When geeks attack...

Women like it romantic and the like. Apparently it causes their amygdales and limbic systems to cook their frontal cortices in pungent hormonal soup. Simple enough. However, it seems that throughout the course of history I've had to explain the propositions to women after I've made the propositions to said women. True stories:

Scenario 1
She has a four letter name. I convert that to ASCII (the capital), I convert those 8 digits to Binary, I convert that Binary to a 'how many ones and zeroes' number. I further convert that number to hex. This leaves me with 9B7623BBA8F5733E. And a very befuddled young woman who didn't talk to me for the rest of class. The lilac smelling page I wrote this on notwithstanding.

Scenario 2
She likes Shakespeare. Cleopatra to be specific. Or so I can derive from her facebook profile. So I send this to her:
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale;
Her infinite variety, other women cloy.
-Signed, Salad Days."

And while I understand this sounds like a glorified 'Wanna make frandship?' request, why do people lie about liking Shakespeare?
She hasn't replied yet. But I assume that's due to the vernacular of having called her an old woman.

Scenario 3
I walk up to a girl in the library. Simple enough. Sample the following conversation.

Me: I know you don't like me. But do you like me?
She: Huh?
Me: Stop being dumb. You understand what I mean.
She: How am I supposed to like you? As a friend, or...
Me: You're such a tubelight.
She: (desperately) Do you like Mahatma Gandhi? Here's a nice autobiography.
Me: I get the point (wench).

Scenario 4
I'm proud of this one. Doesn't reek of dysfunction. So I says to her, "You're a vision in red. Poetry has been written for much less." "Really?" "Yes."
Cue burly boyfriend with huge mobile phone. Burly boyfriend says hi. I wish someone would let loose rabid attack dogs. I'd point out that his phone is using ye olde Android 1.6, but I stop... there are women present, after all.

Sigh. Where are the sexy cryptologists and single language experts in LBD's? Life's not fair.

They simply look better…

You're an ugly little fuck, aren't you? Chances are, your mother was lying when she recklessly blurted out she "could" love your face. And that one would tend to run out of euphemisms in any conversation involving your 'unconventional' good looks and excluding blasphemous profanity.

But if anything, the universe has a profound sense of fairness. I'm sure the powers that be gave you that winning personality and biting sense of humour while screwing you in the posterior in every other department. In that case, why so serious, jack?

Could it be that you may have realized that the world does indeed revolve around the good looking Gigafucks around you? That as and when it comes to the propagation of the species (and all the benefits that entails), the people chosen would most likely be them over you. That too by any jury including not only the average innocent bystander; but also your own mother. (see above)
Let's work with that for now. In fact, break up the mob, put down the Molotovs and the pitchfork, and we'll talk.

Get used to the basic idea that someone better looking than you at your relatively average plane of existence will get the bigger better deal every single time. And those who haven't gotten it yet are looking for it.
Think about all those girlfriends/boyfriends falling into the "one who got away" category.
Lets face it, how many lines do you remember from that beautiful sonnet about her intoxicating wit or his bleeding loyalty? That compared to every interstellar fuck who knows how she walks in beauty like the night.

Perhaps you'll realize the mitigating value of a blinding set of 32 when you understand that you yourself are just as prone to the marketing assault of beauty over substance. Why else would you ask your girlfriend/boyfriend to lose that extra kg? Or go 'awww' over photos of kittens?

You, Quasimodo, are living in some else's world. And you're humping it all wrong.

Oh… and since I know you only look at the pictures…
To put things in perspective, I'd (still) sleep with her.