She knew exactly what I was doing, and when it was all over, she did me a favor -- she let her hair down. I could get in a lot of existential trouble for writing this story, but I gotta teach my fellow computer geeks and "neckbeards" how the game is played. I was checking out the posting history of one of the Redditors who bash me, and I discovered
http://www.reddit.com/r/justneckbeardthings where the
http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/neckbeard likes to post. I would post there myself, but I can not use my extremely serious Reddit account to write neckbeard stories on Reddit. Instead, I must post here in the cesspool of the Internet and risk all manner of retribution -- but I just don't care anymore.
At the Saint James coffee shop, the cute Asian chick was sitting Plutarch-wise in parallel with me when I got back from walkabout. Things are looking up, I thought to myself. I already had my Chinese New Year's Year-of-the-Monkey card lying on the table, and she may have sat down anent me because of it. Whatever might happen, I was a Ready Teddy. I just wanted to enjoy the proximity of la coed chinoise.
Then her first-blush mousey girlfriend with the undecided hair came in and sat down opposite her and diagonal to me. It bothered me that she had half her Alician hair pinned up and the other half down, obscuring her face. Let's call her Wiley, because she was like the girl in the Charles Bronson movie about Majestyk watermelons. Wiley was writing in a notebook with her right hand and gesticulating animatedly with her left hand. She was not a case of "Lippen schweigen," no, she talked beguilingly and happily. Of the time when I met Richard Nixon and his teenage daughters, she was more like Patricia than Julie. Although I myself am a negative four and a female relative blogs and tweets about me as a "neckbeard", Wiley is at least a nine on the fratboy scale of one to ten.
My publisher came in and asked for the bathroom code, so I reached into my pocket and showed it to him written down on a slip of paper -- kind of like the paper on which Richard Nixon signed his autograph for me. Wiley got to observe that I was good buddies with my quasi-publisher in the sense that he sells a newspaper in which my
http://thesunbreak.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/2015-01-26-Latin.jpg episode appeared.
Those stupid Reddit neckbeards! They just don't know how to enjoy life, and that Alive Is The New Young. I have read The Art of Love by Ovid in the original Latin, and so I am finally learning how to get beyond the neckbeard phenomenon. Third Love once told me that everything I do vis-a-vis les demoiselles is totally transparent, so I often ask myself in flagrante delicto if I am acting transparently, but now I don't even care. For instance, Dear Dossier, after a while two things happened. The ambient music launched into, "Non, non, je ne regrette rien," and Mike the barista was wiping down the nearby surfaces. "Mike!" I said over Wiley's shoulder, "Do you know who is singing right now?" But he did not know that it was Edith Piaf, so I told him, and then Mike wanted to know who Edith Piaf was. "She is the greatest singer of France," I intoned, showing off to winsome Wiley, and knowing that she must be aware of my gambit, according to Third Love's Theory of Transparency. Then, Dear Dossier, I did something that those neckbeards would never think of. I could not understand a cartoon in my New Yorker magazine, so I decided that I would wait until Wiley was alone and I could ask her to explain it to me. I made a mental note that page twenty had the inexplicable cartoon, and I kept on reading. Wiley went away for a while, but I kept my gambit in reserve. She came back, and those neckbeards have no idea of how a communication occurs between the Steppenwolf and the "iam plenis nubilis annis." They seek validation from me, you unready Redditors. They don't want to start anything with me, they just want confirmation of their je-ne-sais-quoi, their enthralling powers of enchantment.
Suddenly Wiley and I were diagonally alone, and I (oh, a guy at the Burschenhaus just offered me some piping hot popcorn, but I declined) searched frantically for the cartoon on page twenty, but in the wrong issue of my two New Yorkers. "Excuse me, miss, could you please tell me what you think the joke is in this cartoon?" Wiley looked at the picture of two seedy farmers standing in a museum in front of two paintings of haystacks, and she could not explain the cartoon either. Then her friend came back, and also had no idea, but if Third Love got it right, my clever little ploy was transparent to both of them, namely, wait til the transcendent beauty is alone, and then ask her to explain a New Yorker cartoon. I showed them another cartoon depicting a mountain-climber up in the air, ascending an invisible mountain, and I asked them if they knew why the Winning Caption was, "Because it's not there," and they shook their heads. So I explained about Sir Edmund Hillary being asked why he climbed Mount Everest -- "because it's there." Meanwhile I was attaching "Hold For__ " labels to both my New Yorkers, because I had to walk up the street and leave them for an avid reader. Third Love would say they saw right through that ostentation, too. But I enjoyed the seance, and I think they did, too. They enjoyed being asked whether Bill Clinton back in the White House should be called "First Gentleman Bill" or "First Husband Bill." A good time was had by all, right? Stay tuned for the further adventures of the neckbeard who told Third Love that he had shaved it off during her "Rule, Britannia!" absence because it was turning gray.
http://bbs.progrider.org/prog/read/1461892821/8 