#goodygoody

[happyfreakshow]

"Meeting of the Cereal Monsters"

Some Halloween-themed breakfast nostalgia!

[roadsidepeek]

Good and plenty. Goody Goody is an iconic Tampa restaurant name dating back to a location that lasted 80 years before closing in 2005. The name was resurrected in 2015 and back serving its famous Pox burgers and pies. Tampa FL #roadsidepeek #roadside #royalsnappingartists #goodygoody #tampa #florida #eats #eatery #wanderlust #wow_america #roadsideamerica #ontheroadagain #americana #ipulledoverforthis #somewheremagazine #gas_food_lodging #exploring_shotz #picoftheday https://www.instagram.com/p/CaXWCD7FkSe/?utm_medium=tumblr

[atomicwedgienerd]

A Flat Top For A Square Guy

Incredible art by the extremely talented @buzztoons. Follow him, give him some love, and commission something you nerds!

For those of you who know me, you know over the past few months I’ve gone from WANTING to live like a nerd to ACTUALLY doing it. I wanted to talk about that here.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a nerd. Maybe it was being raised during Urkelmania, or watching Saved by the Bell, or catching Revenge of the Nerds one too many times. But the one constant in my life is that I’ve always wanted to be a complete nerd stereotype. 

As a kid, I would dress up as a nerd, make my own suspenders, even steal my dad’s glasses to dress up and pretend like that’s who I was. But I could never make it happen. I could never get the balls up to actually leave the house dressed like a geek. 

Maybe as a reaction to the thrill I found from wearing ties and pocket protectors and suspenders, I got really into dressing “hip.” Skinny jeans, leather jackets, V-necks. I was already agonizing over my image so I leaned into looking as cool and tough as possible, so nobody would know that I went home to put on nerdy clothes and rub myself through a pair of tighty whiteys. 

But the yearning was so strong it was starting to drive me insane. How could I spend my life denying what I wanted to be, what I actually was? I made such amazing progress in my kink life: I got beaten, spit on, tied up, dominated, and abused. But this one thing that was so central to my desire had to stay partitioned off. 

At some point in the height of the Obama Administration, I discovered that I wasn’t alone. The internet showed me stories of handsome jocks becoming sniveling little nerds living lives of abject humiliation. As their appearance became dominated by thick glasses, overstuffed pocket protectors, and extremely high-waisted plaid pants, their lives became a never-ending nightmare of wedgies, swirlies, and noogies. In other words, my dream life.

And there was one motif that cropped up repeatedly: the bad boy being forced to get an extremely rigid, extremely retro FLAT TOP HAIRCUT. Like Samson before them, as soon as these rebels had their hair shorn into this retro conservative haircut, they changed. They became well behaved, they started wearing white button downs and ties and glasses, they lost everything that made them cool. That was it! That was my answer. THE FLAT TOP.

I didn’t get one. I had luscious curly hair, thick and cascading in beautiful waves. The kind of hair that barbers dream of cutting. Hair that was perfect for a high fade with tons of length on top. It looked gorgeous. It looked... cool. 

The Doms I played with told me to get a flat top. “It will change you,” they said. I refused to listen. I could just come home after work and put on my suspenders and pocket protector, load my hair up with gel, and comb it into a nerdy side part. That was enough. Except, it wasn’t. I would jerk off in my gear and once the thrill had passed, I would wash the gel out of my hair and go back to being “me.” I had a closet full of nerdy gear I wanted to wear, and it just sat there, waiting.

But then I moved to Chicago. I thought starting fresh would give me the balls to really start living full time as a nerd. It didn’t. I started this blog, wrote stories about extreme transformations I wanted to go through, and then went back to my life as an unfulfilled hipster. It was tearing me apart.

Maybe it’s the political climate, the not knowing what the future holds. Maybe it’s the fact that I had finally started chastity and was getting in touch with my true desires. But I started thinking about flat tops again. You can’t just wash a flat top out. If you get a flat top, that’s it. That’s your hair style. Just a geeky jarheaded look you can’t undo. 

I couldn’t stop looking at images of FLAT TOPS on Instagram, imagining “what if.” Imagine my surprise when I realized that all of the flat tops I loved were tagged in Chicago, from the same barber, one that I passed every day on my way to work. This was fate. I made my appointment and waited.

