my throat. I know I deserved it but I was on so much of a streak I didn't give a shit. I was so on-fire in fact that I made two death cups as well with one of them banking off of the big pony of my opponent's polo shirt and dropped into the cup. If you are unaware of the rules, the death cup is the cup of beer your opponent is currently drinking and if you make said cup they have to drink all of the beer on the table. I was nice enough not to make them drink all of the beer on the table, so it just added to my drunken state. After many games, I ended up drinking out of a bottle of wine with T-Pain, Simi, Simi's girlfriend and Paav until we finished the bottle. I normally hate wine but I was drunk enough that I could not discern between any liquid entering my mouth at that point. A pretty gay way to end the night, but I'm not the most masculine of men.

Sunday - I'm taking today off because I'm proud of my progress thus far. I drank a shit ton last night and didn't even have a hangover for my morning soccer game. My sandy vagina is still attached but hopefully my innie becomes an outie next week. More to come on my progress.

How to identify a Child-Toucher

Thanks to DC 101's Elliot in the Morning and DDT (now known as The Rambling Man from now on for his long-winded comments which had me at "pussy-whipped" and lost me at the "whole grains"), I was made aware of this new development in Pedophiliac Prevention.


http://www.washtimes.com/news/2008/oct/15/pumpkin-marks-sex-offenders-homes/

This got me thinking, I probably could come up with a Halloween costume or two from this. This also got me thinking, I work for a company with 15,000+ employees worldwide. There has to be a registered sex offender amongst them. My company prides itself on diversity so I'm sure we've diversified our workforce enough to pick up at least a child-diddler for good measure. In all honestly I've felt for a long time that one of my co-workers is awkward enough to be a Chester. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel this guy has a few key character traits that he could possibly fall into this bucket. So I've decided to make a check list of tell tale signs to determine if someone you work with in fact touches the hearts and genatalia of our youth.

The signs that you have spotted a child-toucher



1) Awkward appearance including facial fair. If they look desheveled or have an apathy towards life because they're too hideous to correct their situation and find a suitable mate their age, you may have found a child-toucher. This person may think a child would not judge them and their many physical faults as children are pure and not judgemental. Pedophiles I'm sorry to inform you that you're wrong because although children may be blind to color differences, they're not blind to ugly. I'm sure anything looking like it came straight from the crypt would probably scare them, not elicit their trust.



2) Awkward social mannerisms. This person probably blends in because they are good at what they do, so most people overlook their mannerisms. I, however, am a very judgemental person and no apparent flaw passes by my radar. These mannerisms can range from anything to awkward conversations because they are social retards to the acknowledgment of odd hobbies for a person their age. For example, if you notice said gentleman is a cat lover because he talks to your female co-worker about her cat at great lengths, that guy probably owns several cats to capture the imagination and orificial virtue of young children. Or the guy could just be gay. Honestly a toss-up here.



3) A soft voice only rivaled by Raffi. I'm not saying this guy would sing Baby Beluga or any shit like that in public, but this person probably carries a guitar with them for no reason at work functions or in general in hopes of wooing a child with some sweet, soft-spoken lullabies. Children do love music and sing alongs. However they won't like them as much when they find out what they are holding up to their lips is not a microphone at all.



4) Prolific wearing of Hawaiian shirts. I'm sorry but Hawaiian shirts in public places other than Hawaii bother me. Hawaiian shirts have no place anywhere let alone at work. Anyone who wears them is trying way too hard to show people they are part of the "fun" crowd. This extra effort to put up a facade is obviously a ploy to hide the fact that they fondle with baby foreskin.


I'm sure you may have an encounter or two with a pedophile, so please provide some suggestions. Do it for the children damn it.