The +2 sword of Virginity
I was sitting in my cube at the day job, and heard the guys in the next cube talking about role-playing. Naturally I stopped mixing my Tanqueray and tonic and listened in, as I thought I might be regaled by tales of someone's girlfriend dressed up as a BDSM housemaid or something, but no such luck. Apparently they were discussing the internal dynamics of something called "Neverwinter Nights". As I continued to listen (some might say eavesdrop, but those people don't have the responsibility of being the Overpowered Executive Editor hanging over their heads) I gathered that this is some computer game where a player pretends to be a gnome, or an elf, or a unicorn wrangler, or a toll booth collector, and runs around killing imaginary creatures while spouting off in middle english.
That was about a month ago. Since then I've: 1) stopped listening, 2) upped the vital Tanqueray and tonic per hour ratio (henceforth to be referred to as the TTPH), and 3) started to feel really bad for these guys. Normally I'd just sit back and heckle, but perhaps I've mellowed out a bit, or possibly I'm just drunker than I thought. Either way I've decided to help these guys. God forgive me, I've gone all soft.
Mike (not his real name) is really into ninjas. I mean really into ninjas. Every Halloween he dresses up like a ninja at work. I get the feeling that he'd dress up like a ninja at all times if it were socially acceptable. This is not socially acceptable of course, even by his lowered standards. (An aside: When's the last time you saw a ninja kick anyone's ass? It seems like 6 ninjas are always sneaking up on some guy and then getting their asses kicked. I wager that Betty White could take out 3 ninjas, no problem.) He is, no doubt, just hoping that someday he'll meet a smart, pretty girl who also really likes ninjas. He won't, and even if he did, she'd want nothing to do with him. In fact she'd probably cut his head off with her ninja sword, and go home to check out the latest Sex in the City. I suspect that in his darkest times, right before he falls alseep at night, he knows he'll never meet this ethereal dream ninja babe. It can't be a comforting thing. Target number 1.
George is into renaissance fairs. A lot. He owns tunics. Multiple tunics. 'Nuff said. Target number 2.
So now it's a project to drag these guys into the real world. I'm going to take these guys out for a night on the town! Whoopee! Really load 'em up on Pabst Blue Ribbon and mescaline. I will, of course, be toting a stale baguette which I shall whap them with if I hear any talk of magical daggers of ennui or anything. The best case scenario will be if I manage to hook them up with a couple of undiscerning young tramps, who are interested enough in their wallets that they can ingore the "My barbarian dwarf defeated the Mage of Involuntary Celibacy and all I got was this t-shirt" clothes and complexions only slightly less pale than ill fed maggots. A really thorough humping might be just what these guys need to break the cycle.
I don't really hold out hope that the night will go that well of course. If I had to lay bets, I'd guess that I'll be upping the TTPH at a positively astonishing rate, while my sartorially challenged sidekicks debate the merits of flaming polearms of sexual frustration or whatsit. Assuming this happens, I'll likely suck up the rest of the mescaline, and play KnightRider in the Overpowered company Aston Martin whilst finishing off the PBR's. After all, I tried to help.
10:00:05 PM 
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