Former Vikings punter Chris Kluwe has a must-read piece in Esquire about how to be both nerdy and manly:
For example, every morning, I wake up from my nesting pile of bearskin pelts and immediately plunge into an ice-cold spring-water bath in order to facilitate maximal hair follicle growth on my face, chest, back, and pendulous member. After the brisk cleanse, I dry off by shaking my rippling muscles in a vigorous twitching pattern, much like that of a dire wolf shedding rain. I then run down a nearby small game animal, spit and roast it over a hand-built fire, and toss the bones to my pet crocodile, Frederick.
When it comes to playing video games, I’m just as manly. My Xbox 360 controller is hand-carved from a single block of mahogany, and it features an inbuilt testosterone sensor that lets me know if my massive thews involuntarily clench too hard in between rounds of Call of Duty and Battlefield 3. Obviously, the only reason I would start crushing exotic hardwood between my calloused hands is due to sheer excitement at my five-to-one kill/death ratio, and not at all because of an overwhelming abundance of pulsating sexuality coursing through my chiseled body, attracting all the poser girl gamers.
Sometimes, when one of the lesser females manages to somehow defeat me (obviously by cheating), I’ll let loose a primal bellow of animalistic rage in order to send her weak and delicate frame scurrying back into the bedroom where she belongs. Once she’s safely returned to her proper place, I make tender, ravishing love thrusts into her always-willing ladyparts, which I know she enjoys immensely. As a manly gamer, it is both my duty and my privilege to remind the fairer sex of the proper hierarchy in the electronic jungle, and I take my duties seriously. We manly gamers need to constantly reassert our alpha-ness upon the inferior girl gamer wannabees so they don’t get any stupid ideas that they’re as good as us.
