“Alright, alright, alright…everyone gather around. Yes. You guys. Gather round.”
The nerds put down their tuna sandwiches and chocolate milk and give you their attention. They’re not exactly thrilled about your insinuation.
“Okay. Fatty. Yes. You. That Star Wars t-shirt. It’s lame, man. It’s Star Wars. It wasn’t even that good of a movie then, it sure isn’t now. You’re developed an unhealthy obsession with bad science fiction and what was once harmless fun has now become a crutch and a coping mechanism.”
Fatty’s jaw drops.
“You. Skinny. You smell…like, a lot. Maybe nobody ever told you that. Maybe you don’t care. You need to take regular showers. It may not seem like a big deal, but it is.
You with the hat. Yes. You talk about video games as much as he talks about Star Wars. Learn a skill. Build something. Play outside. Nobody wants to look back on their youth and have their memories limited to Quake and Half-Life levels. You might not want to grease your hair like that either…what is that, brill cream?
You there. Japan is a place, not a lifestyle. Get a grip, stop drawing that weird anime stuff on your binders. Plus, you might want to consider a little healthy exercise and some sun.
Finally, you with the Lunchables, put away that goddamn Warhammer magazine right this second if you ever want to lose your virginity for free!”
“Gentlemen, I don’t want to sit here all through lunch and point out these little character flaws to you any more than you want to hear them. I simply want to hit home the point that you’re all fucking nerds, and because I am likely to be rejected by every other table in this cafeteria, I guess I am too. So, anyone else see Battlestar last night?”