The Presupposition of a Geek Hierarchy
It never fails. I am at a convention with my husband, and some fecal mite faced lout stumbles up to us and asks how my husband “managed” to “get” me to attend this con. On hearing that I am a Geek In My Own Right, I am treated to a pop quiz of Geek questions that are meant to suss out my True Geekiness and my Right To Exist in That Space.
If there is a Geek Hierarchy, one where the more knowledgeable, experienced, “truer” geeks get to question the authenticity (questions usually directed at women) of others, then I submit that you, infintile-excretion-who-asks-me-to-name-10-DC-characters, may no longer question me, and furthermore, I claim the right to question YOUR authenticity.
Because, worm, I am a bigger geek than you are. In a Cagematch of Geekiness I leave you bleeding and weeping for mercy on a mat of shame. I outrank anyone who would have the witless audacity to try to “confirm” that I am actually geeky enough to be at this convention, play this game, or wear this costume. You are not the authority here, bilious scrooge, I am. You need to give YOUR credentials to ME. I will see that passport now, sour-sponge.
Listen, piss-soaked infection, and listen well: Did you found a RPG club in high school? No? Was it because you were too limp tongued to stand up before the student body and declare your geekiness? THEN I OUTRANK YOU.
How many Steampunk novels are dedicated to you? Exactly ZERO? Right. Guess who is outranked? DING DING, IT’S YOU.
So, Sanguine Coward, did you found a science fiction magazine, a geek club, write a role-playing game, design a board game and become an early adapter to podcasting? I didn’t think so. There are those who may outrank me, gutter bug, but they are folks like John Scalzi, and he HAS ALREADY disavowed you.
You may kneel while you kiss my ENnie, fungus, because your “authority” presupposes a Geek Hierarchy, and if there was such a thing then I am a Countess, and you are a peasant, and this is not a autonomous collective, and you do NOT, not ever, get to question my Geek credentials.
Furthermore, you fecal covered scrotum, I STRIP YOU of your right to question the Geekiness of all my sisters, be they the Gothic Lolita, the energetic cat girl, or the lady who read Twilight and had the audacity to enjoy it while being (gasp, my stars and garters) middle-aged. You do NOT get to question them, not even if they are pretty, or if they enjoy attention, or they cannot name a single character from Battlestar Galactica.
I will say who gets a passport to enter Geekdom before you do, and I say that the doors are open, the the boarders are free and fluid and passable to all those who wish to enter. You are welcome, my geeky, my nerdy, my longing for Doctor Who, for if Geekdom is a HOUSE, then it is MY HOUSE as well as yours, and there is room for everyone in this Crystal Ice Palace.
Filth-wizard, your questions presupposes a Geek Hierarchy and BE THAT SO, then I get to judge you, and SO I DO: I judge you as a lump in the breast of the Geek Goddess and I cut you out and seal you in a fucking mirror to fly in the void of space for eternity.
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