I'm covered in mouse turds. Who wants a hug?
I was a sucky teenager. I pretty much did what my parents and teachers told me, and only broke the rules if I was on my way to the Planetarium to see the Pink Floyd laser show. That lack of a rebel spirit had its upsides – I got into university and passed my driving test the first time. But it also almost meant a career that would have added a heaping serving of mockery to the virginity buffet that was my teenage years.
Douchebag owned, douchebag operated
It all started when I got a job as a barista at a crappy little coffee shop owned by a guy named Doug. Physically, he was not well maintained. Even his goatee had dandruff. His personality was worse – an unpleasant mix of racist jokes and questionable management directives like “mustard never goes bad, so it’s okay to still use the tub I bought four years ago”, and “I can save $20 a month if we turn off the refrigerator in the pastry case.” And there was the whole problem — whatever he asked me to do, I did, even if it meant picking fruit flies out of the custard tarts.
Yes, I’m leading with 
F**k Twilight! Now that I have that out of the way, 
As geeks so often 
You’re a caveman (I don’t need to say caveperson since political correctness has only been around for 0.000000000000001% of human existence). Your ability to effectively categorize sh*t is everything. Is that shadow moving in the woods tasty prey or a nasty predator? Is that berry fire engine red (granted you don’t know what a fire engine is since the whole flame thing is pretty new) because it’s delicious or deadly? Despite the body hair, protruding forehead and inability to really get your jokes, will that female humanoid bear you healthy Australopithi-babies or leave you for that asshole Uggghh and take you for your cave and wheel? Fast forward to now. The world is essentially stable (unless you’re living in the majority of it that isn’t). You don’t really need to filter your world into 
I’ll admit it, maybe I was 
It’s a 