Meet Martin. He is the Senior Assistant City Attorney for the Great City of Atlanta Georgia, and the first thing he does is tell Trump... no, that's not the first thing he does. The first thing he does is be offensive on sight, both to my people instincts and to my sense of aesthetics. He is dressed like a motherfucking clown. He is dressed like Doctor Who. He is dressed like a man who has never been beaten up in his whole life, thanks to his Mom's valiant efforts and vicious roundhouse kick. This is exactly what he is. Remember freshman year of undergrad and there were the boys with the... like, one of them walked with a cane. He did not need this cane, or walking stick, and he did not need to wear a cocksucking cloak over his backpack either. And there was another one who wouldn't stop talking about Ayn Rand, and he always wanted to be the Dungeon Master, and it occurred to you that these things were related, and that that is heartbreaking. And there was the more attractive but still socially awkward one with a cute haircut who never got laid because he was like this. And if you observed these people as closely as I did, like from behind trees and at the parties they accidentally found out about, you soon learned two things: one is that nerd sexuality is very, very complicated, and you would do well to stay out of it altogether, because it's always going be either "polyamory," furries, or S&M, and often the Ren Faire is involved, which apparently can get expensive, but mostly: all of which are so gay you might as well just be gay, in my opinion, and save yourself the mental journey. When you're gay? You get laid like that. I'm just saying. Plus there's no extra equipment to buy. ... I mean, as far as I'm aware. But anyway, the second one is that these boys also had people that they were too cool for. I mean to say that there were some people so unpalatable that they never even got to play GURPS with these boys. And those people were Martin, and he's on your TV right now! Wearing a pinstriped suit, a checkered tablecloth, a barfy and clashing tie, a simper, and the fragrance known as Eau d'Lazy Asshole. He is avant nothing at all, après the world, and illustrates my grandmother's axiom: In fashion, there is a difference, admittedly sometimes razor-thin, between being cutting edge and fucking up on a heretofore unimagined scale.