Suga, Suga

There comes a time in one's life where you have to look around and say STOP! For me, that time came when I turned on TNA iMPACT one night and I saw Hector Guerrero giving Rosita a very creepy and disturbed look. He looked at her as if she were a plate of sizzling fajitas.

Nevertheless, we all have to march on no matter how weirded out we are. That's when I thought to myself if I knew the lyrics to Baby Bash's "Suga, Suga." Of course everyone knows the chorus, but do they know any of the lyrics?

The song in question was never that big. As I stopped listening to hip hop somewhere around 2002, I totally missed out on this song when it came out in 2003. Admittedly I only know the song because of AOL Profiles.

Around that time AOL Profiles expanded their template profile system to a full fledged "do whatever you want" blank HTML page. Many of my friends were throwing up pictures galore as well as embedded music. There was a certain young lady who's profile we'd all troll. That's where I first heard "Suga, Suga." All the fellas from a certain online community would pass around links to her profile like they were passing a cold. She was quite the stunning young lady. She was "the bees knees" as the young kids would say. Sadly, all I can remember about her now is that stupid song. Such a shame.

AOL Profiles were awesome back then. This was back when social networking was in the early stages of being centralized down to one or two websites. This was back when AOL Profiles, Yahoo Profiles, and even MSN had their own thing going on, not to mention the dawn of The Myspace, and the very beginning stages of what was to become Facebook. This was back when Blackplanet.com ruled the world, and us guys would go on there to find dates.

The good ol' days.

If you had AOL (which most people did), you were in. I remember coming home from work and running to my computer, signing on, and jumping into AOL's elaborate and extensive chat rooms. Then we'd troll the chat room and right click on everyone's name and look for hot girls. To be honest I found a couple of dates on there. They never really materialized into anything, but it was fun nonetheless. Never do we stop to thing, gee, the internet sure was crappy back then!

They were a lot more fun that earlier attempts to get us to socialize via the internets. Raise your hand if you had a WBS page or even a homestead.com profile. Freshman year of college and we all had Homestead pages. We'd pass notes around telling each other "check out my homestead page." From there we'd marvel at the miniscule speck of HTML the person knew, and how many stolen pics of hot models they could hotlink off of other websites. That library internet was our portal into netherworld, where I'd wake up on Monday morning after WWF Pay-per-views with my friends and we'd all hit up the library and read the results on WWF.com.

Those are days I really wish wouldn't come back. The nostalgic person in me reminisces on a lot of things, but those early internet days are not one of them. Slow, crappy internet, that dial up modem sound, and having to look at pictures of hot models materialize veeeeeeery slowly. Oh, and don't forget the random boot. (goodbye)

Whenever I hear "Suga, Suga" I think of those AOL days. But yeah, you can keep them.

PS: Hector Guerrero, you're creeping people out, dude. STOP IT!

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30 Years...

The Dallas Mavericks and I were both born in 1980. Don Carter wanted to show his wife Linda how much he loved her and basketball, so he started the franchise for her. I was too young to remember the Derek Harper/Rolando Blackman/Sam Perkins/ Mark Aguirre/Brad Davis/Detlef Shrempf era in full, my best memories of the Dallas Mavericks came during the Quinn Buckner days. During a period when the Dallas Mavericks couldn't make it very far in the playoffs thanks to the Lakers 80s dominance, the Reunion Rowdies had established themselves as a very good team.

My earliest memory I think was of Roy Tarpley, the troubled player who infamously could never get his alcohol problems together together, thus was expelled from the NBA, then later permanently banned due to his addiction. Roy was a solid player, and a destined star, but he broke the hearts of many Mavericks fans. By that point the golden years were over, and the dark ages loomed heavily. Quinn Buckner was brought in, merely adding to the string of coaches that simply couldn't cut the mustard after the original coach, Dick Motta left for greener pastures.

