The Inner Circle Of Dorks seems to meet at the bookstore in the mall. On Saturday’s. From like noon until Battlestar Galactica comes on. Whenever that is. It’s a good place for them to meet. They have chairs there. And research material. And comic books. And it is close to places where you can get a 103 ounce cherry slurpee and trash bags full of popcorn. And there is a theatre nearby where they can go to see X-Men again. For the 11th time. To record in their spiral bound notebooks fatal writing and story flaws that conflict with the early original X-Men comic books or to work on memorizing all of Wolverine’s dialogue. Or corporately laugh at Hollywood’s lame understanding of true telekinesis. So they meet. Or congregate. Like the cantina scene in Star Wars. They discuss things. And argue. Alot.
I saw them in there on Saturday while I was looking at books on the Bargain Table. Because that’s where the chairs are. Near the Bargain Table. It’s sort of Dork Central really. And I was the odd one out. A freak. I stood around and listened while pretending to peruse the wildly discounted volumes. Or tried to listen at least, for they lapsed from semi-intelligible English to something else. Klingon I think.
They wore zip-up sweatshirts. And thick glasses. And digital watches that had the ability to do complex math problems and to tell you what time it is in Rivendell. Or Krypton. And their pecking order was obvious. The organization flow chart unmistakable. There were Mid-Level Dork soldiers, Dork-Dorks, Wanna Be Dorks, a Head Dork and the resident solo Dork Hottie. She was an overweight girl wearing a babydoll crop top that fit her like it was a sports bra. The top said “Hot Stuff” spelled out in rhinestones and had a mustard stain from a big pretzel near the neckline. She had tight jeans, hair coiffed like Princess Leia, and all the dorks dreamed of walking side by side with her at the Yu-Gi-Oh Convention. She was a Dork-ette, but had her pick of the stable. And she knew it.
The low guy on the Dork-em Pole was a small framed guy with a Slingblade haircut and a blonde Hitler mustache. He was attempting to trade some kind of playing cards things (kept in a sleeved folder, cross-referenced, indexed and pristine) with a Grunt Level Dork who had no apparent interest in anything being said to him. At all. He just thumbed through the vinyl protected pages and talked to himself. Out loud. Meanwhile Junior Dorkmier kept repeating his mantra of “That’s a good card” over and over again like a retarded Myna bird. He finally broke his trance-like state to blurt out “Whatta ya think Buddy, you gonna trade?” to which the Endless Thumber replied very slowly and in a detached way “I don’t knowwwwww……” which caused Little Mustache Guy so much anxiety that it appeared that he might pee his pants. Or throw up. Or potentially throw up AND pee his pants. Not sure if the deal got done or if this was just a clever ruse used to inspect Slingblade’s collection.
Meanwhile at the Dork Conference, a lively discussion intensified as sides were drawn about the ability to trump a Vladmir the Torturer card with two Plasma Energy discs and one Xenon Crystal, three Wizard of Waakia cards or if you indeed had to jump down, turn around and pick a bale of cotton. No shortages of opinions here and no one on the fence. The cooler Dorks had a kind of swagger to them as they punctuated particularly good points with a contemptuous straw slurp from their Icee. Nacho chips and popcorn particles fell harmlessly onto their chests and laps as each side refused to concede to the other.
I watched in amazement as they used words like “wog”, “transmogrify” and “eradicate”. They each seemed to make stuff up and articulate it to which a few others would adamantly agree while the others would ferociously shake their heads side to side getting so worked up that they spit and slobbered like St. Bernard’s. In between exaggerated hand motions they pushed their ever sliding glasses back up onto the bridge of their noses. It was becoming quite a scene. Finally King Dork ( he was obviously the Head Dork as he wore sweat pants that were only 1 size too big, shoe laces that matched and a t-shirt with a rather aggressive message that read: YOU MUST BE A PLANET BECAUSE YOUR FACE MATCHES URANUS ) who had been relatively reserved, stood up and ended the debate with a few choice words of wisdom. This settled the matter and diffused the ensuing Smackdown In Dorktown. He said, “Vladmir is of the Loran tribe. They are Zancors. A Zancor cannot be defeated by a Biltek. Therefore only a Malta Stone or Diridium Dagger can have any adverse effect on him.”
This seemed to satisfy the council as they quietly nodded and mumbled, acknowledging this overlooked basic truism. At this point the meeting was abruptly adjourned when the 30ish Grand Pubah Dork announced that his mom would be there in 10 minutes to pick him up in front of Sears and any loser that needed a ride should skedaddle quickly with him as he was going to walk past the Game X-Change one more time. This announcement was followed by quick glances at calculator watches and the gathering up of all comics, spiral bound notebooks and other assorted Dork-ernalia and with that, the meeting was history.
I was left standing by the Bargain Bin still faux reading a coffee table book called: Chariots, and the Men Who Drove Them while the Rain Man of Role Playing stared at me from across the table. I glanced up for a millisecond and when I did, he said “That’s a good book. Yeah. A really good book. Yeah” to which I replied “It is buddy. Sure it is”, as I walked away to the Computer section where I was headed in the first place. “Geez, What dorks” I thought, as I scanned the shelves for AutoCad 2007 LT For Idiots.
