Archive for the ‘Monumental Stupidity’ Category

Stupidity and thank God or gosh?

Thursday, July 7th, 2011


During my morning run, I came across a peculiar form of stupidity. Oh, it was human all right, but strange and unsettling. Kind of like finding a tortilla chip with a face on it in a vacuum sealed bag of popcorn. Makes my heart palpitate just thinking about it. 

 My excursion was uneventful until I neared home and noticed cars parked along the side of the road. Not unusual, you say? It is, where I live, out in the country where cars are scarce, first thing in the morning. I saw a carriage (as in horse and buggy) turned on its side. A hysterical woman raced up to me, saying,

“Do you know what happened here? Was anybody hurt?”

 I replied, “Everything was fine when I passed by earlier. I don’t see any bodies. No sign of the coroner.”

She introduced herself to me as a new neighbor and asked who I was. Before I could answer, she added, wringing her hands,

“I hope no one was hurt!”

A younger woman stepped forward, “Mom, I told you already, there was a note left on the buggy that everyone is fine. They’re coming back to get it.”

The woman’s response? “Thank GOSH!”

Who the hell is ‘GOSH?’

Urban dictionary claims ‘thank gosh’ is the “polite way of thanking God.” I say it’s stupers (short for predominantly stupid persons) at work.

When did it become rude to thank God or thank goodness, for that matter? If you have a spiritual bent, the first form works fine. And if you’re an atheist, agnostic or pagan, the second form should do. I have no problem with first amendment rights, but really? I thank God, goodness and most people who spread morsels of kindness on my path. It reminds me to harbor a grateful heart and it makes me feel pretty damn good.

But here’s my real problem: ever since I heard the neighbor say, “thank gosh,” I have an almost uncontrollable desire to blurt out the same myself. I haven’t done so publicly yet, but I could slip at any moment. Yesterday, when a squirrel narrowly missed getting squashed by my rather fast moving vehicle, I uttered, “Thank gosh!”


‘Gosh’ should be reserved for use as an interjection – a mild oath (as in “gosh darn it!”) or to express surprise (“golly gosh!”). Otherwise, how will stupers know where to stop? Thank gosh today; thank ‘whatever’ tomorrow; and thank ‘hey’ the next time. It kind of takes the benefits and meaning away from giving thanks.

Think for yourself.


End of the World Stupidity

Thursday, May 19th, 2011

I’ve not been blogging regularly, but it’s not for want of subject matter. If anything, there is excess stupidity lately, and I don’t know which stuper (short for a horrendously stupid person) to tackle first.


I’m going to start with, what is certainly on most of our minds: the end of the world this Saturday, May 21st. It’s really a shame as the weather is supposed to be quite nice in Southern California this weekend, and I recently rescued a litter of tadpoles from certain death when their creekbed dried up. I don’t want my heroic efforts wasted.

Actually, it’s not the complete end, according to two well-known radio talk show sages,  Mark & Brian. But there will be major natural disasters, worldwide I presume, followed by five months of suffering, so that the actual end will occur in October. Shucks! my jack o’lantern pumpkin seeds are just sprouting.

I first heard about The End when I accidentally landed on a sketchy radio station a few months ago. I was captivated by the eerie, almost monstrous tone of the speaker. As I tried to figure out if modern science had taught a cockroach to talk, I learned the voice belonged to a stuper Preacher/radio show host. He took questions from listeners.  Keep in mind “took” does not mean “answer.” A caller asked how the good Preacher knew the date of The End. This was the Preacher’s reply:

“WHAT!? HOW DARE YOU ASK! I don’t have to answer that.” And he hung up on the caller.

At which point, I slipped in my Bad Company CD and forgot about The End.

But, as the media and the stupid among us do not permit us to maintain peace of mind for any great length of time, The End was brought to my attention again. I was asked by a gentleman passing by my office what would become of my animals when I went up to Heaven. Naturally, I was quite flattered that a stranger assumed my journey would be upwards, but nonetheless, I asked the reason for his concern, as I do love my chickens, dogs and newly acquired, object of affection: the tadpoles.

He identified himself as a member of HELLO -Help for Eternally Loved Lost Ones – an atheist group, exclusive to California, and dedicated to removing the burden of care of our precious pets as we begin the journey to the Pearly Gates.  How thoughtful, don’t you think?