Then there were The 3 J's: Jamal Mashburn, Jason Kidd, and Jim Jackson. They were touted as the saviors of the Dallas Mavericks. They would be the ones we all thought would finally take the team to the promise land. They even brought Dick Motta back as head coach. Injuries, egos, and overall bickering kept The 3 J's from reaching their full potential. The group was disolved, and Motta was sent back to the Bed & Breakfast he ran with his wife. Don Carter sold the majority of the team to Ross Perot, Jr, and he brought in his own coach, Jim Cleamons, who was an assistant coach during the Chicago Bulls three-peat. Eventually the team was sold again.

I remember sitting in my friend's apartment, watching TV when he told me that the Dallas mavericks had been sold to a billionaire who was also a fan. I was skeptical. The new big 3 was now Steve Nash, Dirk Nowitzki, and Michael Finley. Mark Cuban seemed hell bent on winning a championship in Dallas. Every year in the playoffs they came "this" close, often times getting ousted by their cross state rivals, the San Antonio Spurs. For many years the hatred between Dallas and San Antonio was the only thing that would keep our fans going. I used to say that as long as we beat the Spurs, it didn't matter how far we got.

After several years of me getting excited when our team did beat the Spurs, and then laying down flat on the floor of the dorm hall when we didn't, our team started winning. Then 2006 came along and we beat the Spurs in convincing fashion to earn our first trip to the NBA finals. It was under Coach Avery Johnson, who was Don Nelson's apprentice for many years, and whom I and everyone else would truly be the man to take the Mavericks to the promise land.

After a shocking and upsetting finals loss to the Miami Heat, we all felt spurned. Then in 2007, the Dallas Mavericks took their number 1 seed, and Dirk's league MVP, and stunk up the joint in the first round against the Golden State Warriors. 2006 was that nightmare season. 2007 was the year arrogance took over when the Mavs thought they were just going to steam roll the Warriors.

Years passed and no matter what, everyone still could not stop talking about that loss to the Heat. In 2010-2011, it was time to go back. After beating Portland, I, and most of the country thought they wouldn't get past the Los Angeles Lakers, whom everyone had pegged as the champions already. Then a funny thing happened: The Dallas Mavericks swept the Los Angeles Lakers in convincing fashion. The Mavs beat the Thunder, and then it was on.

Only the Miami Heat, the time that celebrated on our home court, stood in our way. The Mav's nightmare was staring them in the face. It was time to face the past. Dirk was more focused and determined than ever before. Jason "Jet" Terry was out for revenge, and a shot at redemption. It was time.

As I watched the game from a sports bar in downtown Fort Worth, all I could think was that this was our time. Everyone doubted the Dallas Mavericks. Everyone wrote them and Dirk off as soft, and they'd they'd never win anything. The Dallas Mavericks proved everyone wrong. As the clock wound down, and the crowd got more and more antsy, I couldn't believe it. It was actually happening. I got emotional as the entire bar erupted in a rendition of "We are the Champions." When the buzzer hit zero it finally hit me: we are the NBA champions.

I thought about all those times years ago where as a kid I held onto hope, and I cheered on my favorite team as they nose dived year after year. I supported them when nobody else did. I cheered on Jason Kidd when he took the floor as a rookie in 94. I scratched my head at the gimmicky signings of Wang Zhizi, and Dennis Rodman, and I felt hurt the day Roy Tarpley was banned from the league.

Here is to Don Carter, Rolando Blackman, Derek Harper, Jason Kidd, Brad Davis, Dirk Nowitzki, Jason Terry, JJ Barea, Shawn Marion, Brendan Haywood, Deshawn Stevenson, Tyson Chandler, Mark Cuban, Brian Cardinal, and the rest of the team. You have all deserved to hoist up that trophy and finally call yourselves NBA Champions!

The Problem with A.J. Lee

World Wrestling Entertainment has made a killing trying to cater to certain groups over the years. For instance, Rey Mysterio was perennially featured on Smackdown when it was on network television. Why? Because ratings showed that Latin American people stuck around and watched him there because he was on free TV. When Smackdown moved to ScyFy, that statistic died. It’s also why WWE had him constantly speaking Spanglish in his promos. This same practice was first exercised in the early 90s with the character of Razor Ramon, a stereotypical Cuban character that Latino kids everywhere wanted to be emulate. I, not knowing any better, cheered for him as well.