Peace. Later.
(Kevin Sprinkle)
I saw them in there on Saturday while I was looking at books on the Bargain Table. Because that’s where the chairs are. Near the Bargain Table. It’s sort of Dork Central really. And I was the odd one out. A freak. I stood around and listened while pretending to peruse the wildly discounted volumes. Or tried to listen at least, for they lapsed from semi-intelligible English to something else. Klingon I think.
They wore zip-up sweatshirts. And thick glasses. And digital watches that had the ability to do complex math problems and to tell you what time it is in Rivendell. Or Krypton. And their pecking order was obvious. The organization flow chart unmistakable. There were Mid-Level Dork soldiers, Dork-Dorks, Wanna Be Dorks, a Head Dork and the resident solo Dork Hottie. She was an overweight girl wearing a babydoll crop top that fit her like it was a sports bra. The top said “Hot Stuff” spelled out in rhinestones and had a mustard stain from a big pretzel near the neckline. She had tight jeans, hair coiffed like Princess Leia, and all the dorks dreamed of walking side by side with her at the Yu-Gi-Oh Convention. She was a Dork-ette, but had her pick of the stable. And she knew it.
The low guy on the Dork-em Pole was a small framed guy with a Slingblade haircut and a blonde Hitler mustache. He was attempting to trade some kind of playing cards things (kept in a sleeved folder, cross-referenced, indexed and pristine) with a Grunt Level Dork who had no apparent interest in anything being said to him. At all. He just thumbed through the vinyl protected pages and talked to himself. Out loud. Meanwhile Junior Dorkmier kept repeating his mantra of “That’s a good card” over and over again like a retarded Myna bird. He finally broke his trance-like state to blurt out “Whatta ya think Buddy, you gonna trade?” to which the Endless Thumber replied very slowly and in a detached way “I don’t knowwwwww……” which caused Little Mustache Guy so much anxiety that it appeared that he might pee his pants. Or throw up. Or potentially throw up AND pee his pants. Not sure if the deal got done or if this was just a clever ruse used to inspect Slingblade’s collection.
Meanwhile at the Dork Conference, a lively discussion intensified as sides were drawn about the ability to trump a Vladmir the Torturer card with two Plasma Energy discs and one Xenon Crystal, three Wizard of Waakia cards or if you indeed had to jump down, turn around and pick a bale of cotton. No shortages of opinions here and no one on the fence. The cooler Dorks had a kind of swagger to them as they punctuated particularly good points with a contemptuous straw slurp from their Icee. Nacho chips and popcorn particles fell harmlessly onto their chests and laps as each side refused to concede to the other.
I watched in amazement as they used words like “wog”, “transmogrify” and “eradicate”. They each seemed to make stuff up and articulate it to which a few others would adamantly agree while the others would ferociously shake their heads side to side getting so worked up that they spit and slobbered like St. Bernard’s. In between exaggerated hand motions they pushed their ever sliding glasses back up onto the bridge of their noses. It was becoming quite a scene. Finally King Dork ( he was obviously the Head Dork as he wore sweat pants that were only 1 size too big, shoe laces that matched and a t-shirt with a rather aggressive message that read: YOU MUST BE A PLANET BECAUSE YOUR FACE MATCHES URANUS ) who had been relatively reserved, stood up and ended the debate with a few choice words of wisdom. This settled the matter and diffused the ensuing Smackdown In Dorktown. He said, “Vladmir is of the Loran tribe. They are Zancors. A Zancor cannot be defeated by a Biltek. Therefore only a Malta Stone or Diridium Dagger can have any adverse effect on him.”
This seemed to satisfy the council as they quietly nodded and mumbled, acknowledging this overlooked basic truism. At this point the meeting was abruptly adjourned when the 30ish Grand Pubah Dork announced that his mom would be there in 10 minutes to pick him up in front of Sears and any loser that needed a ride should skedaddle quickly with him as he was going to walk past the Game X-Change one more time. This announcement was followed by quick glances at calculator watches and the gathering up of all comics, spiral bound notebooks and other assorted Dork-ernalia and with that, the meeting was history.
I was left standing by the Bargain Bin still faux reading a coffee table book called: Chariots, and the Men Who Drove Them while the Rain Man of Role Playing stared at me from across the table. I glanced up for a millisecond and when I did, he said “That’s a good book. Yeah. A really good book. Yeah” to which I replied “It is buddy. Sure it is”, as I walked away to the Computer section where I was headed in the first place. “Geez, What dorks” I thought, as I scanned the shelves for AutoCad 2007 LT For Idiots.
Peace. Later.
(Kevin Sprinkle)
posted by Kevonia at 12:09 PM
2 Comments:
OMG.........too too funny.....I could rewrite the entire post if I was to point out all the specifics that had me rolling. Love the look! EXCELLENT!
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