Unfortunately, I was informed that due to high demand, the rates for such help had increased substantially. A small price to pay for peace of mind and security of our four legged and feathery friends (they’d not yet met my rabid, bantam rooster).  For $150, one pet at my residence would be saved. The rest would be saved at $50 per pet (keep in mind that I have about 70 tadpoles for which the generous atheist offered $20 per head or tail).

I sighed deeply at his offer, summoned up no less than forty truckloads of patience and gently informed him that he had three seconds to hightail it out before I picked up the large painting of a lovely pastoral scene behind my desk and smacked it over his hollow head (threats of violence do have their place, you know).

I haven’t seen him since. 

Think for yourself.


Stupidity and Attitude and Foreclosures

Wednesday, March 16th, 2011

I re-adjusted my attitude and found that I was no longer disturbed by stupers (short for infuriatingly stupid persons). Not even a little annoyed. I impressed everyone with my supreme calm and perpetually happy smile. This lasted for a little over two months.

Don’t worry, I’m still seldom disturbed, and I am mostly calm and wear a cheery smile regularly, but I understand, there are readers who are incredibly irritated by prolific stupidity. For example, Reader Tammy almost pummeled (at least mentally and verbally) a stuper who entered her home. She wondered if it was okay to unleash her frustration on an idiot. I say it is allowed…to a point.


When Tammy could no longer afford her mortgage payments and her bank refused to modify her loan or communicate with her in any intelligent way or form, her home was listed as a short sale and purchased. The assholes, criminally insane, heartless/mindless subhuman bastards, people who ran Tammy’s bank, sent over an appraiser to value the property. An appraiser, I know from past experience, enters, visually examines the premises and leaves. Very little talk, other than that of the smallest caliber, is made.  Unfortunately, this appraiser was a card-carrying stuper. A card which he proudly displayed every time he opened his mouth.

 “Wow! The buyer sure got a deal on this place!”  “This is a great time for buyers, isn’t it?” “This was a steal!”

I suggested Tammy not condemn the moron, but rather point out his insensitivity and utter lack of understanding of the plight of many homeowners (in case you’ve not noticed, lenders filed a record 3.8 million foreclosures in 2010). Yet, it is important for thinking, breathing humans, not to condone the actions of the mentally deficient.


In other words, poisoning is not allowed, but hissing does have its place.

Please think.


Feeding Stupidity to our Young

Tuesday, October 26th, 2010

When I played a game of tennis recently with a younger opponent, I became engrossed in the ground beneath my feet. This is why: 

The cracks in the cement of the high school tennis court resembled the San Andreas fault, and I suddenly felt concerned about earthquakes. It was also a good way to distract my competitor. But I soon found myself distracted as well. By stupers (short for remarkably stupid persons).

The high school football team was practicing on the field just outside the tennis courts. Stupers (possibly the coaches or other adults in charge) played what some might call music, to entertain the team during practice. But I don’t believe it was music at all.


If I was scrubbing out a sewer pipe, it’s what I’d listen to, to accentuate my misery and doleful mood. These were the lyrics:

Me and you, yo’ mama and yo’ cousin
Baby we can make love to a rap song
A milli, a milli, a milli, a-muthaf-cka I’m ill…

What? I asked no one in particular.

Then the next tune came on. It was another uplifter:

       First things first, I poppa, freaks all the honeys. Dummies – playboy bunnies, those wantin’ money…

I did a quick translation of the lyrics to make sure I wasn’t making a big thing of something small: Generally, I engage in deviant sexual activity with all kinds of women, including, but not limited to, stupers, nude magazine models and prostitutes.


Is this what we want our young to listen to while on school grounds, or any grounds, playing sports or whatever? This was not a high school in an oppressed area, unless by oppressed we mean consisting of a high stuper population. But, of course, stupidity is a worldwide epidemic. 




I’ve heard a lot of talk lately of alien landings. And not the E.T. brand of friendly, cute and cuddly aliens that sit nicely in bicycle baskets. Is this new alien form messing with our young? I placed a call to the UN. Some of my concerned readers may be asking right now, what happened to your tennis match? I successfully stalled the game with the discussion of earthquakes, rap music and aliens, which was a good thing, as I was leading 3-2.



