A Few Words Archives - Half Formed Thoughts 1/31/03

Number Nine

This will be the ninth column/essay/barely coherent rambling/self-aggrandizing ego-fest/*insert your own wise-ass remark here* I have written here at BTA. I recently spent a few minutes rereading the previous eight, and I came to two remarkable observations. One, they are all deeply insightful works full of depth and subtlety. (Okay, except for the Britney Spears one, which was nothing more than a pathetic lottery-odds attempt at seducing only the most desired female since Bo Derek.)

The second observation is that in spite of their obvious quality I have yet to receive a single reply from a reader. No thanks for writing an enjoyable read. No angry disagreements or well-thought out rebuttals. Not even a knee-jerk and sophomoric yet somehow perversely entertaining hate mail. And certainly no romantic offers from Britney. That stuck-up bitch.

Being a certified genius, I am rarely baffled by anything for more than a minute or two, but this lack of response has inspired me to spend a great deal of time pondering. In this Internet age in which virtual connectivity with the entire world has made communication a completely instant phenomenon, why is my inbox flooded with nothing other than communications from Nigerian officials and offers to increase my penis size?

Naturally, it didn’t take me long to realize the reason. I was actually a bit embarrassed with myself for not having realized it sooner, almost embarrassed enough to completely scrap this column idea. But I owe my readers the truth.

You’re obviously all complete morons.

And lest you presume that I’m speaking in broad generalities about my entire audience, let me assure you that I am referring to you personally. You, who are this very moment sitting on your shrubbery and reading these words. You are a mindless nincompoop, a plodding dolt, a blithering idiot.

You know, I have to admit at this point that I honestly have no idea what the word “blithering” means. None whatsoever. For all I know, I might personally have blithered once or twice in my life. I doubt it very much, but one never knows. All I know is that the word “idiot” just doesn’t sound right without “blithering” right behind it, so there you go.

Nevertheless, the fact remains that you, Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. Reader, are a buffoon. The only remaining question is what you will do with this knowledge. If I know anything about human nature, and I certainly do, your initial reaction is denial. You don’t really believe that I’m talking about you. That’s the standard response. Exceedingly few stupid people are aware of their own stupidity. And I know that you’re not one of them, because if you were, you would have written me to thank me for allowing a brief beam of radiant thought pierce your thick skull on multiple occasions.

No, you’re not even smart enough to recognize when you’re in the presence of a superior mind. You’re all like dogs who would happily scarf down rancid hamburger with the same level of enjoyment as they would filet mignon.

You may be expecting me at some point to use your stupidity as a rationalization for no longer writing. Further proof of your ignorance. I write for myself, as all great artists create for themselves. A genius who does not produce works of genius is functionally equivalent to a non-genius, a fact so self-evident that perhaps even you non-geniuses can grasp it.

In addition, I choose to hold on to the fleeting hope that somewhere in the vast chasm of cyberspace there is some poor soul capable of truly comprehending me. Someone already great enough to be inspired by me to reach even greater heights. I eagerly look forward to the day when a message from such a person arrives in my inbox.

I concede that the odds of that ever happening are exceedingly low. But of all the human emotions, only love is more beautiful than hope.

Email Steve with any comments at aenor@aurora.mv.com