One is, one isn't

What’s more fun: when you meet somebody who turns expectations on their head, or when you meet someone who is the living, breathing stereotype?

Surely that’s a philosophical question for the ages.

First, the guy who broke the mold. And I am quite sure he could break just about anything he wants to break. Big Bob is a power lifter, competes in strongman competitions and in Scottish Highland games, tossing cabers and hurling stones into space.

Mac could build a truck using him as a model. A buddy of his said Bob looks like he ate two babies and they wound up in his shoulders. He can squat lift a dozen Paris Hiltons -- and at this point shouldn’t somebody squat lift her?

Bob is an accountant by trade. It’s ok. Go ahead and chuckle. His pals say that’s the common reaction. So is a little guffaw of surprise when Bob tells you he was on the swim team in high school back when he weighed 220 pounds.

Think of how intimidating a power lifting accountant could be for you come audit time. Or if you were one of those wispy high school boy swimmers lining up next to a guy who looks like he could literally eat you for breakfast.

As much as Bob defies silly expectations honed from years of watching bad sitcoms and reading sloppy sports columnists, Scott goes the other way, so to speak.

Scott teaches speech and coaches the debate team at a small college in Pennsylvania. From what I have told you thus far, would it shock you if I told you he wore glasses?

That he is so chubby he bears an uncanny resemblance to cartoon character Peter Griffin on Family Guy? That he is single? That he likes to play Dungeons and Dragons? That he likes Madonna for her worthless pop value?

That he is spending his summer working at a Boy Scout camp, where there is no cable TV and he gets not even one full free day a week and he has to wear the scout uniform - but he draws the line at the kerchief?

While I was amused by most of the above, it also brought out my inner mean jock self. I can be as much a dork as anyone, but for some reason, even though this guy seemed pleasant enough, I just wanted to give him a swirly.

And I actually told him, “Dude, you are so not going to get laid this summer (and thinking, fall, winter and spring for that matter),” after having but one beer.

Come on, though. Who thinks it’s a good idea to spend your summer when you are in your 30s and single working at a Boy Scout camp?

That part of the nerd puzzle kind of creeped me out.

But, given the stupid shit I wind up doing, who am I to judge?