Why did I call the UN? Because I wanted to speak with Mrs Othman, who is currently head of the UN’s little known Office for Outer Space Affairs (Unoosa). She is the designated official greeter to aliens. I wanted to know what the aliens, if any, that she’d recently encountered were like. Are they tired of sabotaging our nuclear missiles and instead replacing Mozart, the theme from Rocky and Queen’s “We are the Champions” with rap music in order to corrupt the minds of our young while they practice sports?


Mrs. Othman would not take my call.


I’m guessing, based on all of my previous studies which, as you know, I often conduct at the spur of any moment, that the onslaught of rap was the handiwork of idiots. Instead of making the worthwhile effort to uplift, inspire and motivate young minds or any minds, stupers prefer to fascinate those around them with the depressing, the obscene, and oftentimes the morbid. Don’t fall for it.







Stupidity of Today’s Banks and Lending Institutions

Sunday, August 29th, 2010

 Banks are the current leaders of Institutional Stupidity. I don’t want to name the particular bank involved in this post, but astute readers will find clues throughout this edition; it is likely that most, if not all, of today’s lending institutions are hotbeds of idiocy. If there’s a reader out there who has not been scathed or badly burned after having to deal with a bank, let me know so that I may allow tears of joy to freely stream down my face in your honor. I did cry just such tears the other day after I heard this story from reader Sam:

A duplex was listed for $285,000 in a quiet beach-side town. This building was offered as a short sale. The bank that held the mortgage on this property shall remain nameless.

Sam made an offer, through his real estate agent, to buy the duplex for $225,000. This undesignated bank countered Sam’s offer with their own at $275,000.  Are you with me so far? Because soon this tale’s going to get very complicated.

Sam made a counter offer to the bank’s counter in the sum of $250,000. Sam didn’t know it yet, but he would soon learn that this unnamed bank was run by stupers (short for staggeringly stupid persons). Such stupidity, in this Cinderella story, would work to Sam’s benefit.

A month passed with no word from this bank. Perhaps these bank employees were thinking, dozing, busy foreclosing, eating cheese canapes, bowling, on vacation or sick leave. Sam grew frustrated and was about to give up when the bank gave Sam a counter to his counter offer…the bank came back with $240,000! Sam could have the duplex for $240,000. Yes, that is $10,000 less than the bank’s original counter offer. Sam’s mouth fell open in disbelief for so long, bats moved in mistaking it for a damp cave. Meanwhile, the bank remained clueless, as it was, and is, overrun by stupers.

Unfortunately, short sales and foreclosures are far too commonplace, thanks to the current economy, and most of the people involved do not have happy endings, as Sam did in this case. This is because, quite suddenly, stupidity is rapidly increasing.

As a director of a non-profit legal service, I receive tearful calls daily from desperate people trying to keep their homes. Many of them start the process of modifying their loans only to find that a different department in the heartbreakingly stupid bank has foreclosed because communication is considered a waste of time in institutions run by idiots. These freakishly inane lenders prefer to foreclose and lose money on a home rather than modify and allow the homeowner (ie, the qualified party that the bank made the loan to in the first place) to remain. How idiotic is that?

How do we maintain our sanity in the face of such blatant stupidity? We have to rise above the circumstances (and the mindless) by using the heroic courage that is inside each of us. We have to think our way out and find a solution because remember, most people do not think at all, as it takes effort. Imagine what those of us who do think can do.

Please think.


Off the Leash Stupidity or Stupid Pet Owners Revisited

Saturday, July 17th, 2010

I have a fairly decent reputation in my neighborhood, which means I am not labeled a stuper (short for an alarmingly stupid person). That is, until recently.

I often walk/run, usually by myself, sometimes with Husband and other times with a dog or two, who are always on the leash (Husband is let off the leash now and then). Neighbors, gardeners and small children cheerfully wave to me, especially one kindly, elderly gent with amazing copper hued hair. He proudly sits behind his Crown Victoria, flashes a bright smile my way and acts delighted that I crossed his path. That is again, until recently.

