Monday, February 16, 2009

Ignurants is bliss.

I often find myself wishing I wasn't so smart. Not that I'm Rhodes Scholar material or anything. No. Not even close. Truth be known, I only recently found out that it wasn't "Road Scholar". Point is - I'm no Alan Einstein. But I think if I were just a little dumber (more dumb?) I'd be a lot happier (more happy?). I bet there's a bunch more depressed folks at a museum than there are at a NASCAR race. I'd bet if you asked 20 people in the infield of the Talladega 500 what their most pressing issue was you'd hear stuff like "My black lab keeps getting his nuts stuck in the doggie door" or "Where am I supposed to take Katiebell for our anniversary now that the goddamn Dairy Queen is closed down?"

I don't wanna be vote republican, drive a Prius, Raider fan stupid. Of course not. Just being functionally unintelligent would be great, and so much easier. I can't seem to find a profession I can stick with. The pleasantly stupid can stay in unsatisfying jobs for their entire lives. It's easy for them, not being equipped with enough brain power to question the office politics at the filling station AND keep up with the latest in duck hunting technology (a decoy with SOUND?!?) they're able to go to work everyday with nary a thought about the poor treatment or lack of respect they get from customers and bosses.

They can also say anything that pops into their head without a hint of concern for how it'll be perceived. Phrases like these:

"Ol' Marv is a big jew cocksucker…",

"Well fuck me with a barb wire fence…", and

"I'm hornier 'n' a three peckered billy goat durin' a full moon…"

elicit chuckles and snorts of approval rather than shock or disgust among the happily dim-witted.

I envy their lack of self awareness. Self awareness leads to introspection. Which leads to deep, black, crushing despair. Which leads to a new pair of Steve Maddens that I don't need and can't afford.

I guess that's what I'm most envious of. That complete lack of self awareness which allows someone to proudly own all of Pantera's albums, laugh out loud at Larry the Cable Guy, and discuss the novels of Nicholas Sparks ad nauseam.

I'm going to train myself in the ways of the oblivious. People study Zen Buddhism, the principles of Tae Kwon Do, and the voodoo art of Chiropractics, so why not teach yourself to be a little less enlightened? I'm putting on my "I'm with stupid" shirt that has an arrow pointing down, going out to pick up a carton of Camels, flavored of course, a six pack of Old Milwaukee and then back home to watch Season One of "The Hills" on DVD.

Maybe by the end of Season Three I'll be so advanced that I can fart at work and not blame it on the girl in the next cubicle wearing the Jeff Gordon leather jacket.

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