A Short Primer on the Hateful History Buff

A history buff is not a historian, much in the same way a hot dog stand owner is not a chef at the Cordon Bleu. Walk into any undergraduate history seminar on any North American college campus and you will find about a half dozen of these dolts scattered throughout the room. They tend not to sit too close together because the sheer force of their virginity would probably cause a rip in the time-space continuum and make several universes collapse one upon the other. Also, history buffs tend not to like other history buffs and will gain much pleasure from angrily denouncing each other at unholy decibel levels.

The prototypical history buff is immediately distinguishable from the rest of the university population. Firstly, the history buff is always male, or at the very least appears to meet several of the biological prerequisites for this classification. His head is an ungainly block, as though his parents constructed him out of spare pieces of Lego. While not fat per say, the buff tends to be burly, even doughy, with an appearance that hints he has never met a Pizza Pop he didn’t want to befriend – ie. immediately cram into his gaping, opinionated maw. The buff is loudly, vehemently heterosexual and all gay men within a 50-mile radius prefer it that way. His sartorial skills range from offensive to South Park-themed to “please, sweet Jesus, give me cataracts so that I don’t have to look at that shirt with the griffin on it a-fucking-gain!” Your average buff will show a marked proclivity either for sweater vests or button-up silk shirts with orange flames running up the sides. While he may like facial hair, facial hair will not like him. It will tiptoe around his smirking mouth in little mossy patches, collecting cookie crumbs and beads of spittle like State’s Evidence.

A history buff will not be able to cogently discuss the causes of the Reformation, the impact of the Agricultural Revolution on demographics or the development of the modern city. What he does know will relate to one of the following categories: crossbows, Julius Caesar, gatling guns, Patton, dragon eggs, Rommel, quotes from “Braveheart”, trenchfoot and orcs. What he lacks in depth of knowledge, he will make up for in the volume of his voice. He is highly enamored with his oratory skills and will launch into a ten-minute lecture on the merits of the bayonet at the slightest provocation. With each word, his chest will puff up more and more, like a Pillsbury crescent in the oven. With each sentence, his head will become more menacingly square. At some point during the rant, he may confuse Dieppe with this awesome rat-killing raid he conducted during yesterday’s twelve-hour session of Warcraft.

The buff is usually a virgin. This is not because there has been a sudden dip in the stupid girl population. It has more to do with the buff’s inherent innocence that leads to an unwavering belief that attractive women will flock to his barrel chest and superior knowledge of medieval cuirasses. The buff is so child-like that he is entirely unaware that women even existed before 1961. However, he rests secure in the knowledge that there have always been big-titted elf chicks.

In summary, while genuine historians are wonderful, insightful people, the history buff is worthy only of our collective scorn. After all, this is the douchebag who makes excuses for colonial exploitation by misquoting his Dummy’s Guide to Nietzsche. If the history buff had lived during WWII, you get the distinct feeling that he’d have been rooting for the Nazis, mainly because they had cooler tanks. This alone should be reason enough to hang him for war crimes.