Here’s why I’ve become the subject of ridicule, disdain and possibly a police investigation. I present Exhibit A:

Her name is Cali. Her stuper owners purchased her last December as a Christmas gift for their children. Cali escapes from her yard on the regular. And follows me or anyone who happens to stroll past her home. Her yard is surrounded by a perimeter, three rail fence, but Cali easily slips through. It’s, as you may imagine, and this pun is very much intended, a no-brainer. Sometimes, Cali’ll take great pains to wipe her slobbery mouth all over my sweat pants or worse, my bare legs should I dare wear shorts, as she hops around me while I attempt to exercise.

 Once Cali abandoned me to chase an elderly woman walking her equally senior, leashed, and very annoyed basset hound, who by the way, looked more angry than sad. I grabbed Cali by the collar, opened the gate of her home, and thrust shoved gently pushed her inside.

In the beginning of these encounters, I thought, “How cute!” After the twelfth time of being stalked and used as a canine napkin, I took Cali to her front door. Her owners did not say a word. Please note, my neighborhood has an annual homeowners’ meeting. I’ve attended the last four. It always starts at 9 am and ends at 10 am. A few stragglers arrive a bit late, maybe by an embarrassing fifteen minutes. But Cali’s owner always arrives around 9:55 am and is utterly astonished that the meeting ends right about then. Yes, she is a blond, but her husband is a brunette and is her equal in every way,  however this is not a tale about hair color, natural or dyed.

Cali became a fixture on my walks, always hopping around me and unflinchingly trotting out in the middle of the road every time a vehicle approached. This was why instead of cheery waves by my neighbors, I started to receive dirty looks. My elderly, friendly, copper haired gent, holds down his horn as he drives by now, once causing me to jump so high, my head nearly banged against the branch of a sturdy oak tree directly above. Then the kindly gent gave me the finger and a nasty snarl. These people assume the naughty and irrepressible Cali is my mutt.

Finally, a few weeks ago, Cali’s stuper owners, tired of so many neighborly visits, reinforced their fence with chicken wire so Cali could no longer slip through. They live on five acres, so as you may imagine, such reinforcement was not cheap. But stupidity is not fought off so easily, my friend.  Cali is still on the loose. I present Exhibit B:

Yes, this is a photo of Cali’s front gates, wide open, after the fencing fortification. How else could Cali escape and annoy the neighbors?

And Exhibit C:

Regarding this last exhibit, I can’t imagine how Cali’s owners dented this fence sideways, as it’s usually shut, but stupidity is funny that way.

Today, as I walked, I was surprised to see someone leading a dog at Cali’s front gate. The dog was Cali, barely recognizable on the leash. I realized the weary woman holding the leash was not Cali’s owner, but a neighbor attempting to return the happy wanderer.

Stuper spelled backward is moron.



Trying to Provide Assistance to Stupid People

Sunday, June 27th, 2010

Working in a non-profit, legal organization means I receive a hefty amount of phone calls, many of which, I regret to report, are from stupers (short for unimaginably stupid persons). I received one such call from a woman who, at first, sounded like you and me. But then she rapidly showed her stuper stripes. This was not my first encounter with “Stella.” She’d called before, asking me to “research and locate” three attorneys for her that had been recommended by a postal worker, who evidently used lawyers regularly, but had difficulty remembering their names or much else. The only clues Stella provided me were these:

Stella: The first lawyer’s initials are either ESB, BSE, DBA or TBA. The second Lawyer has an office on State Street (take note, dear reader, there are about 185 legal offices on State Street), and the third lawyer carries a Louis Vuitton briefcase. I think she’s a woman.

You might find this a bit bizarre, but believe it or not, I receive many requests from people searching for particular attorneys located in my county, and the only helpful information they provide goes like this:

“He wears Hawaiian shirts a lot” or  “His name is John” or “She’s petite and pretty.” I swear.

I’d like to think these callers have heard of my astute, private investigator type and even telepathic capabilities. Only I don’t have any.

Stella, however, was deeply impressed with my sweet skills because I found her an attorney with the initials “ESB” who had an office on State Street and who carried a Louis Vuitton briefcase. But in the end, Stella decided the attorney I’d unearthed really couldn’t help her after all. She elaborated:

Stella: I need a lawyer who has experience in the Federal Courts.

Me: I only know of one such attorney, and his experience is with military bases.

Stella: My case is indirectly related to the military.

Me: He can’t help unless it’s directly related.

Stella: Well, my case is indirectly and directly related.

