Scandalmakers

what not to write

We love cutie librarians as much as the next nerd, but this guy makes us embarrassed for our gender. See also!

Don’t get my wrong. I shindig till 2am, I tip my cap to random strangers, I do my very best to infuse the world with punchlines and good cheer. My social algorithms are cribbed from something a little more polysyllabic than Jugs and Barely Legal, and I’d like to think that I’ve passed the evolutionary watershed of ‘Ugg, me hungry.’

But damn is it hard to discuss quality books during happy hour.

To wit: I am a veteran dork of endearing proportions. I make obscure references to mixed, sometimes blank-faced results. I’m prone to grooving randomly to quality Elvis dance remixes. And I have this nasty, recurring habit of cruising half-price bookstore shelves like an old-skool leatherman cruising a bathhouse.

Tell me you can relate.

You are a girl whose below-the-equator bloodflow skyrockets at the sight of a textbook. You treat episodes of Jeopardy like a performance of Chippendales. You think knowledge is an aphrodesiac, like powdered rhino horn meets sun-kissed strawberry. You probably own a t-shirt that says, ‘Librarians do it in the stacks.’

We should discuss.

Why do bookworms get me hot? Because dumbasses get me ice cold. I love and lust after women whose brainpower could lay the smackdown on Deep Blue, whose thumb and forefinger callous from rampant dogears, whose personal libraries could pistolwhip an ox. If you’ve ever discombobulated a boy/girl in mid-coitus with a tangent about biotechnology, let me say two things:

A) That’s fucking hilarious, and B) You’re my kind of girl.

Honestly. I have friends with fetishes for everything from feet to blindness. Like somebody out there in the internet void doesn’t get all excited over the Dewey Decimal System?

Tags: bad, barftastic, love, no comment