More On The Wretched Of The Earth

Continuing.

In the good old days I thought only 95% of the world was composed of the colossally stupid, and so I wrongly concluded that stupidity was its own reward. Since nearly everybody was stupid, there was no shame in being a moron. No need to be in the closet. The best example was the openly defiant tightly knit community composed of Jews, Christians and Muslims. They trumpeted their belief in The Guy In The Sky. There was strength in numbers.

As time went by, I became wiser. Recent scientifically based evidence has proved I badly underestimated the number of the stupid. Because stupidity is a virtue, people throughout the land gladly responded to a poll that had only two questions. (1) Are you a very stupid person? (2) If you answered “Yes” to that, are you very glad you are stupid? 99.8% of all Americans were happy to answer the questions so we can be fairly sure the results are accurate. It turns out that 99% of Americans are stupid and 99.2% of those who are very stupid are very glad to be so and wouldn’t have it otherwise if they could.

There was a time when the stupid did not know their leaders were stupid. They incorrectly believed that presidents and Supreme Court Justices were of a different ilk. Although the hoi polloi were stupid, they took perverse pleasure in imagining their “betters” were not stupid. They have undergone THE CURE. I do not know what accounts for the cure. Perhaps global warming. One thing is certain. The leaders now fairly scream in our faces that they are stupid, too. They will not be left behind. So vote for them if they want to be presidents and the like. The other day, a fellow named Paul Ryan appeared on a TV show with fat, ugly, greasy-haired Candy Crowley. Candy, who loves her ugliness and regards it as a democratic response to most TV broadcasters who are there because they are gorgeous, is also belligerent in her interviewing style. She will not allow her guests to finish sentences. Actually, this is to her credit because all her guests are paradigms of stupidity. Mr. Ryan is a fine example. That he knows nothing about economics hardly matters. We don’t see why he should. But, in keeping with the ascendency of stupidity, he joyfully told us who his favorite “musicians” were. He boasted of his eclectic tastes (without using that word, of course) and said he liked rock music of all kinds. For him, music began in the late 1950s and he said he was particularly fond of a group called Lead Zepelin. He mentioned a few others with equal pride. Now, as it won’t surprise you to learn, I have not a clue as to who Lead Zepelin is nor do I have any idea whether they are talented although I have great difficulty understanding how some groups can be talented and others not. Let that pass. That’s my own problem, not Mr. Ryan’s. My dogmatism is not the issue. Mr. Ryan’s sense of history is. It may surprise him to learn that in my world a person whose musical tastes extend from the instrumental music of Bach through the pianistic pyrotechnics of such Romantics as Chopin and Liszt (a century and a half later) would be considered to have a very narrow band of tastes. Mathematically challenged as his views on economics seem to indicate, it would not surprise any of us to learn Mr. Ryan does not know the difference between a string quartet and a quintet. If his life depended on it, he could not spell “madrigal.”

I won’t vote for Mr. Ryan in the upcoming elections but I won’t vote against him either. I can’t wish him luck nor can I wish him well in his manic campaign to win. In the best of all possible worlds, this planet would blow up well before he wins or loses. That would prove that the 90 percenters – those who believe in The Guy In The Sky – were right after all. Instead, I will go about my own strange affairs, (as you perceive them to be), and when January comes (I mean January, 2016) you can tell me who who won the election. Frankly, my dear Scarlett, I don’t give a damn.

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11 Comments

  1. It’s Led Zeppelin, moron. I can understand misspelling ONE word in a two-word phrase, but BOTH!?!

  2. Dear E.B. I knew I would hear from you. You have a sense humor and an appreciation of sarcasm worthy of Tricky Dick Nixon.

  3. High praise, coming from you, although you are to humor as Mark Twains’ wife was to cursing in the following anecdote:

    Twain cut himself shaving and let out a sting of colorful invective worthy of the riverboat captain (or other employee) he once was. In an attempt to embarrass him, his wife repeated his tirade verbatim. Bemused, he set down his razor and said, “My dear, you know the lyrics, but I fear you have not come close to mastering the melody.”

    Fear not, though. Unlike the miscreant Ryan, you can spell “madrigal.”

    As to appreciation of sarcasm, I have some; but I leave the unbridled practice of it to the passive-aggressive.

  4. PS—What’s a “sense humor?”

  5. Boy, that Strunk’s kind of a nasty prick, ain’t he?

    My only comment to your typically brilliant essay is that I was in agreement with you about not voting until magic underwear-wearing Cranbrook-boy nominated Ryan. He genuinely scares me; and the nomination confirms that Romney intends to continue the naked attempt of the rich to wipe out the middle class or what’s left of it.

  6. Evely plick who went to Blookryn Correge know what’s a “sense humor,” but what is “sting of colorful invective”? Collection, prease: It’s “stling.”

  7. Ya got me, Ich. That’s why you a Harr of Fame prayer. You know ryrics AND merody.

    You velly kind. Actuarry, I sclewed the pooch twice. I arso said “Twains’” instead of “Twain’s.” So solly.

  8. I think E.B. is an insufferably pompous plick; but mightn’t he have said “sting of invective” because Twain’s face was stung when he hurt himself shaving? That would be one of them puns that made Nixon so famous.

  9. Thanks, Reuchtman; but was typo, not pun. As they say at UCRA, I brew it.

  10. Ah so, what we have here are two alter egos and two alter kockers.

  11. Oy vey! Vot ist dis ting called luf? You guys make life worth living.

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