Finally the day came and I was ready to back out. I had dressed in highwater pants and a button down with a pocket protector. I had already shaved my beard a month before to prepare myself for this drastic, clean cut, goody goody change. I was ready to accept my fate but the anxiety was killing me. Soon my shorn nerdy head would be on full display and I didn’t think I was ready. But I went to a bar near the barbershop, drank two whiskeys, and headed on in. I asked for the flat top and the barber grinned. He loved cutting them. 

He didn’t let me see what he was doing and, for my part, I did a good job of maintaining casual conversation. I gulped and stammered as I saw long curls fall onto the cape and drop to the floor. But when he whipped me around to look at the final product, I just about fainted. My head was flatter than a table. It made my ears stick out in a super dorky way. And when I put my black rimmed glasses on, I looked like the person I had always dreamed of being. 

I ran home, sucked my boyfriend’s dick, and went to bed, humping the mattress. 

The next day, I put on my old clothes and went to work. But it didn’t feel right. I had the hair I had always wanted but everything felt wrong. My flat top hadn’t fixed my problems. I went home, dejected.

The next morning, however, as I applied wax to my new, extremely short hair, something came over me. It felt so good to prep this dorky retro haircut. I just had to wear a dorky retro outfit to match. I put on some highwater pants that went above my waist, a white button down, some white socks, black boots and said, “Fuck it.” I slid a pocket protector into pocket with just one pen, took a deep breath, and headed out to the train.

The commute was terrifying, every moment inching closer to having all my coworkers see me like I had just stepped out of a time machine from Mission Control 1963. But I did it. I got to work, took off my coat, and got ready. There were some smirks from a few people. One coworker even came over, looked at my haircut, and flicked me in my pocket protector, saying, “Well this really completes the look.” I was humiliated. I didn’t want to do it again.

But the next morning, as I waxed the flat top, the same power took over. How could I have such a perfect nerd haircut and not go out in a perfect nerd outfit? I put on another pair of highwaisted pants, my thick glasses, and a pocket protector, now with TWO pens. And went off to work. 

Every day was a thrill. People would stare and I would just beam back at them, happy as a clam. My mood improved. After all, I looked like I was from Leave It to Beaver, so I might as well be as chipper as a cast member. Every day I would put another pen in my pocket protector until it filled up. I started applying more and more product to my hair to make it as rigid as possible. I found myself proudly marching down the street, my jarhead reflecting light off the horseshoe, the white socks gleaming brightly between the hem of my pants and my black leather shoes, my pocket protector stuffed full of pens. I was finally myself and it was amazing.

My relationship had been tested as all I wanted to do before my transformation was jerk off to stories I had written or roleplays I had done. My boyfriend couldn’t compete with that ideal fantasy. But the fantasy became a reality. I found myself becoming more submissive, more able to articulate my desires, and I stopped blaming him for not reading my mind and libido. I was a nerd now. I could be used the way nerds would be used. My boyfriend figured it out. He would pull me into a headlock, noogie me while I sucked his dick, and then come in my flat top. On good days, he would even knock me down afterwards and take money out of my wallet, before winking and kissing me.

Was I getting wedgied non stop? Had I suddenly broken out in zits and been forced to do tons of homework? Did I shrink to 5′2″ and lose all my muscle mass and pee myself whenever a jock looked at me funny? No, not at all. Those were the things I wrote about. The things I fantasized about. The things I wanted. But they were fantasy. THIS was reality. I was dressed out in public as the nerdiest person I had ever seen. Who cared if it didn’t match up with some extreme over the top fantasy. That was porn. This was real. 

As opposed to the characters in my stories who usually lose their confidence and end up meek and shy, I became the opposite. I became friendlier, more outgoing, eager to go out in the world! The more I lived my life as a nerd, the more people would see me. If they didn’t care, great. If they laughed at me, well they’re terrible people but also I like getting laughed at so thanks for the spank bank material, ya jerks. And maybe, just maybe, they see me waddling around with my pants above my belly button and my flat, flat flat-top and think, “Wow, I’ve always wanted to be brave enough to do that. If that jerk can, I can too.” 

