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the handsome loser

The life and times of a handsome loser. Humor. Love. Sex. Dating. Life.

Over Before It's Begun.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Sadly, happily due to another internet project of mine taking off rather quickly, there will be no more from the Handsome Loser. I will not have the time to post on a regular basis and do not want to run one of those blogs that only updates once in a blue moon. If I can't put the time in I do not see the point. It's a shame, as I had so many more great stories to tell you. Thank you for reading. Goodbye.

Handsome.
posted by handsomeloser, 3:54 PM | link | 3 comments |

The Things That Made Me Laugh Today....

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Are this and this.

They are both a little bit rude. Deal with it.
posted by handsomeloser, 2:26 PM | link | 1 comments |

Placing Empty Bottles Back In The refrigerator

Monday, July 17, 2006

I do it. I take a big slug of orange juice, finish off the bottle and then put that bottle straight back in there. This bothers some people to the point of Armageddon. I know this to be true as I've experienced the frustration and aggression that can follow my unthoughtful actions. There is no malice intended on my part. Laziness, yes. But malice just isn't what I'm all about. However, if someone chooses to point out this flaw in my character and- after the discovery of its emptiness- puts the same bottle in the fridge so that I can remove it next time I'm in there, well.... Well, that's just petty. And we all know the best way to deal with pettiness is to respond with even greater pettierness and just leave that bottle right where it is. If the enemy response is to then start placing other empty items back in the fridge, we have a situation where no-one is willing to place any used item from the fridge into the garbage. If this goes on for a week, there is little room in the fridge for the new things that have come to live there. If it goes on for TWENTY SIX days it's time to step back and reflect. No-one likes backing down after a stand-off like this but where can you go from here? The next step is literally buying a new refrigerator for the kitchen. I can't let it go that far, can I? Or is the 'unknown' of just how far this thing can go worth investigating?
posted by handsomeloser, 8:18 AM | link | 2 comments |

Allow me to recommend the wonderful.....

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Pandora.

It's a website that finds you new music you will like.

'How does it do this, Handsome? Please, tell us?'

Well, since you asked nicely, you tell Pandora songs that you like and, by analyzing those songs through some strange musical science voodoo kind of shit, it plays you other songs it reckons you will like. The thing is, it works. Not with every song obviously, but if you just let it play for a while you will find tons of good songs, often by artists you won't even know. My hard drive is ready to burst with the music I've discovered through Pandora. Yeah, I know it sounds like a heap of bullshit.

'It's music, not science, goddamn it!'

That's what I thought when someone recommended it to me. I knew it wouldn't hurt me if I gave it a try though. And it didn't hurt me. It didn't hurt me one bit.

(Although the song it's playing me right now is effing abysmal).
posted by handsomeloser, 7:07 AM | link | 3 comments |

So, girls, tell me this...

Friday, July 14, 2006

Many first dates seem to have a moment when I suddenly feel like I've been pushed towards the edge of a precipice and asked- very sweetly- if I'd like to jump in. That moment comes when a girl inevitably asks me that most awful of questions....

'So, Handsome, what movies do you like?'

Dangerous, dangerous times. Do I stick to the safe geek stuff like Star Wars or Lord of the Rings? Or, do I strap all the heavy things I can find to my body and dive right off the edge with all my favorite geek, Manga and cute Japanese girls in love with giant robots type stuff? I've laid it all on the line on first dates in the past but something usually happens to the girls when they get the no holds barred answer. Something behind their eyes just dies. The alarm bells in their heads ring so loud that I can hear them.

So, that's the question. Do I simply wear my heart on my sleeve and hope that one day a gorgeous vixen says, 'Hey, I collect World of Warcraft figures too?' Or do I take it slowly and wait until they actually, you know, like me before I unleash the full fury of my geek horror upon their unsuspecting asses?