Me: What’s your case about?

Stella: It’s about family law, criminal law, civil rights, bankruptcy, social security, personal injury, real estate, defamation, intellectual property…. (I had time to run out of the office and across the street to Nordstrom to buy a pair of running shoes, which I knew I’d need after this conversation, as running is excellent therapy; I returned, not having missed any of her conversation)…animal husbandry and maritime law.

Me: (slightly out of breath) Sounds like a complex case. Too complex for us to handle.

Stella: I need a prosecutor and a defender. What does the guy do that you mentioned who practices Federal law? Is he both of those?

Me: He’s a negotiator.

Stella: That’s exactly what I need. Give me his name.

I rapidly considered excuses to get off the phone. Before I could spit one out, she continued:

Stella: Hold it. I’m talking to you from a disposable cell phone because I thought it was safe.

Me: (to myself) Aren’t throwaway phones only used by Al Qaeda, the CIA and those with a tendency to drop cell-phones down the toilet or to throw at stout, Wal-Mart type workers and paparazzi?

Stella: Gosh darn it! I’m not safe here, after all. Some guy wearing dark, mirrored sunglasses is watching me. They’re watching me all the time. Just hold it. I’m being followed again. I’ll have to talk to you later.

And that was that.

In my stupidity studies, I’ve learned that a necessary component to battling stupidity is nonresistance. The Chinese say that water is the most powerful element on earth, because it is perfectly nonresistant. It can wear away a rock, and sweep all before it. I think it’s often a good idea to make like water when confronted with stupidity.



Stupidity is on the Rise

Saturday, March 20th, 2010

I rarely watch or read the news, preferring instead to grind my own flour or take the neighbor’s twin pit bulls for a stroll, but for the sake of my dear readers and to prove a vital point, I read today’s headlines: “Germany’s Pedophile Priest Scandal” “Final Healthcare Push” “Lady Gaga is Sued”. Take note, that nowhere does there appear a news report or headline that involves a matter of vital importance: “Stupidity Has Reached Epidemic Levels.

Last week, my office received no mail. Granted, we’ve just moved to a new location. However, the first two weeks after our move, the mail arrived without interruption. Last Monday through Wednesday, we were mail-less. I spoke to three different post office representatives who offered these vastly differing explanations,

Representative #1: “Oh, yours is being sent to Ventura.” (Ventura is a nearby city separated by a very long ocean stretch of highway, with a few other towns in between; perhaps some one could argue that the name “Ventura” is slightly similar sounding to “Santa Barbara” where my office is located, but only if that some one is a stuper [short once again, for a terrifyingly stupid person]).

Representative #2: “You haven’t received your mail in three days? You moved in the building 3 weeks ago? Well, I wouldn’t complain if I was you. Some of your neighbors have been there over ten years and they’re not gettin’ theirs neither.” (I find double negatives a form of blasphemy, FYI. If triple negatives are set loose, I pull out the hand grenade).

Representatives #3:”We don’t recognize your suite number.”

To this last explanation, I replied, “How is it that my suite number was recognized the first two weeks of our occupancy?”

Dead silence ensued, and I finally hung up the phone. I’m thinking complex questions sent the postal worker into a catatonic state.

Finally, I paid the post office a personal visit. I eyed the workers stationed behind the counter. They appeared friendly; even able-minded.

“I would like to pick up my mail, please, ” I asked in my usual polite manner.

By my carefully honed nature, I prefer to be kind. It’s true; I do carry an arsenal of assorted weapons in my oversize handbag. But I rarely use them.

The postal worker disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with my mail.

“Why?” I asked her in desperation.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, “Have a nice day!”

My mail arrived for the rest of the week.

Most of us do not even realize that we live in unsafe environments. There are stupers posing threats to our sanity everywhere. All the more reason for us to exercise a cool, calm, determined, increasingly steady and smooth flowing effort of attention toward attaining the definite goal of thinking. Imagine the possibilities.

Think first, last and always.


Stupidity and Out-of-Control Tourists

Sunday, January 3rd, 2010

 My farmer’s market is held in a neighboring small town that tourists and stupers (short for fretfully stupid persons) flock to throughout the year. I was once a tourist there myself, before realizing my dream of relocating. It’s a lovely, country-like atmosphere where idiots are scarce, and kindness and patience are plentiful. This is why when a moronically oblivious tourist-stuper holds up all traffic during the busy farmer’s market just to stand in the middle of the street for fifteen minutes to take the perfect snapshot of a windmill, nobody honks.