Now I get to live my truth. I get to see my barber every two weeks and ask him to take the flat top shorter, more severe, even got a horseshoe. They say the thing about flattops is they never grow back. So far, that seems to be the case. I look straight out of the 1950s and I couldn’t be happier. 

I’m not a nerd from my stories. I still have tattoos and a septum piercing and a lot of attitude. But I am nerdier than I ever thought I would be. I dress like this around friends, family, and coworkers. I used to go out partying, drinking, smoking and cursing. Now, I curse less, I go to bed earlier and wake up with the crack of dawn, I’m even finding myself more studious and polite. I spend my free time reading about D&D and playing video games. I’m not going to hide it anymore. I get to look like a dweeb for the rest of my life and it’s amazing. And it all started--the thing that made it all possible--is one perfect flat top. 

If you’re curious about nerdification, please join us at the nerdified discord. Sorry this isn’t an over the top fantasy like the rest of my stories but I wanted to share my personal journey. I hope this helps you decide to take the reins of your own transformations and I’m happy to respond to any questions you may have! 

[jorgeclardiary]

«Ace» (A Spotify Playlist)

Physicality as energy reorganization…medicinal rhythm and sound frequency! Click HERE to listen. 

In 1974, I would hear “Let the Children Play”/“Jugando” by Santana on the Philco AM radio of my family’s Torino 500. I wondered what the lyrics meant beyond the literal…. Followed by Kool & the Gang’s “Open Sesame,” a path of sensuality opens, clarified by Parliament’s “Flash Light” into the cryptic code of Little Sister’s “You’re the One (Pts. 1 & 2)”. “Hydraulic Pump” by P-Funk All Stars keeps a steady energy flow simmered by Claudja Barry’s “Love For the Sake of Love”.

“¡Gózame ya!” by Susana Estrada and “Love Hangover” by Diana Ross are swirls of emotion with exacting structure. The Saturday Night Band’s “Come On Dance, Dance” picks up the tempo…followed by the brilliance of Vince Montana in his Goody Goody production “It Looks Like Love”.

“For Your Love” by Chilly gives a psychedelic spin to the Yardbird’s tune. Hugh Masekela’s “Don’t Go Lose It Baby” advises on finding your own space beyond paradigms.

Harness the lower chakras as potent energy fountains. Spread their energy through your physical body and inhabit in cheerful, holistic wellness.

I’m wearing a tin, fabric, and prisms crown Kelly made for me on my birthday. My tattoos are by Mad Luellen.

Photo by Goor Studio

[historyinhighheels]

Just in case you’re think #shedidnoteatthat... let me assure you, I definitely did! #goodygoody #visittampabay #friesbeforeguys #hydeparkvillage (at Goody Goody Burgers)

[bryanhasanswers]

Goody, Goody...

St. Louis Missouri... Not exactly number one on my list of must-see destinations. Muggy... crime rate’s through the roof... cool arch though. 

But yet - here I was, and not by choice. I needed to make contact with one of our informants from the mid-west who had gone to ground. And for whatever reason, he decided to do it here. It had been several weeks since we got a report and the situation was now a serious concern for my employers. 

Naturally, there was next to no intel other than our boy’s name, Chester “Chet” Bostik. Oh, and we knew he was prone to going off the rails on serious drinking binges.

At least he has some redeeming qualities...

For all we knew, anything was possible. Could have been intercepted by the competition, shot in a back alley and dumped in the river over a bullshit card game gone bad, or maybe he just stumbled into the street drunk outta his mind and got run over by a city bus.

Oh Chet... you dumb bastard... where oh where can you be?

I was three days in  and staying at a funky little dive called the Northwestern Inn.

Not exactly as stylish as your typical Motel 6, but it was the last place we’d received transmission from Chet, before his tracking chip went dead... or his liver exploded... or whatever.

I absently flicked a little mint off of my pillow and watched it smack the far wall then plunk into the garbage can below. 

Two points... well... that went well.

I reached over and pulled an old blue grey sweatshirt on over my head as a soft, little "ding” sounded somewhere between my ears. 

Shit - that’ll be Bob calling.

I really didn’t have the time or patience for his condescending tone, or the witty back and forth bullshit he likes to get into. I closed my eyes briefly and slapped on my shoulder holster while I answered.