During the Attitude era women would come out scantily clad and have bikini matches, evening gown matches, and pool matches, in order to cater to the men. And if they weren’t perfectly clear about this, they gave The Godfather a flock of women to act as his “ho’s.” The emo kids who cut themselves, wore dark nail polish and dyed their hair with Manic Panic, were catered to by Team Xtreme, which consisted of Matt & Jeff Hardy along with Lita. Heck, Stone Cold Steve Austin was supposed to appeal to the everyman, who drank beer, cursed people out, raised hell and wanted to beat up their boss. Characters like Gangrel appealed to the Goth kids, and The Dudley Boys appealed to the pyromaniac kids who liked to light fires and smash tables.

Recently, April Jeanette Mendez debuted on Smackdown under the alias A.J. Lee. While they aren’t coming out with a media blitz advertising this, it is obvious who she is supposed to appeal to: the snarky internet wrestling nerd who lives in his mother’s basement, plays Halo all night, hangs out at the comic book shop, makes frequent comments on wrestling message boards. Heck, he and his buddies may even get together and do a podcast on the weekend (laugh it up, fuzzball). A.J. Lee is a petite girl who looks much younger than her actual age, comes out to a theme song that sounds like something out of an anime, calls people “dude,” wears a faux Hello Kitty logo on her tights, and overall looks like one of those geeky girls who hangs out at A*Kon, and does a little D&D while episodes of Big Bang Theory play in the background on a DVD. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that she is supposed to appeal to the geeky kids.

While there isn’t anything wrong with that, I must say that WWE trying to pull this off now is simply blasphemous. I am a geek/nerd, whatever you want to call it. I am also a constant peruser of internet wrestling forums and Facebook discussion boards. I like comic books. I like movies. I like video games. I like sci-fi. Vince McMahon has always looked at guys like me with a certain amount of disdain. We are hardcore wrestling fans. WWE has never felt the need to appeal to us. They know that they are going to get us to watch every episode of RAW, Smackdown, NXT, and *gasp* Superstars. We’re gonna order every pay-per-view event. We’re gonna buy every DVD they put out, and we are going to go to their online store and buy up all kinds of WWE merch. They don’t need to cater to us because they know they got us hooked. Just like McDonalds, WWE has us from the cradle to the grave. WWE spoon fed us Hulk Hogan when we were kids, and now that we’re older jaded fans, he really has no use for us other than to jump on our message boards to complain about who should and should not be getting pushed, and also to jump on whenever one of the divas has a “wardrobe malfunction.”

There have only been two times where Vince McMahon and the WWE has ever catered to us “hardcore” fans.

First, when Matt Hardy, in the midst of his real life break up with real life Lita, who was seeing real life Edge, was real life fired from the company. After weeks of internet campaigning, WWE finally allowed Matt Hardy to return to WWE in a worked angle where he was sneaking into the arena to exact revenge on Edge. Afterward, both WWE and Matt Hardy would “leak” stuff onto the internet to get the message board cretins’ juices flowing, and their nobby fingers pounding away on their keyboards. This was all a work. Matt Hardy had already come to terms with his relationship ending, and he came back to make some money. WWE and Matt Hardy succeeded at fooling the internet.

The other bout of “fan service” came when perennial “hardcore fan” favorite Rob Van Dam defeated then champion John Cena at the second One Night Stand pay-per-view. In a small ballroom filled with rabid internet crazy “hardcore fans,” the WWE decided that it would probably be in their best interest to give Van Dam the belt that night. The internet hates John Cena. I mean, seriously, we HATE HIM WITH A BLOODY PASSION! So much so that there was a sign that someone held up, and that the cameras caught a few times, that read: IF CENA WINS WE RIOT!!! And as amped up as that crowd was, you’d better believe that’s exactly what would have happened. Van Dam won the title and all was well in internet land.

