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R.E.M. Shiny Happy People
noun – a contemptible, socially inept person.
additional meaning – The blue whale’s penis, or dork, is the largest that ever existed. The average size for an adult male is 5m (15ft). The testicles weigh 10kg (22 pounds). The blue whale can produce between 3 – 20 gallons of sperm during its mating season.
You learn something new each day. My inspiration for this piece came from a conversation I had recently with a loved one about the origins of the word dork. Like berk, dork is one of those marvelous put-downs which doesn’t get nearly enough exposure. Dorkiness is generally regarded as meaning buffoon; one is dorky when they are lacking in social grace or any semblance of cool. However, if you root around a little, then you will find that it also describes the penis of a blue whale. I know right? Instantly it has become one of my favorite ever words and the next time I am called a dork (it won’t be a long wait believe me) I can take comfort in the truth that I am, in fact, representative of the phallus of the world’s largest mammal. What a distinct honor that will be.
So anyhoots, the word has taken on fresh meaning to Keeper and thus, in my infinite wisdom, I have decided to wax lyrical about the multitude of different dorks we interact with on a daily basis. The blue whale will one day be extinct but this is my way of ensuring that its genitals live on. Being a self-confessed dork it should be an effortless endeavor identifying these different strains and I’m sure many of the following will apply to me personally. Over the past eighteen months I have gradually become proud of who I am; whether that involves poking a little fun in my own direction or not. I’m very much in touch with my ridiculous side and acting the fool is one of my all-time favorite pastimes so this should be a walk in the park. All being well, this wondrous phrase will be afforded a new lease of life as it has been a sleeping giant for far too long. At the very least, it should be a whole lot of fun. So, without further ado, let’s don our dork hats shall we? Never mind, I already have mine on.
Actually, let’s start at the other end. They say you can tell a lot about a person by their footwear and, if that’s the case, then I would have been an open book as I started my voyage into adolescence. It was the night before my first day of secondary school and I was understandably nervous about making a good lasting impression on my peers and gaining a little of this popularity stuff all the other kids were raving about. This was to become my first ever reinvention; my shot at being cool, and I was desperate to take it with open hands. Alas for me, my grandmother donated me a pair of shoes to celebrate my transition and ordinarily I was rather fond of gifts. Not this one however; these monstrosities closest resembled clown shoes although I affectionately referred to them as boulder bashers on account of the fact that they appeared to have been crafted from the polished skull of an ox and looked as though they would come out unscathed in a rock slide.
I despised my boulder bashers and, if that wasn’t bad enough, the rest of my attire was just as hideous. Kurt Russell actually made the Parka jacket cool again but news traveled slow across the pond and in England it was regarded as the worst kind of status symbol. To add insult to injury, I had just opened a new savings account at the local bank and my prize had been a satchel with the bank’s logo emblazoned across the front. As you can imagine, my boulder bashers tied the entire outfit together and I was left resembling a book-end as I began my plight to become popular. Consequently I struggled to leave any lasting impression on my classmates other than providing them with belly laughs aplenty for the next five years. That’s right; my shoes were nothing if not durable and, despite my best attempts at scuffing them at every opportunity, they withstood any damage and lasted like only a pair of shoes donated by a geriatric could last. The word dork was one of many inventive nicknames banded around and probably the kindest to be fair.
Kansas Carry On My Wayward Son
So I learned from an early age that I was destined to be known as a dork and, rather than deny my knighthood, embraced it willingly. I acted the clown as it appeared to be my calling; making people laugh didn’t seem that hard, particularly should any hilarity be squarely aimed back towards me. I did what any aspiring dork would do in such exclusive circumstances, I unraveled a paper clip and inserted it into a live socket in a Physics lecture.
This afforded me immunity from 75% of the school bullies as I was regarded as light relief and it’s hard to punch somebody in the face through tears of laughter. Being known as the resident dork didn’t win me any advancement from the ladies, other than being the guy they all hang around with. You know the dude, normally at least confused about his sexual orientation, loves a bit of gossip. Actually, I was already fairly assured that I preferred my Eves to my Adams and found tittle tattle superfluous at best but they recognized something in me which posed no threat and allowed me to nestle in around their growing bosoms. No complaints from me.
