Your Virginity Is Not In This Castle

My dear friend Joel recently came to my office to visit me, and, along with his usual repertoire of titty jokes and a penchant for farting on me, he brought with him his latest super-friggin-coolest-thing-ever gadget, a Playstation Portable. Or a Nerd Panty Moistener, as it's known to the sexually-active world.

Gamers frighten me. They don't frighten me as much as, say, globo-thermo-nuclear war, or the fact that Matthew Broderick makes boom-boom to Sarah Jessica Parker every night - no, I fear gamers because in the bowels of my repressed geek's soul, I know I'm perfectly capable of becoming one. I, too, could whittle away my days obsessing over game engines and background graphics meticulously created by rooms full of outsourced Asian dorks, and staking out the local Swap-a-Game with sweaty-necked American dorks who can eat the weight of the Asian dorks in Hot Pockets, until that blessed day of rapture, when the Dork Lord summons us to his side, where we will discuss the hardware specs of the next-generation Xbox at great length.

When Super Mario Brothers was first released, I was ten years old - too old, some might say, for a child to still be soiling his pants. But that didn't stop me from backfiring a hot spray of glee-fueled intestinal Valvoline upon hearing the news that grandma had bought me a copy of SMB, thereby justifying my 5th grade existence and placing me back in the good graces of my peers, whose considerably less-poor parents had bought it for them months ago. I nearly trampled granny when she hobbled through the door - Christ, you decrepit Civil War relic, what took you so long to get here with my fucking cartridge? Held up by Stonewall Jackson?

Weeks passed. Months followed. I was thirteen and already being ignored by girls before the novelty of Mario finally wore thin. At that point, like many thirteen year-olds on the cusp of manhood, I took a thorough inventory of my life, what I had accomplished, and where I wanted to be. Like all seventh-graders, I needed a Five Year Plan. Eighteen was just around the corner, after all, and did I want to spend it rolling twelve-sided dice with the captain of the Science Olympiad team, or doing as most newly legal adults do: purchasing pornography, cigarettes, and lottery tickets?

Well, as you can plainly see, I took the road less virtuous, and that has made all the difference. Today, I can proudly report that I have had sexual intercourse with multiple girls - many of whom I didn't even pay, or, if I did, I got a discount for being slightly less physically repulsive than their average customer. Try pulling that off with a copy of Nintendo Power on your coffee table (assuming you haven't already dismantled your coffee table and mounted the Formica top over a window to block out the sunlight).

Of course, I mean no disrespect to Joel with this tirade against him and his gaming ilk. Well, perhaps the slightest disrespect - no one forced him to be a geek, after all, but to his credit, he has had sex. For now, I just want to offer some hard-earned advice to any young, impressionable males who might somehow come across this editorial:

Kids, don't get sucked into the gamers world. Believe me, it starts with Tetris and ends with you dying, brow-beaten and alone, with enough pent-up sexual frustration to power a deep sea oil rig, and no way to release it through your crippled thumbs.