The Moronical Chronicles

I am not very smart. I understand this, have known it all my life, and am coming to terms with it. It’s okay. It’s the way of the universe. Some things I’m fairly good at, some things merely sub-par, and others abysmal. The finer points of intellect have eluded by grasp for a while now, like the time I threw away my boss’s money or the time I accused a friend of walking off with the downstairs remote as a prank only to find it under the covers in my bed (and no, reader, the remote doesn’t even work for my bedroom TV, is not even close to the living room, and was put there 100% by me, presumably during some sort of blackout period after I arrived home from work, and no I was not drunk, and yes I wish I were because maybe then it would make sense).

I have called people the wrong name to their face immediately after being introduced to them, I have freaked out about losing my novel’s USB port while holding it in my dominant hand, have caused substantial damage by crashing a rental boat into another man’s far more expensive boat while chasing down a pelican. I never purport to be adept at living and so I feel okay in saying this next statement.

Sometimes, other people’s idiocy makes me feel like I am the queen of all geniuses, sitting atop a library-chair-throne with a huge throbbing brain harnessing all the world’s power in an electro-magnetic field while laughing manically (and maybe with a tiny crown on top of that enormous dome-piece of mine). When I feel this, I am usually dealing with the following morons with an unexplained attitude of superiority problem inexplicably accompanying their moronitude:

Verizon Wireless (jerkoids)

Empire Blue health insurance (d-bags)

People giving directions when they have no idea where I’m trying to go (a-buckets), and so on…

Other things that make me feel smart:

Donald Trump, Rosie O Donnell, The Bachelor, The Inferno, My Super Sweet Sixteen, Rachel Ray

Luna Bars (because of their antioxidants growing my brain power as I write this, nothing sarcastic about that one)

Dateline sans Stone Phillips (moms across America are in mourning for this boneheaded move…meow, Stone Phillips is a stone fox! I need to be running NBC right now)

My crappy label maker at work, elevator and ipod etiquette of everyone in my morning commute

Landline calls between 9 and 5, 98% of email correspondence, people who leave the office and don’t turn off their lights