Into the Twilight, Endlessly Grousing by Patrick F. McManus

Author:Patrick F. McManus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 1997-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

The Stupidity Alarm

(Whoa! Is that me beeping again?)

I don’t know about you, but my world seems filled with alarms—alarms to warn me of smoke, fire, carbon monoxide, burglars, computer malfunction, car lights left on, keys left in the ignition, seat belts unfastened, doors not closed, and on and on. Unfortunately, I still lack one of the most important alarms of all—the Stupidity Alarm.

I hear a rumor that our technogeniuses finally got around to inventing one. It’s about time. Just think of all the problems we’ll avoid when we have an alarm to warn us every time we start to do something stupid.

The way it works, the Stupidity Alarm is implanted in an otherwise useless part of your body (I now have several available), and it has a series of warning signals calibrated to the degree of stupidity about to be engaged in. For modest stupidity, the alarm will go beep-beep-beep; for medium stupidity, boop-boop-boop; and for major stupidity, WHOOOOP-WHOOOOP-WHOOOOP!

Example of modest stupidity:

“By golly, I think I will have a third serving of that delicious chili.”

Alarm: Beep! Beep! Beep!

Example of medium stupidity:

“Gee, Mr. Salesman, from what you say I probably should take the extended warranty on this toaster, which you’re pretty sure will explode ten minutes after the regular warranty runs out.”

Alarm: Boop! Boop! Boop! Boop!

Example of major stupidity:

“I guess I can read the fine print later. Where do I sign?”

Alarm: WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!

When I think of all the times a Stupidity Alarm could have saved me from committing a stupidity, it makes me sick. Life would have been so much simpler. Here’s one instance that comes to mind.

My children: “Daddy, please buy us a horse! Please, please, please, please!”

Me: “Well, kids, I guess a horse wouldn’t be all that much trouble.”

Stupidity Alarm: WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!

The cowboy who sold me the horse said it loved children. That was true. But as I belatedly discovered, it hated adults. As we dickered over the price of the nag, I happened to notice that the cowboy had a bad limp.

“War injury,” he explained.

One of his ears looked as if a bite had been taken out of it.

“Birth defect,” he explained.

A plaster cast enveloped one of his arms.

“Car wreck,” he explained. “Now, as I was saying, this here horse is real fine with children. That’s why, out of the goodness of my heart, I’m letting you have him so cheap. I think every kid should have a horse. We got a deal?”

“You bet!”

WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!

The kids named the horse Huck. After we’d had the horse for a while and I had observed how gentle it was with children, I saw no reason I couldn’t use good ole Huck for pack trips into the mountain.

WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP! WHOOOOP!

I will omit the story of that pack trip, because it contains extreme violence, offensive language, and even some partial nudity, if having one’s clothes ripped off on brush, trees, and rocks fits the nudity category.

Of course, not all the stupid acts I’ve committed have been major. Most are minor.

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