A Taxonomy of Gross, Creepy Nerds

Gross, creepy nerds. You know the ones I mean. Overweight and greasy, they gather in the corners of comic shops, muttering in their strange nerd language and leering discomfortingly at anyone that dares enter their vicinity. Physically unappealing and socially dysfunctional, they are doomed to a life of loneliness, both by their inability to function normally and their unwillingness to implement any positive changes in their appearance or behavior.

Among the non GCN population, those who most often come into conflict with the gross, creepy nerd are women. The GCN – as with any straight male – is naturally driven to obtain female companionship, he is just completely unable to obtain it in any normal fashion. As such, he resorts to inflicting inept social interaction on any attractive woman that catches his eye. Such interaction is uniformly unpleasant for the woman involved, which leads to the majority of those so imposed upon to regard all GCNs as exactly the same kind of filthy weirdo. I contend that this is not the case, that there are in fact several distinct types of filthy weirdo among the GCN population, and that careful examination of their behaviors and failings will lead to a system of categorisation useful to determine if the freak hitting on one can safely be ignored, or should be kicked in the crotch with alacrity.

Hence I present here my Taxonomy of the Gross, Creepy Nerd, for the delectation and education of their social and moral superiors (ie: everyone).

Group 1: The IgnorantDisturbing yet fundamentally harmless social misfits.

The Oblivious: The Oblivious GCN is a simple minded soul who simply doesn’t realise that his interactions with women are dysfunctional. Bereft of any social perception (or numbed by a lifetime of abject social failure) he finds fulfillment and joy in any interaction with females, even when they’re telling him to get lost, or reacting with obvious fear and disgust. This, for him, is perfectly normal – the way the world is and always has been – and he’s perfectly content for it to continue as such until the day he dies, old, alone and basically happy.

The Hopeful: The Hopeful GCN knows full well that his approaches towards women fail horribly, but he continues with them anyway because he honestly believes that one day – presumably through the grace of a merciful god – he’ll either stumble into social competence or meet a girl who’ll find his musky odours and fumbling attempts at seduction charming rather than disgusting. The eternal optimist, he keeps on cheerily doing the inept and off-putting things he’s always done, taking every rejection with good humour and already looking forwards to his next attempt.

Group 2: The MisogynistsHorrible examples of humanity gone awry.

The Angry: Confronted with a lifetime of rejection, the Angry GCN has decided that the problem isn’t with him, his self-centred worldview and his poor personal hygiene, it’s with women. All women. In a fumbling attempt to justify his failures he’s latched onto the idea that every woman in the world is part of a grand, evil, man-hating conspiracy, and that’s why he never gets any action. He still tries, in his own, hostile way, but meets the inevitable rejection with yelling, cursing, and loud declarations that the object of his attention is a bitch, whore, gold-digger or lesbian – all such accusations accompanied by a good deal of foaming at the mouth.

The Hunting: Like all his fellow GCNs the Hunting GCN has never had any luck with women. Unlike them however he has decided to take action. Unfortunately rather than approaching the problem in a socially competent way, he’s analysed it like an engineering problem and decided that the optimum course to female companionship is via a targeted trapping campaign. As such the hunter assiduously studies the methods of the “pick up artist” community, and practices them at every opportunity – all the while failing to realise that they require a certain level of social competence (not to mention washing) that he’s completely incapable of. The abject failure of these techniques does not dismay him, rather it provides more opportunity for testing, experimentation and loud declamation on his ‘expertise’ in understanding the female psyche. He is the great white hunter, women are the prey and the rest of the world is disgusted.

Group 3: The AbstainersSelf pitying morons.

The Hopeless: The Hopeless GCN has been utterly crushed by a lifetime of ridicule and rejection. His confidence shot into tiny fragments, he doesn’t even try any more. Women walk by and he barely even looks – he just sighs quietly, weeps a little and adds another page to his encyclopaedia of despair and self-pity. In the (admittedly unlikely) event of an attractive woman speaking to him, he won’t look her in the eye and responds in monosyllables until she leaves – what’s the point in even attempting social intercourse when rejection is inevitable? His only companion is deep, crippling depression, and to be honest he prefers it that way because at least he knows she’ll never make fun of him.

The Noble: The Noble GCN has had his confidence shattered just as badly as the Hopeless, but his ego has remained at least somewhat intact. Unwilling to subject himself to further, inevitable rejection he has constructed a face saving fantasy in which he proves himself a hero by deliberately refusing to inflict his hideous self on the females of the world. He doesn’t refuse to talk to women because he can’t face failure – no, not at all – he does so as a noble sacrifice and will go to his grave knowing that his refusal made the world a better place.

So that is my taxonomy. To quote Bugs Bunny – wadda bunch’a maroons!

Oh America!