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posted by handsomeloser, 3:18 PM | link | 5 comments |

Why do I call myself a loser?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I like Maria and Maria likes me. The reality of that is perfectly simple and clear. No-one would dispute it. We work together and we're flashing smiles and coy looks back and forward like there's no tonight never mind tomorrow. I mean, we've got a rhythm going that Buddy Rich couldn't keep time with. We haven't talked much but that doesn't matter. We know what's happening and everybody else around us knows what's happening- the sexual tension between us is driving everyone else crazy, never mind ourselves.

'Why don't you just screw her already?' asks Janice.

She's usually the one who says what everyone else is thinking. She also intimidates me, so I just shrug.

'Why has nothing happened yet?'

Why? My loser defeatist, mentality, that's why. Despite being one hundred percent sure that Maria is absolutely crazy about me, I think it's only fifty/fifty whether or not she even likes me. See the logic flaw there? That's some screwed up psychology, not to mention mathematics, going on right there. I'm imagining how well Maria and I could click, so my inner prophet of doom cannot permit me to believe that things could be as simple as me asking her out and her saying 'yes'. I don't believe in such simplicity for me. There must be a big murky piece of the jigsaw yet to fall into place, right?

To miss out a few months of sleepless nights, a thousand hours of fretting over the myriad of worse case scenarios and numerous 'why don't you ask her out, you crazy asshole' type of comments, I get myself to the stage when I'm ready to step up. For some reason watching that great Michael Douglas movie, 'The Wonder Boys', sends me over the edge. I decide that the next day I will finally ask her out. Cue sleepless night number three that week.

In the morning we meet in the office and exchange a couple of those teasing little smiles.

'Next chance I get,' I tell myself.

I quickly get another three good chances but give myself miserable little chickenshit excuses for not doing it. It's looking like I'm going to let another day slip by except that late afternoon we end up alone on the stairwell. She's coming up. I'm going down. This is my moment. My desire finally smothers my fear and I'm ready. Completely, unmistakably ready. She takes a couple of steps up, I take a couple down, I open my mouth and... Slip and fall down the stairs. Crash and burn.

I badly damage the ligaments in my right ankle and suffer a small but bloody cut to my forehead. The physical pain was insignificant in comparison to my embarrassment. I couldn't stand that Maria had saw me do that. As she helped me up I quite literally wanted to die.

I never ask Maria out and I never really look her in the eye again. What would have been the point? Once you have become Inspector Clouseau in someone's eyes you can never become their Jack Bauer, can you? A month later she gets a new job and moves on. I've never see her since.

It's a little moment that sums up my life. That's why I call myself a loser.
posted by handsomeloser, 9:22 AM | link | 5 comments |

Zidane Headbutts Materazzi.

Zidane Headbutts Materazzi



Check out the video. This seems to be the biggest story in the world right now. Everywhere you look people are talking about it- a headbutt that took place in the World Cup final. Apparently the Italian guy called Zidane's mother a 'terrorist whore' and so Zidane decided to headbutt his nipples into oblivion. What amazes me is the speed that the internet works. It seemed that within seconds of it happening someone had created a little crude animation of Zinedine Zidane headbutting Scorpion from the Mortal Kombat games. Then Zidane with bull horns, then a fiery, flaming Zidane, then something else and something else.

It also shows how quickly something can snowball online. These two guys made this little comedy tribute and all of a sudden one and a half million people and counting have watched in on youtube. Amazing how small the world has become now. Can you imagine you and your friend making something like that a decade ago? Who would have seen it? Five people at most probably, if anyone would have even bothered making it in the first place. Now, however....

ZIDANE a new way to solve problems.. do it like zidane...



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posted by handsomeloser, 8:11 AM | link | 0 comments |

The Day Freddie Mercury Died

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Queen Live



The story about singing Queen and getting my ass kicked by some hookers reminded me of another Queen story where I got into a fight. Now relax, there is nothing about the music of Queen that gets me foaming at the mouth and ready to punch peoples heads off. It was actually the day Freddie Mercury died. I was still at school, then. Over the previous six months my pals and me- we were the sort of 'wanna be in a long haired rock 'n' roll band' crowd in school- had really been getting into the music of Queen. We'd go over to each other houses- taking a few sneaky beers- and get the greatest hits on. We'd sing it word for word and try in vain to play the Brian May guitar solos on our cheap, acoustic guitars. They were great, great times that are bringing a massive smile to my face as I write.

