My name is Harold, and if you study with my eight-week program you will learn a system of making women swoon that I developed over two seasons of picking up hot chicks at the nursing home. It’s called Harold Kwon Do! After one week with me in my eight-week program, you’ll be prepared to play the accordion with the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma, and the wisdom of a man.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m just a little bit jealous of that fellow’s mad math skills. I was never good at solving mental equations and I’ve only gotten worse over time. Now that I think of it, I don’t know if I even have a basic grasp of mathematics anymore.
People make the mistake of assuming that I’m a complete poindexter because I wear soda-bottle glasses and dress like your senile dad, but I’m am as thick as granite and I have the test scores to prove it. I wear big glasses because I’m blind, so kind of need them to see, and I dress like your dad because I’m so frightfully unhip that I’ve come full circle and hipsters worship my fashion advice. I started off as a jock who was too cool for sports, lost my vision around middle-school, and I’ve been an accidental hipster icon ever since.
I’m not blind because I’ve spent many hours immersed in books that have dulled my vision, or because I spend my days programming super-software to hack into foreign banks, or whatever. My dad doesn’t have very good vision, and neither does my mom, so I’m stuck like this. Now you try explaining that to people who assume you’re a genius because you wear glasses the size of a Palomar lens. Try telling them you’re secretly a mouth-breather. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. At this point I’ve gotten so sick and tired of explaining that I’m not very smart to people that I’ve completely given up. Now I just pretend, which is essentially the same as actually being smart.
In my heart I know I’m not that bright, which has brought me solace and a sense of relief, because I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was a massive NERD.
Even nerds become dads at some point. After a while they have to put down the vidya games and anime long enough to procreate. It’s rare, I know, but it happens. They have the same emotions and needs as functioning humans, so try to be nice. We all have dreams of saving the princess from an awful fate at the hands of a warty, disfigured villain, taking her back to our castle and jumping her bones ad infinitum. I just prefer to do it in real life and with less Latin.
But when nerd love does happen it’s a beautiful thing. The sight of two sweaty, nervous, zitty basement dwellers fawning over each other while reading Klingon poetry brings a tear to my eye. It causes such an explosion of emotions inside me I feel obliged to go kick sand in their faces. It’s the natural order of things.
(Many thanks to Gerard at American Digest for shooting this our way)
There’s something very satisfying about watching a yooper destroy a bowling ball just for giggles. I’ve always had deep, animalistic craving to smash everything bowling-related on sight, and my scores always reflected that. The man that looks like Saddam who rented me the shoes said that for really high scores, I should try golf. I don’t have anything against bowling or people who bowl, so it’s merely a coincidence that I put toilet paper in that guy’s shrubs.
No one is actually good at bowling. People say they’re good bowlers but they’re lying like golfers do. Don’t take that the wrong way; there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being an abysmal bowler. I wouldn’t trust a man that could bowl, or who knew what an Oxford comma was. I’ve noticed those are never the same people, by the way.
I’m not unreasonable about these matters. I still go bowling every four years just to make sure I hate it.