Stupider than Most

The intelligence level of truck-ball owners is roughly equivalent to the ability of the collected carbonation in a can of Budweiser to do math.

I was working today, conversing with my coworker about many things that most likely changed the world in some corner of the universe.

One subject that continuously comes up when working with the public and tourists is just how incredibly stupid a vast portion of the human race actually is. By “stupid” I don’t mean experiencing the “oops” moment of turning down a one-way street, or taking your five-year-old girls to a movie entitled “Kiss of the Dragon” starring Jet Li, where blood and death happen loudly and often, having mistaken this movie for another “dragon” movie that was cute and intended for children, and yet, when your girls begin squirming and wailing “mommy” because their innocent little brains are being destroyed, you tell them to be quiet and watch the movie because you’re too thick-headed to realize you’ve taken your previously beautiful children to the wrong goddamned movie.

You deserve to be kicked repeatedly in the skull.

As for thick-headed people in need of a good solid kick, I’m sure I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. Besides movies, let’s get back to cars. In most areas of the world that have cars, I’m pretty sure those cars are the same death machines that they are in my little corner of the world. Yet as I move cars around I’m continually bombarded by fat, sludgy tourists walking in front of me and the car I’m in. They walk in slow-motion bullet time while I metaphorically nip at their heals like a crazed puppy, hoping that the heat from the grill and the noise from the engine and the utter proximity to their waddling, slow, idiot asses will cause them to get the hell out of my way.

Rarely do they get out of the way. It’s as if they consider themselves sacred cows. Little do they know that in this country we kill and eat cows.

There was a new hire at my job. My monkey uniform is red, and fairly impossible to mistake and associate with any other position. She worked inside, and I said “hi” in my reds, then, as the evening wore on, I put a jacket on. My reds were almost covered up, but by then, given the six times she’d seen my face and our stupid little comments to each other as I went by to look for customers or take a leak or whatever, she should have recognized my face.

I knew I was in trouble when she said “thank you” as I walked out one time, indicating that not only didn’t she recognize me from one minute ago when I’d walked in, but that the six times previous had no history in her mental browser search. She’d cleared her cache. I’d divulge more but it would be boring. Instead, I’ll relay a meeting with one of the stupidest dudes I’ve ever met.

He had a Jack Russell, about a year old. A runt, apparently, since she was really tiny, even for a tiny breed. He mentioned that she was bad with people, then was astonished when she kinda dug on us and started stiff-legging the grass like dogs do when they leave their scent. He then was shocked when she munched on the grass, as if he’d never been outside or anywhere near a lawn.

We mentioned that he should go to the dog park, or better yet, the dog beach.

“I don’t know where that is. I just moved here … I don’t even know what month it is.”

What month it is?

We mentioned the beach again.

“Does it have sand?”

Sand? Christ, man, was you raised by alfalfa?

“Um, yeah. But it’s dog friendly.”

“No. She just spent three days in the vet because she ate too much sand when I threw the ball for her at the beach.”

My brain started to shrivel from this guy’s proximity. I could feel the oxygen leaving through my ears as his presence drew in the available air into his black hole of moronicness. It was worse than eating mayonnaise-infested potato salad and pretending to enjoy it because you don’t want to offend the cook.

To top it off, he’d taught the dog to waddle her front legs in a “swimming” motion when she wanted the ball, but over the course of having her for a year, he hadn’t gotten around to train her to come when he called her name.

I hope a car hits him. He probably won’t know what hits him. At the very least, somebody should take charge and snip his balls for him, so he doesn’t accidentally breed with another stupid human. Please, you idiots, stop breeding. Survival of the dumbest will happen because of mental gridlock. It’s already happening.

Get out of the way and shut up. You have nothing interesting to offer but the space you’re occupying.