Stupidity Abounds


I have a low tolerance for the truly, criminally ignorant. This is a special kind of stupid, the kind of stupid that is not caused by a brain defect, or a lack of education and understanding of the real world. No, this is the level of ignorance that can only be gained by those who have dedicated themselves to years of study in the Moronic Arts.

They are like my kryptonite.

I know better than to allow myself to be pulled into their word traps and mind games. I also know that giving them the credit of having word traps and mind games is probably far too kind to their limited spectrum of reality. I can’t stop myself, though. I can’t stand it. Not turning and pouncing on that level of stupidity leaves me a shaking, trembling mass of pure unadulterated anger.

My brain metaphorically explodes from the top of my head, and the next thing I know, I’m ranting and foaming at the mouth about something as meaningless as the British accent. I don’t even know, half the time, what I’m going off on until I’ve been doing so for a while, just spewing random facts and logic arguments. Then it passes, and I’m left stammering, staring into the bemused face that everyone knows so well:


I can’t help but believe these people are doing these things to me on purpose. I would rather think that I am incredibly susceptible to trolls than live in a world where people have this level of asshat pouring out of their taco holes.

I’m learning to cope, though. Working with a guy that honestly can’t go two hours without spouting some sort of racial slur or homophobic tirade had granted me a certain level of control when I’m around bigots anyway. At least now instead of ranting, vehemently, until my face turns red and my shirt is wet from the ravenous spittle pouring out of me, I can just grit my teeth, make a low growling sound, and give him a look. Usually, that’s enough to make him shut up.

Of course this all became much easier to deal with once my co-workers discovered that I do actually keep a crowbar, a large knife and a tarp in the trunk of my car at all times.

Actually, I’ve noticed a general ease in dealing with people after they’ve looked in my trunk. Can’t for the life of me figure out why everyone things I’m a serial killer.