Hey there, I’m the Cheekygeek, a former newspaper columnist enlisted by my friend Jeff—a very talented film maker and web-designer—to add some “controversial” content to his web page. Since I thrive on telling people what to think and do I leapt at the chance to make the move from plain old newsprint to this new and exciting arena: The Internet a.k.a. the world wide web a.k.a. a collection of boobs and vaginas. And that’s just whitehouse.gov. A massive network of wires and invisible signals designed to bring you irrelevant news and movie times from all over the globe simultaneously. Just imagine, gentle reader, as you’re reading this, someone in Tanzania is looking at a blank screen and holding a rock. No one ever said Tanzanians were internet savvy.
Jeff asked if I would write some sort of introduction explaining who I am and why anyone should listen to me. Initially I said, “No, I want them to be surprised.” But then I thought, “Hey, this could be like the Cheekygeek’s origin story or something!” And that got me excited.
It all started one fateful September morning about 9 years ago. I was walking down a cobblestone path heading to a journalism lecture when this total jerk, Flash Thompson, who’s bothered me since high school, came out of nowhere and shoved me in the mud. “Hey, Flash, come on, these are my best khakis!” I said. “Haw Haw, DeMarco*, you dope. You never could hang with the likes of me. C’mon baby!” Flash reached out, grabbed some random girl, and kissed her full on the lips with tongue. She giggled and they left together…presumably to have sex. I sat in the mud thinking, “One day I’ll get even. Oh yes, I’ll get even.”
I showed up at the lecture ten minutes late, mud still on my pants, just in time for the demonstration on how radioactivity is controlled in the journalism lab. I remember wondering why they would need radioactivity in a journalism lab, but then I thought, “That’s why I’m the freshman and they’re the teacher’s aides.” The instructor pulled a switch and the entire lab filled with these swirling colors: blues, yellows, reds arching all over the room. Distracted by the display, I failed to notice a shadow moving towards me. Oh! Why? WHY! Why didn’t I notice the shadow? That shadow gave me both my gift and my curse. I felt a sharp pain in my hand. “Ouch,” I said, looking down. A man was latched onto my hand, he was wearing a trench coat and a fedora with a press pass stuck in the hat band. “Aw, it’s just a journalist….but why do I feel so strange…so different. I gotta get some air!”
I left the journalism lecture and started walking across the nearby intersection to get to my car. I guess I was in sort of a fog because I didn’t notice that the car heading towards me wasn’t slowing down. It missed me by inches, not because I jumped out of the way or anything, it just looked like it was heading towards me at first glance, but really I had about 2 feet of room. Still, though, it was pretty close. Immediately I felt a strange urge come upon me, I ran into the library, sat down a computer, and dashed off a letter to the editor requesting a stop sign at that intersection. The very next day, the school put up a stop sign and I got a job writing for the paper. I had never written anything before and all of a sudden I’m a writer? “The journalist,” I thought, “The one that bit me. He must have been radioactive! Somehow, someway, through the radioactivity, I absorbed his powers.”
I went home and told my Aunt May and Uncle Ben about my job writing for the school paper. My Uncle Ben, who raised me since my parents died in a plain crash, told me that with great writing talent comes great responsibility. “You can tell people what do think and what to do and that’s not something to take lightly.” I blew him off, god help me. My first column: Flash Thompson is Gay took a scathing look at Flash’s homophobic tendencies. Turns out I was right, my journalist senses paid off, and Flash ended up leaving school to tour with the off Broadway production of Rent. I celebrated my victory that night by calling my Uncle to let him know what happened. Aunt May picked up the phone, “Oh, David, it’s terrible,” she cried, “Your Uncle saw your column; it turns out he’s been gay since before we married! He used me as his Fag Hag! “Oh god, Aunt May, stop talking,” I said. “It gets worse,” she continued, “your article upset him so much that he ran out of the house and surprised a burglar trying to steal our newspaper.” “That’s not so bad,” I said. “NO! He shot him; the burglar shot your flamingly gay Uncle!” Uncle Ben: gay and dead and I’m to blame. Now I understand that with great writing talents come great responsibilities and I pledged on my Uncle’s grave that I would never use my powers for evil.
So, there you have it, gentle reader, the origin of the Cheekygeek. Ah, but you’re asking, “how did he get the name Cheekygeek.” That, I’m afraid, is a tale for another time. EXCELSIOR!
*last name left the same in case any lovely ladies enjoyed what they read and wanted to get together for coffee.
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