Apparently there’s some American woman who wants to move to Australia because…

…their president is a Christian and actually supports what he says…

Hmmm, let’s do a comparison…

Julia Gillard
Prime Minister of Australia
Barack Obama
President of the United States of America
President? No Yes
Christian? No – A stated Atheist Yes – Despite right wingers’ repeated claims that he’s a filthy, evil, communist, socialist, terrorist, Kenyan “Muslin”
He? No Yes
Actually supports what he says? No* No*
Score 0/4 3/4

When it’s put like that, I rather think she’d be happier staying where she is.

(* Find me a politician who does and I’ll give you a shiny new donkey – or if you prefer, elephant)

Election Day, Say Hooray

Do all your shopping at Walmart!

Well, today’s the US Election, when we’ll see if the leadership of the free world (TM) is seized by the evil usurper Romney, or retained by the evil incumbent Obama.

(Personally I’m hoping for the evil incumbent)

For those needing a refresher on their Presidents, here’s Jonathon Coulton’s wonderful song on the matter…

(Note that this is the original 2005 version that doesn’t include Obama or the correct year of Garfield’s assassination)

Let freedom ring people!

It’s finally happened, Bart – You’ve lost your mind!

For those not in the know, this weekend was Perth Open House 2012, which is part of an international movement that lets people in to buildings and facilities that are usually off limits to the general public. Ryan and I headed out on Saturday and took in the Perth Concert Hall, Council House, the heritage buildings on the Terrace and the Church of Jesus Christ Scientist.

Of the four, the Concert Hall had the best tour – with access to just about every nook and cranny including backstage and the roof space above the auditorium! – Council House had the best views, the Church had the best architecture, and the heritage buildings…. well that tour was pretty short and didn’t actually let us inside many of them – but as they’re now occupied by a dozen different businesses that’s probably understandable. And it was all free, so no complaints!

Pictures are slowly going up on my photostream.

You've lost your mind!But that’s not what I came to tell you about – I came to talk about the draft.

No! Wait! I came to talk about how I’ve gone completely mad.

Those who keep up with such things will know that I nominally run a Valhallan army in the Warhammer 40,000 tabletop miniatures game. I say “nominally” because I haven’t played a game in ages – my only semi-regular opponent was Fabes and he’s now got a partner and another kid on the way, both things that make playing with toy soldiers seem rather insignificant ๐Ÿ˜‰ One of these days I’ll get myself together enough to pack my force up, take it down to Games Workshop and play a game there – in the meantime I fool around with converting models and building terrain whenever the mood takes me.

And oh boy, has the mood taken me.

One of the elements of the 40k universe I’ve always liked are the Adeptus Mechanicus – the Machine Cult of Mars. There’s a lot of background for them, but no official tabletop army, which is a shame because if there was I’d probably be collecting that rather than the Imperial Guard (which is not to say there’s anything wrong with the Valhallans). One of the coolest things about the AdMech of course are the Titans – ridiculously oversized and impractical battle robots that constitute the Imperium’s ne plus ultra in regularly available battlefield forces – ranging in size from the merely impressive Warhound Scout Titan to the mind-bogglingly insane Emperor Titan, which could quite happily knock down the Statue of Liberty just for the hell of it.

Fielding a Warhound – or even the next size up Reaver – is quite possible with an Imperial Guard force, thanks to the amazing models available through Forgeworld. However, their sheer power (and points cost) limits them to oversized Apocalypse games, and their investment in terms of cash is not be sneezed at – particularly for a more-or-less casual player such as myself. So adding a Titan to my army is not something that’s really possible. That is unless…

…we consider the Knight.

Knight Titans are somewhat obscure nowdays – you hardly ever hear them mentioned in official sources. However they are part of the 40k universe and provide a much more reasonable option for Titanic tabletop goodness. There are no official models for them, so if you want to field one, you need to hack it together yourself out of existing models and whatever else you can find around the house – it’s quite a project to get on with.

Now what did I say earlier about fooling around with converting models? ๐Ÿ˜€

Yesterday I dropped a frankly stupid amount of money on eBay to purchase a Nemesis Dreadknight and assorted bits from the Storm Raven and Defiler models, all with the intent of knocking together my very own, homebrew Knight. Unlike most of my conversion projects I have a very clear idea on what I’m going to do with it, which should make matters rather more efficient – but it’s still no excuse for wasting so much money on toy soldiers. But hey, what can you do? ๐Ÿ™‚

(At least I can recoup some costs by selling the various bits I won’t use…)

I intend to field the model as an armoured Sentinel. It won’t be anywhere near as powerful as a Knight should be, but I’m more interested in just having a Titan model on the table than I am actually winning with it – which given my general performance with then models I already have is probably a good thing ๐Ÿ™‚

So that’s my insane plan. Stay tuned for progress updates when the parts actually arrive…

Leia now a Disney Princess

The news broke today the George Lucas has handed over Lucasfilms – and the Star Wars frachise – to Disney, and that Disney intends to start pumping out new Star Wars films, the first to hit the screen in 2015.

Now, in an exclusive* deal with Disney, the Wyrmlog is proud to present the first look at the under development Star Wars Episode VII!

All hail the mouse!

(* By which we mean entirely fictional….)