So, I'm in English class and my teacher, Mister Tully, comes in. Mister Tully was a huge Queen fan. If you felt like slacking off a little in class you could just drop in a couple of mentions of Queen or Bowie or Led Zep and he'd go off on a big nostalgia trip about his seventies glory days- saved from Shakespeare for another day. Anyhow, Mister Tully was looking pretty down. In fact it was obvious to the class that he'd been crying. Seeing A male teacher so emotional, especially a tough guy like Mister Tully, was a shock. It subdued us for all of half a minute before one girl asked him what was wrong. He told us Freddie Mercury had died. Now, I don't know how many teenage boys were hugely affected by Freddie's death- it didn't create a fraction of the same teen hysteria as Kurt Cobain's suicide- but I was cut to the bone and then some. I couldn't believe it. I was becoming a man, I was developing my own tastes and opinions. Queen were the first band I'd ever got 'in to'. Freddie was the first rock star I'd loved and all of a sudden he was dead- obviously it wasn't actually all of a sudden, the world had known it was coming but I'd somehow missed all that. As I think back now, I can remember reading that Freddie, shortly before the end, had been forced to put in a public appearance to dispel rumours that he was dead. To me this was hilarious at the time but I just thought it was some quirky rock star behaviour, I hadn't known what was behind the rumours.

I sat there open-mouthed, numb, when a voice from behind me piped up. 'Freddie Mercury was a queer,' the leering, drawl said. I recognised it as belonging to Jimmy Moore. I turned, looked at his grinning, gargoyle face and I just flew for him. I managed to get a couple of punches in before Mister Tully pulled me away. I wasn't angry that Jimmy had called my hero 'queer'- My father had told me that Freddie was a 'big homo' long before then. I didn't see it as an insult. I was angry because his tone implied that because Freddie was 'queer' he didn't matter or, even worse, that it meant he somehow deserved it. I just lost control.

I got detention but it was a good thing. Mister Tully had two free periods that day and he came into detention as much as possible and the two of us just talked and talked about just how 'fucking much'- he actually said that, it seemed incredible then to hear a teacher swear passionately- we loved Queen and Freddie Mercury. For the next six months, the laser on my CD player only saw six CD's and they were all Queen. God bless you, Freddie.

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posted by handsomeloser, 5:52 PM | link | 75 comments |

Blog Template

You'll notice- if you've ever been here before- that I've changed the look of the site. The basic look I had before was somewhat dull. Not having any skill in that department, my lazy ass had a look and found some free Blogger templates provided by these nice boys.

I don't know who they are but I thought I'd give them a mention and a thank you. They've got some nice templates over there that you might be able to use. Check them out.

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posted by handsomeloser, 12:18 PM | link | 6 comments |

One Bad Date Among Many Part 3

Allow me to direct you, if I may, towards parts one and two of this 'mental scar inducing' date before you read on.

So, I vomit. Copiously. I do a damn good job of ensuring it all lands on me. All in my trousers, in fact. None on my shirt, none on my shoes and- most importantly- none on Leah. I take what small pride I can from that fact. The fairground worker laughs at me- to be fair, I'd be laughing at me too- and then gestures to someone to stop the ride. We slow down and I get up, sick falling off me onto the floor. I get out of the orb and go past the once more grinning fairground worker. I feel like doing something really violent- like brushing past him- but I know if I even look at him the wrong way he'll put his fingers in his mouth, whistle the code red and every fairground worker in the country will suddenly be surrounding me and removing my soft bits from my hard bits- Hey, I've seen it happen. Do not fight with the boys that work at the fairground. I don't care who you are, you will lose. The other 'spinners' look around, wanting to know why their orgasmic spinning has come to an abrupt halt. Then, of course, they all spot the vomit splattered asshole and laugh it up.

