Today's question is whether humans are parasites - feeding off their host(s) until the host dies, or are they viruses - simply replicating and mutating at such an alarming rate that what they infect cannot develop a defense mechanism?
As I await the virus scan, phishing filter, and ad filters to do their work before I could read my Email, I happened to think it's because of other humans that we are so horribly inconvenienced. For every convenience we create, other humans are there to find some way to jack it all up. The horseless carriage! Clever. Put the horse to pasture and fire up the internal combustion engine. Too bad too many idiots behind the wheel necessitated the advent of traffic laws, traffic lights, traffic cops, and the ability to propel oneself from point A to point B without the judiciousness of a horse to determine the appropriate speed. In this sense, the horse was smarter than the rider - how many horse wrecks did GEICO have to insure?
Cell phones! What a great gadget. Cell phones that Email, take photos, access the web, play music, and even siphon your ear wax are all the rage. Yet too bad they cannot discern when their operator is too distracted with other things like, oh, I don't know, DRIVING, to play with their handy gadget. Just Sunday, I witnessed a woman driving on the interstate with one hand holding the phone to her ear and the other holding a burning tobacco stick with a single finger on the wheel, traveling at 70 mph. A few moments earlier, no doubt there was a mascara applicator in her cigarette hand.
This morning, while stopped behind a school bus with all it's signs and red lights aglow, some bearded throwback to ZZ Top pulled out, from a side street, behind the bus which was still loading, then called me an a$$hole because I blew the horn at him. Good thing he didn't get out of his POS Isuzu pick-up truck or my foot might have errantly slipped from the brake pedal to the accelerator in mortal fear. Oopsie.
Email! Destined to put the postal services of the world out of business, one first class stamp at a time. Not so much. I cannot get Emails to people who actually want them because they are filtered out by SPAM filters. I cannot receive the Emails I need because I lose them amongst the other crap the SPAM filters missed. I have to wait ten minutes for the home PC to boot up just so it can load its garrison of safe guards because some fat tater tot in his mom's basement with posters of calendar girls on the walls is sitting there with his T3 line trying to hack other people's business.
Schools! Stellar idea. Until people show up at bus stops and shoot two teenagers. Yesterday. Gibsonton, FL. Watching the eleven o'clock news, I wasn't sure that the bus stop or the subdivision involved was even in the US. It appeared to be some third world country. One asstard that was interviewed could not show his face from under his hoodie, but his name was plastered all over the screen. Guess he's just known by his gangsta name, Masta Monkey Smuggla = or M-n-Ms for short. As such, he is now in the gangsta protection program. The talk show pundits today are speculating that we will need armed officers on every school bus now; this in addition to school resource officers, truant officers, probation officers, etc. Your tax dollars at work - all because Tyrell had his baggies in a twist over some peep dissin' his udder peep.
And can we forget my own first hand experience between two elementary boys and a girl at their bus stop adjacent to my lawn? The two boys, not more than nine years old, arguing over a girl. "Ju stay away from ma girl, cracka." "Shut up, nigga." Back and forth. I sat on my motorcycle looking like Eddie Murphy watching a tennis match - moving my head back and forth all bug-eyed in disbelief. I was waiting for a fight that I would not interrupt other than to call the popo and let them sort it out. I can only imagine the liability if one of them got hurt as I separated them. To hell with that. They can kill each other first. Then the girl, looking at me like I had three heads, says "I'm trying to figure out what that is." "What what is?" I asked out of morbid curiosity. "What you're sittin' on." "This? It's a motorcycle. You don't get out much, do ya?"
So here we are, four prime examples of the new upcoming documentary "Idiots in the Mist." Discovering how evolving from ape to human was a good thing . . . or not so much.
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