Those two examples were done solely to make money. Vince McMahon saw an opportunity to take advantage of a bad situation, and capitalized on it. April Jeanette Mendez existing is only to make money. She’s cute as a button, and in all honestly probably is a little nerdy. WWE knew that nerds would cream their shorts over her, thus a star is created! Q and myself have also caught ourselves trying to internet “claim” her. She’s spunky, energetic, and is being subtly marketed as every nerds ideal girlfriend. Message boards have been abuzz about this girl since she first appeared in FCW. Comparing her to Kelly Kelly, one internet wrestling cretin said that Kelly Kelly is the girl you’d want to have sex with the most, while A.J. Lee is the girl you’d like to take out on a date. To me, she’s the girl you could take to Cold Stone Creamery, hit up the Barnes & Noble to check out the latest Manga (not something I do), and then hit up a movie of her choice, which would probably be either a super hero movie or a Michael Bay explosion-fest.

Vince McMahon is not stupid. He knows that we’ll fall in love with her. That’s why he’s given her this gimmick. He knows that she’s just fodder for the hardcore internet fans who do nothing but read dirt sheets and jerk off to screen caps of Trish Stratus cleavage shots. And I hate to say it, but it’s working. In all honesty, it should be about her wrestling skills, not who she can cater to enough to make them drop $$$ on merch. WWE diva Maryse frequently auctions off her ring worn bra and panties on Ebay. This is done to appeal to her fan base, which is a bunch of horny frat boy types. What is A.J. gonna auction off? Her Hello Kitty scrunchie? Her D&D twenty sided dice? Only time will tell.

PS: According to her Facebook page, A.J. is not into of the aforementioned geek/nerd things. Also, she’s married.

Floyd Hates us All

This is Floyd. Floyd is a former co-worker of mine who was the original basis for Geeks With Color, and our overall plight. He was a little bit Country, a little bit Rock N Roll, and all the way crazy.
Never have I met someone so hell-bent on deprecating himself to the lowest degree. The kid had problems, and when he wasn’t telling everyone within earshot how he’d move to Afrika for the economy, he was rambling on about wanting to pull a Columbine at our job. That boy wasn’t right.

He was a disgusting creature who never shaved his nose hairs and went around looking like a wild Banshee who hasn’t eaten in eight days. He showed everyone those disgusting videos you find on the internets, and then he’d laugh about them. Then he’d proceed to say racist things, all the while creaming in his shorts over this gorgeous Kenyan girl we worked with.

I know everyone has THAT co-worker. But this guy was something else. When he wasn’t going on about how Sonic the Hedgehog was the greatest video game of all time, he was trying to push a defunct comic book on us: Lady Death. The kid was so ridiculous that my friend Justin and I created fake bingo cards out of his catch phrases that he’d say all day every day. Things like “Moving to Kenya,” “Sonic,” and “I’m gonna go home and drink whiskey and jerk off” were all on these cards that we’d pass out to the rest of the gaggle of people he tortured. It was indeed fun at the office.

It all came to a screeching halt the day we decided to just mess with the kid by staring at him, then laughing like loonies when he’d catch us. This went on throughout most of the day, and by the end of the shift it made him cry. Then he got defensive and he wanted to punch Justin. That’s when Justin threatened him by saying he’d knock him into next Tuesday if he didn’t stop. He did.

That’s when we realized that Floyd hates us all.

We knew that we could no longer mess with him during office hours. Nope. The days of us paying him back for all the crap he’d put us through were over, and we’d have to come up with new and more creative ways to exact our revenge. After bouncing around several ideas we finally decided on floydhatesusall.com I got to work immediately on the website, and its content. While it wouldn’t exactly be a slam book, it would be most unkind to him to say the least.

Please don’t feel sorry for him. He did terrible things which included coming up to us individually and telling us that he shaved his balls that day. He did that and jerked off frequently in the bathroom. When he wasn’t doing that he was covering the bathroom walls with his feces. This was not a nice kid.

