In Defence of Idiots (before I eviscerate idiocy)

I'll be the first to admit that I am not renowned for my love of the human race. Although I may begrudgingly become fond of specific members of my species, on the whole people are awful. Most writers who cling to their clichés like one of those "Baby on Board" signs that come standard with every minivan will, at this point, tell you to simply look at the news to witness, second- or third-hand, the sheer barbarism of man: in the first world, politicians and bankers are paving the road to financial success with the despondent shells that used to be their co-workers and constituents; in the less fortunate parts of the world, war and famine rage without notice or care from the haves, leaving the have-nots to sort out their own problems by their own damn selves; countries invade other countries for reasons that give hippies aneurysms just to think of it -- in short, we're pretty messed up. I get it, we're a horrible, terrible species, and if the whole world were run by puppies or squirrels or dolphins or something we'd all be a lot better off. Maybe. But that's not what I'm arguing right now. Rather than focus on the cruelties of human nature, maybe we can find a more likely cause in examining the idiocy of the average humanoid, and to witness stupidity at its finest, you need look no further than your local retail shop - in my case, the Wal-Mart where, for four or five days a week, I labor under the delusion that escape is imminent, that I can become a teacher or a writer and make enough money with a real job that I can run from the store leaving a trail of petrol and throw a lit match behind me from the safety of the parking lot. You can take that last bit literally or figuratively. Reader's choice!