Above all, they so worship the male form the very one to which they bear no obvious similarity that a world of hyperstylized violence and war becomes their playground of fanciful lust. This class of pseudo-warriors work out their passions for murder, bloodshed, and sphincter-blasting mania in the dark recesses of their own minds, convinced as they are that on the day when civilization crumbles under the weight of its own depravity, they will lie in wait; a new order to surpass the old.
Purple prose aside, geeks, goons, and shut-ins hate my review because I at last told all the world that, at bottom, they love war even more than the most battle-hardened Marine, and to every last, chicken-legged one of them, they are far right buffoons posing as empathetic sweethearts; armchair soldiers drooling at the sacrifices of others as they act out their inadequacies on the world stage. They romanticize slaughter the very meat grinder that would eradicate the world that never brought them to the table because, as with all myth throughout time, they can be reborn as gods in our midst. For too long, their juvenile curiosities comic books, video games, role-playing weekends otherwise spent in stupefying silence have been dismissed as retreats into silliness, when in fact they are calculated efforts to unleash the barrel-chested fascists within. The weapons they wield, and the symbols to which they bow, have but one end in mind: total domination. Or maybe its as simple as saying that nerds are as protective of their turf as gang leaders; that they want their world to remain free of politics or social context, for then they can live forever in a whirlwind of beautiful queens, heroic gestures, and impossibly hard abdomens, all without the responsibility of their implications. But I prefer the former, after all. Never has a group of turds so humorless, so lacking in the imagination they claim to celebrate, been so unfairly inflicted upon a stronger, wiser class of persons. The more they bare their teeth, the more I know Im right.