We get back on to solid ground and I just keep saying sorry. I'm humiliated. I'm officially the anecdote waiting to happen that came of age. I give Leah the chance to run that she must be waiting on and tell her to go on to the gig without me. She says, 'No. What do I want to do that for? We got to get you cleaned up first.' I had expected her to run like the wind but I had been wrong. A warm sensation flows through me and right then it feels like not giving up on me is the most wonderful, tender gesture a woman has ever made for me.

We get to the street but it's a Friday night and there's not an empty cab in sight. We try calling for one but it's going to be at least an hour. I have no plans to stand in vomit-covered pants with a beautiful girl for any longer than neccesary but getting back home quickly is sounding impossible. Then I have a brainwave. A guy I know, Steve, who's always been on the cusp of being called a friend, lives nearby. If he's in he might have something I can borrow. Maybe I can escape this soiled pants Poseidon after all.

It takes about ten minutes to get to Steve's. I apologize over and over the whole way. I have since learned that apologizing for the same thing more than twenty times is extremely off-putting to the ladies due to the pathetic, needy nature of it. Anyhow, we get there and Steve is about to head out the door. I explain the situation and he almost pisses himself laughing. 'And this is your first date?' he keeps saying again and again. 'Yeah. It is.' I ask if there's something of his that I could wear and it's here that the problem with this idea jumps up and bites me in the nuts. I'm six two and weigh a hundred and ninety pounds. Steve is five three with a top hat on and is a waif fit to grace the very best homo-erotic literature. Why hadn't this occurred to me before now? I don't know. I hear women talking a lot about the likelihood of them fitting into another woman's piece of clothing. You ever hear guys talking about that? No. 'Cos we don't think about it.

We leave Leah in the lounge and go into the bedroom. The trousers come off. They smell disgusting and they simply cannot go back on. I throw them into the sink to soak them. Steve's handing me different things to try. He's giving me jeans that I can't get past my lower thighs, pants that are shorter than my arms. It's undoubtedly the funniest moment of his life but I feel like crying. Eventually we find something that fits me. A pair of shorts. They fit because of the elastic waist and because they are designed to be long shorts on a small man. I look in the mirror and even I laugh. The radioactive yellow nature of them didn't allow me to keep a straight face. 'I need to wait here until a cab comes,' I say. 'No,' says Steve. 'I need to go now.' 'I can't go out like this,' I say. 'Give me a spare key, I'll lock up.' 'I don't have a spare key. I'd give you this but I'm heading out of town. I might not be back for the next few days. Put the trousers back on or wear the shorts.' I now had my very own 'Sophie's Choice.'

So, decision made, I'm standing in the street with Leah. The soaking wet, death smelling pants were not an option. I went for the bright yellow Bermuda shorts. We also found a dodgy t-shirt big enough for me to squeeze into- smart shirt and shorts isn't a good combo- but the footwear I was stuck with. So, picture it. Tight, bright yellow shorts, tight, purple 'Animal from the Muppets' t-shirt, black socks and smart black leather shoes, holding a plastic bag with vomit covered trousers in it. It was truly a disappear into the cracks in the pavement moment. Leah, who's tried to spare my feelings up to this point, can't hold back any more and just laughs her head off. 'Is there still a chance?' I'm thinking. Uh.... No.

Down in the street the silence has become uncomfortable. I dont know what to say. 'We could do something else.' I suggest, optimistically. She shakes her head. 'I think Ill just head to the gig alone,' she says. The vomit she could handle. The yellow shorts and smart black leather shoes were too much. I think she liked the Animal t-shirt. I nod and we part ways. I have to walk around like this for an hour before I manage to hail a cab. It was the definitive first date from Hell.

Don't worry though. I've got plenty more awful dates to tell you about. Plenty. It's the result of being the combination of 'tall dark and handsome' and 'geek loser'. The awful female encounters are seemingly endless.

(of course she liked the Animal t-shirt)

muppet show drums fight



Now them's the skills. Amazing.

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posted by handsomeloser, 4:44 AM | link | 1 comments |