So after working on the site for a bit I decided that we needed much more than quirky anecdotes about his mother and father being related. Thus, the site evolved into talking about video games, wrestling, sports, food, movies, and comic books. He never knew about the site, even though we told him about it often. He thought we were lying. We were not.

Floyd eventually quit, and little by little my friends left as well. It was like that scene in Life where Eddie Murphy and Martin’s prison mates wither away one by one as times passes on.

In the end I was left with a website and an idea. The website was eventually killed for lack of ideas and creative support. I thought and thought and thought, and eventually thought I could do it again with a little money thrown into it the site could look awesome instead of what looks like a leftover WBS member page from 1997. I needed a name and a new concept.

I was a geek. A Mexican-American geek with no real outlet to go and write what I felt in a field dominated by non minorities. I was pretty militant at the time, and I had gotten sick of going onto message boards and chat rooms and hearing racist things, and having to put up with members defending it because to them it didn’t seem racist at all. Thus, Geeks With Color was born.Before the site could go live some stuff happened and I lost contact with the web designer. Months then years passed. GWC was dead. I was always a fan of podcasts, and I had listened to several gaming shows at the time. Most notably, Gamertag Radio, Uncle Gamer, Achievement Junkies, and 1up Yours. That’s when I decided to do my own. So I grabbed my friend Q, whom I had known from such amiable communities like Add a Writer and a Dallas Cowboys discussion board, and we started the Geeks With Color Podcast. So far it has been a fun ride!

All thanks go to Floyd and his disgusting habits. If not for you I would have never thought to pick up a microphone and blather incessantly. Hats off.

Epic Fail...

It's been a long time, gentle reader, since you've seen the GWC crew make a blog entry. However, all two of you can step off the ledge now and breathe easy, for we have returned. *Applause*

Nearly a year after our rumored demise, Sam has decided to resurrect ye olde blog and make it well-nigh a respectable place to hold court. Betwixt thou and thee I'm just a lazy slacker who had completely forgot about the impending doom that had almost befallen our beloved blog site. Nevertheless, time is no longer pressing on me. It matters not one whit.

What does matter is that you, gentle reader, have missed out on a fair amount of my misadventures, which include, but are not limited to, the vending machine expiration fiasco, and the sneaky mcbeezy style of photography, which I learned at the University of Take Pics Like a Ninja. The photo ninja in me has taken a good amount of pictures that would either land me in the slammer, or grant me a stern talking to by a few questionable characters. However, due to threat of legal action, such photographs shall not appear on this blog.

Okay, maybe just one...
While I understand the pressures one can put on thine self during finals week, this creature of the female variety was just begging me to apply my ninja photo taking skills. It was a worthy challenge for a skilled warrior such as moi.

Enough of the foreplay, let's get down to why we're here:

What have I been up recently? This may sound weird, but bear with me... I've been hoarding Whataburger ketchup. Why? I'll tell you why. Since the dawn of time when Harmon Dobson opened up that first Whataburger in Corpus Christi, Texas, the good people at WB have treated their utterly delicious packets of mouth watering ketchup like gold nuggets. They will literally hide it behind the counter, only dispensing the packs when either requested or with your standard order. Never more than two will accompany an order of their tasty fries, no matter how big the box size.

I'm no Anderson Cooper, but I did my own bit of investigative reporting when I actually worked at Whataburger in various stints from Summer of 1998 to the Summer of 2000. After all the months of painstaking work I was nowhere near finding out the truth of this much talked about mystery that has plagued the paying public since 1950. Why? We just want to know why!

Is it the shape of the packet? Mind you, these little packets of red gold serve two purposes. The first is ketchup on the go when you don't have the time to stay inside and eat your juicy burger in an allotted time frame. The second is because it serves as its own serving pouch. Yes, Whataburger ketchup isn't a squeeze packet, it's a dipping packet! The millions of dollars spent into shaping and forming that extra bit of plastic is astounding! Henceforth, Whataburger ketchup is more closely guarded than a president's motorcade passing through Dallas. You'll know when a counter girl has an eye for you when she sneaks in an extra ketchup packet into your bag; it is a crime punishable by death, no doubt, administered by the Whataburger oligarchy who reign from up high. So either Ms. Cash register has a thing for you, or she just doesn't care about the ketchup packet laws put in place by Mr. Dobson.

