R+59 Sigma

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As with anyone involved (hah!) in our current "just gimmie a simple answer, dude!" culture, I've spent years absolutely covered up in the most ridiculous horseshit by people trying to classify me. 

For example, so far on the Current Rage personality tests I have come in as ISTJ-A/ISTJ-T, ISFJ-A/ISFJ-T, ESTJ-A/ESTJ-T, INTJ-A/INTJ-T, INTP-A/INTP-T, ENTJ-A/ENTJ-T, ENTP-A/ENTP-T, on probably dozens of tries which, as advertised, quite specifically classified me. We're presuming here that narrowing me down to seven of sixteen possible types, along with all sub-variants of all seven, counts as a spot-on specificity and a sterling example of the "science".

Efforts have also included Personality Engrams, the several Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventories (MMPI), multiple polygraph runs, endless FaceBook quizzes,  and at least one legit psycho twat who cast my entire horoscope.

She wasn't doing me a favor. She needed it in order to better curse me. She was a witch, y'see. Or identifies as one. Or some kind of idiot moonbeam shit.

Anyhow, we got cross-threaded  when I laughed at her for being a useless goofball which I totally meant as a compliment, as "goofball" is the best kind of useless to be. The horoscope/curse evolved from there.

I was a little unclear on what effect a horoscope-based curse might have given that every single piece of information she needed to cast it was wrong, She told me the spirits would know who she meant, so it would all work out.

It's safe to say that I had questions.

It turns out, however, that the curse may have worked as my ass turned into a flamethrower a couple of days later. One of those war-crime kinds, y'know, that's loaded with the flaming, honey-consistency wads of jelled gasoline that stick to whatever they contact.

Good times.

Now, it's remotely possible that it was the heavily-garliced jalapeno-and-cheese Polish Kielba Sausages (featuring chunks of jalapeno the size of a thumb-tip) which I ate WAY too many of, especially after having covered them in spicy German Brat Mustard. But I'm going with the curse as a working hypothesis for now.

Better safe than sorry, that's my motto.

Or maybe it's a long term curse that hasn't happened at all yet and will come to fruition in ten or fifteen years when they finally roll my chubby corpse into the flames. She'll probably be standing there covered in a cloud of incense and home-made magic dust, muttering under her breath -- and as they slam the door shut and turn the oven setting knob from "pizza" to "charcoal", she'll cackle and say "Gotcha!"

That's the one that worries me.

Wait, this isn't where I wanted this to go -- hang on a tick and let me read back...

Ah, right, classifying my personality.

None of this crap worked, and not a single lick of it has any vaguest scientific validity. Personally, I've always believed that I'm a borderline sociopath who would probably test more-or-less on the narrow end of the autism chart. Just like everyone else is or at least thinks they are so far as I can tell.

And there's the problem. Everyone's trying to be special, and they just aren't. The other day I was working on ancestor data and actually (this is true) managed to track my blood line to Emperor Charlemagne. He's back 1400-1500 years, so that was a pretty good lick.

But then I did the math. And consulted with some people who are a lot better at math than I am. It turns out that anyone more than 1000 years back is a common ancestor of basically everyone today. With only the smallest deviance, it turns out if you've got any "European" ancestry, it's a near bang-on certainty that you're a blood descendant of Charlemagne somehow or another. The only special thing about me is that I can actually name everyone in the line all 39 or 40 generations back to get there.

None of us are magically special. To quote one of my favorite authors Jenny Lawson:

...perhaps instead of “BE UNIQUE” we should be saying, “Be as visibly fucked up as you want to be because being unique is already taken.” By everyone, ironically enough. Or maybe we should change the message to “Don’t just be some random person. Be the MOST random person.

So, I've long since settled into my non-specialness which seems to have caused me no undue harm.

But for some reason or another over the course of the last three or four months, people have told me I'm a "Sigma Male". Not so much as a statement like that, but like "Oh, that's such a Sigma thing to say," or (overheard) "He's kind of a Sigma type".

Shit. Now what? I'm so far behind in cultural references that I had to ask my 20-year-old granddaughter what "Bougie" meant, as in "He's got a Bougie apartment". I may be the only human on earth who DIDN'T know it since I've seen it everywhere. The Pope probably uses it in his Sunday prayers (especially considering he lives in the Vatican, one of the most Bougie places on earth).

So I had to look up "Sigma Male":

"Sigma male" is used to denote a male who is equally dominant to an alpha male, but exists outside the alpha-beta-gamma male hierarchy as a "lone wolf". In the manosphere, it is regarded as the "rarest" kind of male.

It goes on to say that it's utter bullshit, along with the "alpha/beta/gamma" male classifications which, it seems, are wholly made up crapola from people who spend far too much time with their dogs or field mice or whatever. It's sort of a grindset/clubber version of "furry" culture, is what I think Wikipedia is going for here.

Anyhow, I think they're wrong. I know I am one. Because I'm rare. And I've been pretty close to acing all the "7-" "10-" and "12-" "Signs You're A Sigma" tests on the internet. The Beneficiary has even taken to calling me a "Sigma Asshole" when I annoy her.

Most of the rest of these clowns who claim to be Sigmas are, of course, full of shit (see "rare" above), usually being in fact just incel Betas who are trying to pretend their lives are on purpose or studly in a different way that makes them enviable in a troubled Daniel Craig/007 kinda way.

I'm thinking of starting a local Sigma club.

No, wait, we don't do that. It's part of the schtick. Look, I'll get back to you on what this means. In the meantime, when I don't post, comment, answer, or otherwise ignore life going past, feel free to just shake your head admiringly and say "He's so Sigma". We'd appreciate your support. 

If we cared.