Melbourne – Part 1

I’ve been promising to write up what went down in Melbourne for weeks, so I’m going to damn well do it! So there! ๐Ÿ˜‰

OK, first of all, the reason for the company pulling up sticks and relocating to the east coast for the weekend. One of our websites was nominated in the Australian Web Industry Association Australian Web Awards. This is the first time any of our sites have reached such lofty heights, so Dale coughed up the money for us to head over to the awards ceremony, being held at Luna Park on the evening of Saturday October 6th.

(Spoiler: We didn’t win. Boo! Hooray! Boo! Hooray! Call me when you’re finished).

While Dale did cough up money for the trip, he didn’t cough up a whole lot of it, so we ended up catching a red eye flight on an economy airline, scheduled to take off at 11:00pm on Thursday night. Due to various delays and incompetence the plane didn’t actually take off until 1:30, at which point we’d been standing around in the departure lounge for well over an hour. To make matters worse, bad planning on my part (combined with the burger I’d had at lunch not sitting too well) resulted in my having to pay $14 for a bottle of water and a ham sandwich. Bloody airports.

Anyway, we eventually boarded the plane – having to walk out across the tarmac like chumps to do so. Honestly, what is this? The middle ages?

The flight was about as comfortable as one would expect. That is to say, not very. I was able to snatch a few scattered hours of sleep, which was apparently more than the rest of my colleagues managed. We touched down at Tullamarine about 6:30, and fortuitously grabbed a maxi-taxi right outside the airport doors.

This (eventually) delivered us to the general vicinity of Hotel Tolarno. Happily all our rooms were ready, and Cleyton and I lucked out by getting the largest of the three. Dale and Janina were almost dead on their feet and immediately disappeared, while Cleyton, Bruce, Daniel and I wandered outside in search of sustenance. The hum of the city waking up in the morning sunlight was enhanced by a Paul-Kellyesque smell of burning leaves, which turned out to be a rubbish bin someone had set on fire. Welcome to St Kilda!

We located food in a bakery across the street (I indulged in one of those gigantor sized Red Bulls and a quiche), then retired to Daniel and Bruce’s room where we sat around mocking breakfast TV and shrieking theatrically every time they replayed a shot of Tony Abbot’s lycra-clad crotch (honestly, it was about every three minutes).

After a while Daniel and Bruce both started passing out, so Cleyton and I left them to get some sleep. Cleyton got his laptop up and running on the hotel’s wifi, and I set off on confront Melbourne’s tram network on a trip to the Coatman.

Happily I’d done my research and after picking up a Myki card at one of the dozen or so 7/11’s scattered along Fitzroy street found tram transport no challenge at all. I arrived in Glen Huntly just before 9:20 – and discovered that the Coatman doesn’t open until 10:00.

Derp.

I spent the next forty minutes wandering up and down Glen Huntly road, taking photographs of anything that looked even mildly interesting. Eventually the Coatman opened, and with very little fuss I was assisted in locating a very fine coat, which cost me only $125. I caught the tram back to St Kilda, feeling quite chuffed with myself, then went for a wander – mostly to check out a rather impressive church spire I’d spotted on my way down.

After some architectural appreciation I headed back to the hotel. Cleyton was asleep so I did some quiet reading, which soon evolved into some sleeping of my own. We were woken about midday by Dale who was getting everyone together to go have lunch and do some business planning so the day wouldn’t be a complete write off work-wise (he rather nicely said that I could be excused so I could go and buy my coat. The fact that I’d already done so and had time to come back and get some sleep seemed to genuinely shock him). We ended up at the Italian restaurant just across the street where I had a very nice chicken and vegetable soup, and loads of garlic bread.

Business out of the way, Bruce, Daniel, Cleyton and I caught a tram into the city and went for a stroll along the Yarra. We ended up at Federation Square where some kind of concert to save the Kimberly was being set up (I later learned that the John Butler Trio and Claire Bowditch were performing – I should have hung around). We then headed into the city proper and, rather suspiciously, kept running into places particularly suited to Daniel’s interests (Krispy Kreme Doughnuts, the Apple Store, a games shop with an entire floor devoted to Ninetendo…). We eventually ended up at Minotaur, where I quickly realised that there was absolutely no middle ground – I could either buy stuff, and end up spending hundreds of dollars, or buy nothing at all. I reluctantly bought nothing at all.

By this point it was getting towards evening. Bruce was meeting up with some mates he hadn’t seen in ages, and wanted to get back to the hotel to get cleaned up first, so we caught the tram back. Cleyton got back online and I got back to my reading. Eventually Daniel came knocking and the three of us headed out into Saint Kilda to find somewhere to eat.

This wasn’t easy. We found plenty of places, but none seemed to appeal. We followedย  Fitzroy street down to the bay, then continued along the Esplanade and eventually all the way down to the end of Acland Street. Eventually – sick of walking and quite hungry – we ended up at a little cafe about midway along Acland, and had quite an adequate meal before getting a tram back to the hotel at about 11:30.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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