“You’re in my spot!” is what Sheldon Cooper, the breakout character of The Big Bang Theory, would accuse if he found you encroaching on the left cushion of the couch. Toting degrees stacked higher than his inspiring comic book collection, Sheldon is a multifaceted blend of a child prodigy turned inflexible scientist—loveable and exasperating. Sheldon eclipses the other characters with obsessive-compulsive ease. He’s socially inept, obscenely, yet innocently lacks humility, and possesses a snazzy collection of superhero t-shirts.
According to Sheldon, romantic relationships are baffling, repulsive and reek of “unnecessary touching.” He’d much rather spend the evening with his label maker, quoting Spock, or playing Klingon Boggle. Knowledgeable about everything but vexing social situations, Sheldon’s unwitting and reluctant journey to understanding sarcasm is brilliant. His sober alterations of misogynistic slang: “male comrades before women who sell their bodies for money” are matchless. Trademarked by his “classic pranks” and his coinage of “Bazinga!”, it’s as if Sheldon exists in a universe all his own.
Ever a creature of habit, Sheldon transforms into a tantrum-wielding toddler when his routine is disrupted (always knock three times, “laundry night” is Saturday at 8:15 and pizza is to be eaten on Thursdays). Labeled “one lab accident away from being a super-villain,” by his roommate, Sheldon excels in his antagonistic glory. His peculiar facial expressions, derisive snorts and over-the-top idiosyncrasies will suck you in and ensure your gravitation toward the next Sheldon-centric episode where someone will inexorably touch his food or sit in his spot. (250 words)