“Bob - lissen’ to me. I’ll call you when there’s news. Okay?? I’ve got nothin’ concrete yet... it’s only day three - this shit takes time.”

There was a long silence. Enough for me to finish pulling my jeans down over my faded brown work boots before he answered. He sounded a little agitated.

“Get it straight Fury. You listen to me. If you don’t have anything solid, then a status report will have to do. But I need you to give me something... anything to take to the brass upstairs.”

I threw on a battered black leather jacket - mostly to conceal the Beretta M9 I had just slung under my arm - and stomped out the door and across the uneven parking lot. It was practically empty, only a few cars left. Most customers here only paid by the hour... the Northwestern didn’t exactly attract the cream of society. I saw the hotel manager standing in  the doorway under the stained, red awning. I shot her a quick wink and waved.

“Hey Anu!”

She beamed at me with a huge, gleaming smile, and waved back vigorously.

“Mr. Furious! You have a glorious day! You find fancy mint I leave for you on pillow??”

I gave her a thumbs up and a friendly nod - as I kept walking towards the street.

Yep - I’m gettin’ all the perks... well I did pay for three months - in advance - hell, I’m probably the best goddamn customer she’s ever had. I earned that mint.

I was just starting to play back my conversation with Anu from when I had checked in. I jumped to the part where she was telling me how she had been working hard to change the reputation of the Northwestern - make it nicer - when the nasal, authoritative voice of Major Robert Burns burst into my brain again.

“BRYAN! Did you fall asleep on me?! I’m already late for my meeting and I need something to take upst-”

“Yeah - Bob... I heard you the first time. Look - just tell ‘em I got a red-hot lead and should have everything wrapped up here real soon.”

“How soon??”

“Um... super soon.”

“HOW soon!?”

“Shit Bob - a couple weeks... tops. How’s that? Oh, and since I now have this real tight deadline - thank you very much - I gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah - but exactly how red hot is that lea-”

I abruptly disconnected the call as I came out onto the street. The road was in really shitty condition. Full of potholes - trash all over the place. It was called Natural Bridge Avenue, an interesting name for a street with no discernible natural bridge. It was a drab day, overcast... sullen. I immediately felt better - then I realized...

I’m hungry...

I walked northwest... looking for a “natural bridge” I knew I would never see and wondering how the hell I was going to make good on my new deadline when I got distracted. What hit me first was the smell.

Chicken? Waffles?? Ohmygod...

I looked up and saw the red and white sign looming over a humble looking little diner. It read only: “Goody Goody.” 

It was a beat up old, neon relic from the 40′s... even before my time. 

I immediately swung open the door and went inside. It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch so the place was pretty much empty. Just a fat, super friendly looking black dude behind the counter wearing a paper hat with “Goody Goody” written on it in black type. He immediately greeted me with a huge smile and a rhyme...

“You look like a chicken and waffle man - lemme get busy with my fryin’ pan!”

How the fuck did he know I wanted - ah, maybe everyone comes here for that.

There was a waitress there too - she was young probably not much older than nineteen. Friendly, but looked real tired. 

Must be close to the end of her shift.

I grabbed a table in the corner window where I’d have a good view of the street and pulled the plastic menu from the little metal stand and rubbed the grease off of it with my sleeve. The waitress shuffled up to me and raised her eyebrows. I looked up, smiled and tried to appear friendly.

“Guess what I’m havin’.”

[end of part one]

[historyinhighheels]

I’ve done nothing but eat this weekend, but I’m not mad about it. So. Much. Delicious. Food. Thank goodness the weather has been gorgeous and I can walk it off! #visittampabay #goodygoody #tampa #weekendvibes #dietstartstomorrow (at Hyde Park Village)

[ebonycgi-art]

Frankie Lymon . . . #whydofoolsfallinlove #goodygoody #frankielymon #art #artwork #digitalportrait #digitalart #digitalartwork #illustration #portraitpainting #portraitdrawing #portraitart #portrait #digitalportraitpainting #digitalpainting #digitalfanart #fanart #blackhistorymonth https://www.instagram.com/p/CLC2YYNn18E/?igshid=1jwa8w3g6gxkl