Adventures in Creepersville #01

This could almost just as well be titled “Adventures in ‘90sland”, given that my tolerance for the appearance of creepiness begun a rapid atrophy around 2002. Beyond that, my stories of creepiness are a bit piecemeal, and a bit residual, the creepiness not holding near as much real estate in my social space. Which is not to say the aughts won’t feature.

Anyway, I thought I’d start this series off with a tale from back in the day, where we have a guy who took it for granted that “The Guys™” would always just like certain things, and moreso, those things in combination.

I have to confess I used to watch professional wrestling as a kid. Keep in mind that as a kid in rural South Australia in the ‘80s, unless it was a good day in summer and you had a decent antenna, there was a choice of two television stations; GTS-BKN and the ABC. When a few kids started watching something, it went viral in the schoolyard, and then the rest of us at least had our reference points even if we weren’t that interested.

Eventually you’d see some of this stuff at the video library in your teens, and it was a case of “okay, let’s hire some of this shit we’re familiar with in case the other stuff turns out to be terrible.” And if you’re like me, there’d also be a period of morbid curiosity in your late teens and early 20s as to why you ever watched this stuff – and so you watched even more to find out. But beyond that, eventually you’d realize you’d have been better off all along watching Care Bears or going for a bushwalk.

In my case I have other interests, some of them electronic. So when someone claims he’s got bootleg video footage caught via a homebrew satellite receiver a retired electronic engineer friend whipped up, it gets my attention. Until he mentions that the footage is professional wrestling. And mentions it again. And again. And again.

Eventually, being capable of feeling pity, and like some women who’ve been pestered for dates by guys with poor grasps of personal boundaries, I gave in and watched said bootlegged wrestling. So of course I liked this stuff, right? I must have. I mean, I remembered parts of wrestling from my youth, so there were cultural references that I got, and besides, I have a penis. I’m a guy. Why wouldn’t I love it? All the guys love wrestling. Well, actually, no.

I do however, also like the idea of the MIPS architecture. Yay RISC. I liked and still like the idea of SGI workstations like those used to render the graphics for Terminator II and a number of other blockbusters of the era. Costing tens of thousands of dollars though, I had to opt for time with a scaled-down version; The Nintendo 64.

You know what was a great test of this system’s capabilities, a real work of software engineering? Wrestling games of the late 1990s. My brothers bought some.

Here’s some advice from with someone with experience: When someone is obsessively interested in something that you are not, and when these people don’t readily respect personal boundaries, do not meet them half way. If you like MIPS, and they like wrestling waaay too much – don’t raise the issue of MIPS and wrestling in the same breath. If you do this, they’ll take that as full and unqualified affirmation and they’ll treat you like a liar when you back away later on.

“She finally went on the date with me after I asked her the 10th time! When I asked her in an awkward spot that made her vulnerable if it was a good date, she said “YES”! Now she says she doesn’t want to go on another date with me!!! She’s a liar! SHE LIKED THE DATE WE WENT ON!”

It’s like that guy, but with wrestling instead of a date, and The Guys™ instead of women. Imagine him getting shouty, and correcting you by telling you what you like. “DON’T LIE! YOU DO LIKE WRESTLING! REVISIONIST HISTORY!”

It’s probably not surprising then that guy assumed that other guys just liked a lot of other shit without them saying so. What was really novel was this one time I paid a visit to said guy, and he endorsed a product I’d never heard of and am doing a good job forgetting the name of. (Do not inform me of the answer if you just happen to know).

Basically, we’re talking a case of “Nuts and Gum” being spruiked to someone with bad teeth and nut allergies, albeit in magazine form; a wrestling news magazine that was also a pornography news magazine.

For crying out loud. I’d already indicated to this guy that I found parts of anime disturbing – i.e. the dubious sexual politics. Why he thought I’d be interested in pornography news I have no idea, other than to suggest that it was just because I have a penis. Why he thought he could even be this candid in the first place should have been a mystery, but I guess I was just in denial about how clueless he was and still is – call it supererogatory charity.

Ever since, I’ve wondered if he just needs to come out to himself. I don’t expect him to out himself to others, but the thought of him perusing a hetero spank bank interleaved with homoerotic machismo just so he can lie to himself about what arouses him, is sad beyond words (which is to say nothing of what working for the publishers must be like for the women involved).

People like these are a good part of why personal barriers exist, and why you need to be extra-observant of your own around some folks. If you’re not careful, and you allow your standards to be eroded by them, you can at least superficially start becoming like them. If you’re afflicted with a mental illness at the time, this can be a very unpleasant experience, so a bit of social hygiene is indicated – don’t let anyone tell you you’re being snobbish.

Even if you can’t articulate why this kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable, be confident that taking the next exit out of Creepersville is the right choice. That and yes, wrestling fans can be icky. No surprises there, really.


Next in Adventures in Creepersville, I think I’ll address some BBS-related creepiness from the early 90s, where as a teenager I intended to do something trollishly stupid, only for it to backfire in a massively creepy fashion before it even began. Call it a cautionary tale.

~ Bruce

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