https://t.co/AidetKYYhn (16 hours ago)

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Jun
19

growing up nerd

It was hard growing up nerd. Not like nerds in the movies now that it’s fashionable to be a nerd. I’m talking hardcore nerd. I was a nerd’s nerd. Almost assumed in any conversation about nerds is their complete incompetence with the other sex. That’s what I’d like to discuss today. I’m ready to cast a finger of blame and it falls upon none other than comic books. Like any true nerd, I was a huge fan of comic books (Marvel… not DC. DC was for fags) long after other children had stopped reading them… and therein laid my problem.

Have you seen how the female body is portrayed in comic books? I couldn’t put the comic books down. The Scarlet Witch, Spider-Woman, Wasp… they all had the same body with different color hair and different skin-tight costumes. Apparently they all had a common super power. Gravity-defying breasts were standard issue… and none less than a full C cup. You can’t imagine my disappointment when I saw my first real boobs. The girl must have been a little upset with the look on my face as she unveiled her saggy barely-Bs. I just didn’t understand… perhaps she was late getting her mutant titty powers I remember thinking to myself.

I still own the X-Men comic where Jean Grey gets unlimited cosmic powers and destroys populated planets and at the same time grows a full cup size (X-Men issue 135). She kills millions in this tight little burgundy and yellow number and I must have rubbed out an equal amount of innocent sperm. Who doesn’t want the bad girl am I right? Always with the spandex and never a camel toe in sight. This is where I learned about female anatomy. These women were the best.

And above all of them, there was Ms. Marvel. Holy fuck what a super babe. Long blonde hair, 38-22-36, thigh high black boots and a thong that disappeared into her super-crack only to resurface in between the most super ass cheeks ever captured with ink and paper. Her alter-ego must have run a camp for overdeveloped cheerleaders… it’s the only possible occupation that makes sense. Marvel was so without sexuality that it left us nerds to fill in the gaps. There was no way that this super piece of ass wasn’t fucking somebody! Was she taking Thor’s mighty hammer or did she prefer a little Iron Man… we were always left to wonder. One time she was captured and shackled to the wall of the villain’s hideout. I don’t even remember one page after that. I was obsessed with that concept. The comic wanted everyone to believe that the super villain would tie her up there and NOT take a peak under her costume. No way! If I had been that villain I’m telling you… when I was finally caught by the rest of the cock-blocking Avengers and made to stand trial for my misdeeds against society you can be 100% certain that there would be some sodomy charges in the mix somewhere.

Ms. Marvel was hot. From that point on I was preparing myself to go to bed with nothing less than this Amazonian goddess. You can see the dysfunction starting to take hold right? I wasn’t sure of my own super power but I was certain is had something to do with expending a super amount of energy looking for my own Ms. Marvel.

Sadly… there are no Ms. Marvels. It’s hard enough to get a girl to even wear one of those costumes let alone expect super feats of strength, endurance, flexibility or sucking power. In my heart I know Ms. Marvel could put both legs behind her head and Marvel made us believe it. They sent us nerds out into the world destined for disappointment. Playboy might have airbrushed a little but it at least showed what we were getting into. Marvel sent us into the fray with no idea what lay beneath the spandex that no villain could punch off, aside or through. That pretty much sums up my knowledge of women even to this day. Damn you Marvel. Damn you to hell.

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