To begin with, it looked as though I had snuck in through the back door undetected. Being regarded as practically sexless makes it perfectly acceptable for you to sit in on breast comparison sessions and the unveiling of lingerie. At one point, it went way further, after an otherwise uneventful stroll home from school turned into an unlicensed game of Licky the Dicky. We stopped in the graveyard and took a seat on the bench while my two teammates explained the rules. I wasn’t allowed to touch; instead I must remain totally inactive, while they unzipped my special purpose and took turns in licking from shaft to bell. It felt strange to play bystander but, thankfully, the Dicky in question had its own memory banks which we commonly refer to as testicles. They remembered that shit for years to come. Even now, almost thirty years on, I can still recall every last word.
“Now my lick”
“Now my lick again. Oops look I dribbled on it”
“Lick it off quick”
“Did I get it all?”
“It’s running down your lip. Here let me dab it off with my fingertip”
I receive a vague twinkle in my groin at the very thought of the exclusivity provided by being a fully-fledged dork. Sure, I struggled to find a girl within a fifty mile radius willing to trade bubblegum but I got my motherfucking dick licked…by two girls…at once. That has to count for something right? There were other moments like this throughout my tenure but ultimately I made my transition from child to manchild and felt it the right time for a change of tactics. I had enjoyed a decent run-out as dork and would have done it all over the same way if the opportunity presented itself but now was the time to get serious. There were billions of vaginas in the world, many of which within one degree of separation, and I still had to work out how to operate one. I shelved being a dork in much the same manner as I eventually consigned my boulder boulders to storage; but it was never too far away should I need to call on it.
I worked in a video store for my entire teens and film became my truest passion. Being a dork enabled me to retain information to such a degree that I was often regarded as a walking A-Z of movies. I began to collect horror and comedy and my VHS collection soon resembled the store itself. Years later I was to curse my wasted youth as DVD came along and fucked up my shit no-end. Suddenly nobody gave a flying shit Frisbee if I owned Spookies on video cassette as they were too busy messing around with scene select and skipping to the best parts. Desperate not to be outfoxed; I laid out a second time and was soon revered as the proud owner of the largest collection in state. Actually, precious few were entrusted access into my vault after one of my skin mags was returned with less pictorials to peruse as page 1-54 had been welded together with ominous adhesive. Instead I kept my dork status decidedly low-key and enjoyed it on my terms.
Recently I embarked on a pilgrimage to Saugerties, NY, and joined an exclusive troupe. The Dorks of New York comprised of three; myself, the one and only Scarlet Genesis and our impish court jester AnnThraxx. Upon commencement of our three-day binge we decided that we should embrace our inner dork as a trio and all agreed to the terms willingly. By the third night, at around 6am NY time, with several teenagers fast asleep in their quarters, we laid out a cheese puff crime scene for our own simple amusement. Nothing fancy, maybe ten to twelve Cheetos, a spoon, a credit card, and a lighter. That was all we required to enjoy ourselves after a hard night on tequila and fireballs. We had rather a lot of fun, not just at the expense of the cheese puffs, but with them. Dorks like everyone to be involved you see. For one night, we were no longer all pushing forty with one dangling the wrong side; we were fifteen again. I lament my decision not to reintroduce Licky my Dicky; oh well, there’s always Memphis.
Huey Lewis & The News Hip To Be Square
The point I am trying to make is that Huey Lewis & The News were right all along. It really is hip to be square. By all three dorks aligning that night I relocated a place from my childhood which I forgot even existed. When you meet fellow dorks and accept that being butt of your own joke is actually suspiciously fun; you open yourself up to a brand new world of opportunity. I’m still a walking A-Z of movies, still the boy who once electrocuted himself in a Physics lecture, still surrounded by girls who rightly don’t see me as posing any threat, and once again true to myself as I was back then. I may have been gifted those boulder bashers but, do you know what, I rocked those bastards for five fucking years. Do you have any idea the exertion required just to lift one of those behemoths? I was still cool to other dorks like myself and moreover I wore the beacons. Now, all these years later, my boulder bashers/clown shoes can be discerned from across the Atlantic like reinforced lighthouses and I have found the most wonderful assemblage of dorks to wax lyrical with. Thanks fellow dorks, you may be Grueheads, but you’ll always be dorks to me.
Seems like the perfect place to wrap up right? You know me; how could I possibly end without making at least one mention of the world’s largest living mammal and its own illustrious dork? What a whopper! No wonder Ahab had such stiff nipples for seafaring. There we are, done it now, see you around dorks.
Truly, Clearly, Really, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
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Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2015