Yet, as we all know, this is not acceptable.

So while waiting at a stop sign for an idiot pedestrian in the crosswalk after my farmer’s market excursion, I decided to put my horn to good use. It had been so long, I barely remembered its sweet sound.

Despite the long line of cars waiting for the ped to cross to the other side, this Darwinian nightmare actually stopped several times along the way to get in some really epic licks of his ice cream cone before completing his forty foot crosswalk journey.

So, being first in line, I honked. Then honked again. And again. Why the encore? Because my honking failed to impact the walker/ ice cream cone licker. Was I by chance rudely picking on an innocent and possibly helpless deaf person? I don’t think so.  After the first honk, he casually turned his head my way, while wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

I believe usage of the horn has an entirely different impact on persons from third world countries and Texas. In those places, it’s used quite often under these circumstances:

1. When something/someone blocks the road.
2. When something/someone doesn’t.
3. When something/someone might.
4. At all times.

Therefore, honking loses its true meaning and is taken for granted in such places. Perhaps this ped was honk-deaf.

Just before reaching the end of the crosswalk where he’d be out of my way, he stopped. This time to indulge in some fierce itching of one knee. Realizing the time had arrived to roll down my window, I did so and gently called out to the stuper. He turned and, when he made eye contact, I made use of a universal expression we all carry around, and in my case, seldom use: the single digit salute. I don’t recommend the usage of this handy device in foreign countries or Texas, unless you are a ninth degree black belt in at least one martial art, are a former green beret who travels with arsenal or are seeking to incite a small riot.

In my case, I took one class in Tae Kwon Do, I don’t even own a beret and riots are no fun when you’re in the middle of one. Thankfully,  the stuper managed to make it to the curb alive with cone intact, and I managed to make my way home without further incident.

Why not think?


Stupidity, Tiger Woods and Young Fans

Saturday, December 5th, 2009

I usually focus on everyday stupidity, the type we come across in banks, gas stations, public libraries and bathroom fixture outlets. But I’m afraid the Tiger Woods’ scandal has seeped into my everyday life. I’ve always regarded him as an extraordinary, supernatural golfer; possibly even a supernatural human. Although he is still the incredible golfing phenomenon, with the recent events, he is also a stuper (short for a rambunctiously stupid person).

I recently spoke to a junior golfer; my eighteen-year-old who is away at college. I mentioned that I felt distressed hearing about the Tiger woes. His response:

“You’re distressed? I’m extremely upset about it. I never expected this from Tiger.”

We, as fans, all hoped Tiger was above the sordid and seedy in life. He appeared able to manage fame and extreme wealth and talent while maintaining esteemed values, without acting moronically. At least that was what he and his business team wanted us to believe. But yet again, like many famous stupers before him, politicians and athletes alike, he lied and acted without thinking of the impact not only on those close to him, but on the general public and fans who adored him.

I like to think that with fame, fortune and/or intelligence comes responsibility. In fact, skip the first two and with mere intelligence comes great responsibility: to operate your motor vehicle with diligence, to treat others (unless their stupidity screams out at you) with courtesy, and to promise to love and respect the ones you’re voluntarily hanging out with on a regular basis.

Yes, Tiger achieved fame and fortune at a tender age; he possibly lacked wise and loving guidance, and consequently lost his head and at least a portion of his reputation and possibly in the near future some of his wealth as well. But, dear readers,  yours truly promises that will never happen to her.

Firstly, I’m a bit older than Tiger (just a little, mind you), and I have something he does not: years of carefully studying and analyzing the complete and utter idiots among us, thereby seriously learning how not to look, act or remotely resemble a stuper. Plus, I’ve get a large, ongoing  dose of experience with regular people (I shop at Costco periodically for that very reason, although I draw the line at Walmart). Therefore, I will always stay in touch with reality.

To top things off, I carry around a quote originally uttered by ancient Greek playwright, Euripides:  “There is one thing alone that stands the brunt of life throughout its course: a quiet conscience.”

Keep thinking.