It's been statistically proven that for every five normal, healthy human beings capable of fitting comfortably in society, there's one 'nerd'. The stereotype made famous by 80s High School films was the first place your mind went to when you read nerd I'm guessing. Well, I'm not exactly guessing, I inserted a peculiar breed of earwig into your brain a few weeks ago that gives me regular updates on your thought processes via Twitter. But the modern nerd is now a very different creature, some of whom are actually capable of not spending approximately 16 hours day getting repressed childhood memories beaten out of them by well-toned sports players in fetching knitted sweaters. Some have even found love! Granted among their own kind, but I'm not here to help you fledging nerd-sacs relieve yourselves of your collective virginities, that's a job for roofies and Furry conventions. No, as ever, I serve a higher purpose. Namely, aiding you in maintaining your perennial loneliness. Hell, I refuse to be the only one.
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Play Videogames!
Casual interest in anything is fine, but it seems the second a hobby starts to take up more than 2 hours of your life a day and 3 hours of what would have been time to devoted to masturbation at night, it's suddenly a socially reprehensible thing to be doing. It rarely even matters what that hobby is, everyone likes music for example, but when you accidentally let slip that you own one of Damon Albarn's teeth or have a near academic knowledge of Eminem's daughter's school timetable in conversation, you've all of a sudden got less chance of putting your dick in something living than a panda going through a mid-life crisis.
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| 'I'm thinking of getting a Ferrari' |
This actually includes videogames, or at least some of them. A passing interest in Call of Duty or FIFA is actually expected of most men. It proves you've got at least some hand-eye coordination which is (I'm told) something a human female looks for in a potential mate as opposed to conducting foreplay like a quadriplegic disarming a nuclear bomb by candlelight. Getting a World of Warcraft subscription would probably do the trick, but actually maintaining it is a searing pain in the balls.
Collect something!
Ritually hording items of little or no value to the rest of the world is a pretty sure-fire way to announce that you've never felt the warmth of a woman's touch. But naturally, the extent of your alientation is going to depend entirely on what exactly it is you're collecting. In this case it's got to be something pretty fucking lame, like coins or stamps or sweaty tennis towels. In the interest of your privacy, you don't want to be lining the walls of your habitat with hookers' fingers or photos of your local primary school. There's an un-widely known bylaw that allows the Police to skip past the requirement of a warrant to search your premises for dead bodies and the like if you're found with trophies like that. And I'm pretty certain you don't want anyone poking around you're basement unless they're tied up in there. Obviously, you also don't want to be hoarding awesome things like Superbowl rings or v-plates either.
Study Mathematics!
If you're a student of mathematics, I would just skip to the next entry right now, because everything I'm about to say is going to make you seriously rethink your life. And I don't want to be responsible for yet another young suicide. Not out of any ethical consideration, it's just that I get tired of tabloid reporters hassling me for interview time. Trust me, that gets pretty fucking tiresome after the 3rd or 4th instance. Also, Maths students can be quite useful for fixing my laptop, which isn't so much true as it's just a shallow, transparent excuse for me to include this picture:
There's a point at which even someone like me, who looks like a zeppelin painted a pasty flesh colour and then partially deflated (although I do tend to explode less when I take a drunken nose-dive) can attract a female. But that's because a natural talent for 'spontaneous' eloquent wit so razor sharp I haven't needed to shave in
8 years just about makes up for a lifetime of alcohol and pop tart abuse. And also because I despise mathematics. The things I did to my textbook back in Secondary School should count among humanity's most terrible hate crimes, yet there are people out there who willingly sign themselves up to study it.
There's never been a more nerdtastic subject in the history of human thought. Early Man may have kept tallies of how many times he'd slept with his neighbour's wife three caves over but you can bet your ass he didn't fucking enjoy it. And every time I meet a maths student who isn't a maudlin wreck counting down the days until their bourbon and sleeping pills get delivered I become a little more certain that the world is categorically, batshit insane. All I'm saying is, taking up maths as a hobby is probably the most reliable way of ensuring you'll never sleep with
me. [FUN FACT! 5 minutes after this article was posted, applications to maths courses went up 600% nationwide.]
High Fantasy!
If there's one most effective way to attract the derision of every woman in your immediate vicinity and inspire every man to charge blindly in your general direction and try to kill you with whatever they're holding, it's enjoying fantasy. Fantasy novels, videogames or films fill human males with the kind of Viking Warrior Bloodlust you'd only otherwise see at Tesco when the cashier gives Chris Brown the wrong change. More than any other interest on this list, fantasy can be combined with other virginal pursuits for double, or even triple forced-abstinence bonuses! Take your average role-playing-videogame and throw in some compulsive loot collecting and a few mentally-crippling statistical calculations and you've got a one-hit KO to your junk. After all, if your not going to use it, why let it waste space in your inventory?
Watch Sci-Fi!
Knowing literally anything more about Star Wars than, didn't Family Guy do something with it? Is enough to mark you out as socially inept to a degree that modern science is still unable to equal. For example, consider the following: if I said that you're mother's so fat Obi-Wan Kenobi thought she was a moon and you thought that was funny, congratulations, you just became a curse on the human gene pool.
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| Sorry, I meant to say Moby-Wan Kenobi |
Not only is admitting your sci-fi-fandom in public as dangerous as fantasy, it's somehow, even more humiliating. The last time I saw someone accidentally announce they loved Firefly, it was more awkward than the last time your parents let slip your middle name was nearly Broken-Condom. I don't know why this is, maybe it's the fact that most sci-fi heroes are sculpted, lycra-sporting lotharios, constantly bedding sexy alien women with (you would assume) conveniently humanoid genitalia. A far cry from standard fantasy tropes, which usually involve little more than a chastened princess and the odd lusty bar-wench. Which might explain how hilarious it is that greasy virgins the world over hold William Shatner up as the pinnacle of sexual masculinity, when clearly they think the g-spot is some kind of weak spot in a Boss' defenses. Although, that's actually pretty on the money now that I think on it, the trick is to stun it with an arrow first before going for the sword swing.