Either way, I hate running out of ketchup when I enjoy a nice, hot, heaping helping of Whataburger fries. I have amassed a small army of ketchup packets, and they are ready to strike as soon as they hear the word Taquito sauce!

Death to all but Whataburger!

Yes, I realize this post makes absolutely no sense. Thank you. I am enlightened.

Fast Food Chronicles: My First Job Chapter 1

The moment I turned 16 was probably the happiest time in my young life. It meant that I could get a drivers license, get a job and start contributing to the economy. I had a number of places in mind: the AMC Theatre in downtown, several retail shops, the now famous Record Town music store and Subway. Don’t ask why I chose Subway. Oh, and I also tried some stores inside Ridgmar Mall. Alas, none of these jobs would have me. So I put my head down and walked away from the job search in shame. Little did I know at the time that most of these jobs that teenagers filled required either some skill, experience, or knowing someone who already worked there. That last part was key to me getting hired as a card carrying member of the “Have it your way” crew. Yes, friends, my first job was at Burger King.

Have you ever met someone who annoyed the holy piss out of you? Seriously? Come on, fess up! I know you have. Well, this person for me was Tim Wakefield. No, his real name wasn’t Tim Wakefield, but for the purposes of this story it was. Tim Wakefield was this chubby, annoying kid who thought he was cool, but was really a serious loser. Hell, I wasn’t much of a winner either, but at least I wasn’t Tim Wakefield. Wakey was simply that guy. You know, THAT guy. He dressed like a dork, listened to sports radio and always had hat hair because of his stupid Texas Rangers cap that he wore all the time. However, Wakes did what none of my friends could ever do: he got me a job.

Yes, the big lug helped your boy get a job. Mind you, this was ten months after I turned 16, but it was something. “You’re fucking insane!” is what the ex said to me after I told her where I’d be working. Not what establishment I’d be working at, but the area in which I’d be working at. The city of Lake Worth, Texas at the time had a reputation for being a KKK safe haven and home to just about any and every backwards, hillbilly, walking shoeless into the grocery store hick. And I don’t mean rednecks, because rednecks I can deal with. The people who resided in Lake Worth were the bottom feeders of America. A prime example of what I’m talking about will be discussed later. Today, Lake Worth is a sprawling business mecca with all kinds of shops, restaurants, strip malls and banks. Hell, I live here now! The toothless hicks were pushed out, and the businesses came a’ runnin’!

After procuring employment, I came in one day to work my shift. I was handed my uniform: a pair of dark blue work pants, a ball cap with a tiny BK logo on one corner, my name tag and the ugly polo they forced everyone to wear. Now, let me describe this polo. It was a light greenish color, with dark green horizontal stripes running across it. *Barf* As far as shoes go I was able to wear the ones I came in with. Awesome sauce. I was ready to begin my training like Luke Skywalker on the Millennium Falcon with Obi-Wan. However, there was no training droid at Burger King. What followed was me sitting in the break room/storage area, watching an interactive laser disc that told me all about the gobbley goodness of BK and then quizzed me on it.

After that I was shown to the kitchen, where I would spend the next almost year of my life with an ex-convict that had ADD, a spoiled rich kid who daddy made get a job, a nymphomaniac and a kid who, if he were around at the time, I would have said looked just like Brock Lesnar. And let’s not forget the henpecked husband who just came home from the military, the guy who dressed like a Backstreet Boy, Tim Wakefield and his friend who looked like a reincarnated dinosaur.

My first day ended soon after that. I was shown the broiler and they even let me try it out myself. The broiler was this device that was basically a mini version of a pizza oven. Frozen patties went in through one side, then came out the other side... juicy and delicious.

Join us next time for part two of my journey through the wonderful world of Burger King (circa 1997).