Area Man--

Last Tuesday, two days before what he said was his dissertation, Area Man discovered what he would later call, “a miracle,” deep in the “caverns of his bookcase.” Area Man maintained that there were so many that, “of course I didn’t know I had one of those, I couldn’t have possibly read through all of these books. Many of them were given to me by friends and family as cop-out gifts for my birthdays while I was in college.”

A photo of his room showed at most thirty books, and a few National Geographic Magazines on his with a bong as a book-end on one side, and two cartons of cigarettes on the other.

“It was when I was writing this, um… abstract, that I realized I had been using the same words over and over again, redundantly,” he said, grinning, “as they say,” while not understanding that he was using the word incorrectly. 

Neighbors reported that he was, “abusing that word like a sexual deviant does a cucumber,” and one in particular said, “if I hear that word come out of his mouth one more time, I’m going to redundantly rip his tongue from his mouth.”

Facebook friends quoted his most recent status as being, “Area Man redundantly addicted to facebook,” in which, ironically, the word at least made some kind of sense.

Later when he was questioned about the abstract he was writing, Area Man excused himself. Apparently, to “like” his own status update from the bathroom.

It started out as a beautiful Friday afternoon, like they usually do, and Area Man showed up to work smiling that beautiful smile of his, positively radiant, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was vicariously pregnant, because, well, him being pregnant would have changed the title of this post.  

“Considering where I was and what I was doing— What, five hours earlier? Yeah, I felt pretty damn good. Even riding the elevator wasn’t a problem. It was like I was training myself to survive that for the past few weeks, and when this test came, it wasn’t an issue at all. I felt invincible. It even made multiple stops, I was almost considering taking it up and down just to show it who’s boss,” he said, swooning with self satisfaction, “I fucking am.”

Area Man went on to recall the events of the previous night in vivid detail, and actually wouldn’t stop doing it until he said, “now wasn’t that the vividest detailing of a night out you’d ever heard?” 

“I also took some pictures. Here, let me show you,” he said to his coworker, still grinning. When he took out his phone he saw that blinking red light which implied that he had messages. But the screen didn’t work.

“God damn it, my cell phone doesn’t fucking work.

“It’s like God punching you in the face.

“It’s like God showing Moses the Ten Commandments in sign language and Moses being blind.

“It’s like God raining on your parade,” he continued, “especially the Gay Pride Parade, with men. It’s not so good when you literally get what you ask for.

“God damn it.”

It could have been called a momentous day, it could also have been called a day during which math nerds hung their heads and repeated the mantra, “you’re doing it wrong,” but this past Sunday afternoon, Area Man and his girlfriend, Area Man’s Girlfriend, took it upon themselves to lay mere mortal cocks to shame by triumphantly placing the TI-83 Plus Graphing Calculator upon Area Man’s member to make a size comparison. 

Witnesses accounts ranged from, “that’s a big calculator. No way,” to silence, with an included jaw drop (mostly from women in anticipation).  

This reporter took the hit to his manhood in stride and tried to convince himself that it’s ok, there are bigger dicks in the world, and it really is ok.

Anyway.

After this took place, Area Man remembered that this calculator, which now reeked of vulgar measurement, he had borrowed from a friend of his, and wasn’t exactly sure of what to do with it.

“I mean, you can’t clean this in the usual way,” he said, “I had to go to a pharmacy and buy some baby wipes. I really couldn’t bring it back to him in that condition. And I can’t tell him what happened either, and I can’t tell our mutual friends, he would find out that I used his calculator to measure… this amazing thing.” He went on to say that his friend kept asking about the smell of it, and the condition of it. “I should’ve just gotten him a new one, but I couldn’t really afford it, I was saving that money to get a drink later on in the day, you know, to celebrate.”

In related news, Area Man’s Girlfriend went to see her doctor and found out she has TMJ.

An experience that has been shared by all of us at some point, Area Man finally decided to share how he was embarrassed the other day. 

“Look,” he said, “I was just standing around, minding my own damned business, when this guy came up to me, and just fucking— he pulled my pants down! You know, it would’ve been ok normally, but it was laundry day…” and what he was wearing, it was for no one’s eyes, least of all the children at the adjacent playground. 

“Look. This generally doesn’t happen to me. My—” He frowned and looked around shamefully as he said this. “Can you pixelate my quotes, too? Or just, you know, don’t use a photo and don’t use my name.”

He was at this point even more reluctant to divulge the details of this day, but a view of a photo on a bystander’s cellphone showed it all: his pants around his ankles; his genitals wrapped in a tie-dye elephant thong; his pubic hair crawling out in a moist spiral which seems to generate both from his balls and his bellybutton.

The assailant, puking. On his shoes.