Fess Up, Stupid

Fake Leadership:
I think it's like this: if you're not bright, if you're dim, you really need someone to follow, otherwise you're just stumbling around bumping into the world as it evolves every single day. I mean there's a lot of decisions dim folks would have to make if left up to their own devices - who to hate for the rise in the price of potatoes, who to hate for the minimum wage not covering the cost of rent and basic items, who to hate for being too lazy to take one's own life by the scruff of the neck and shaking it into something halfway decent. 
I think if you really are stupid the first step is admitting that you're stupid. Cos every decision you make has a grave risk of being the wrong one. And dozens upon hundreds upon thousands of wrong decisions must become in short order an impossible burden to willingly take responsibility for. Not only that but you risk the lives and livelihoods of countless other people who more or less know what they're doing and how stuff kind of works and how to make decisions which are helpful instead of being just bloody stupid. 
The stupid should band together and declare themselves too collectively stupid to know who to support politically. They should do that much. It's not much. A mass confession. Like a Nurenburg Trial except its a confession before the fact. It's a cautionary tale. If you really don't have any clue how to light a barbecue or how to reverse a car with a trailer or don't know where the Latins are anymore, then just fess up. We'd all love you for it. It's kinda heroic. It might be the most heroic thing you could ever do - well, except that it's you who predominantly have to go be cannon fodder in ill-begotten wars every generation or two. Cos see, there's no other way out except confession, being authentic, being real, admitting you need help with the instructions on that IKEA cabinet. 
We are all here to help each other. We all have our blindspots, our weaknesses, all of us. I, for one, would never turn up to a gymnastics competition and insist that I perform on the high bar. I ain't cut out for that shit. And land a plane? Are you serious? Uh-uh. So let the pretence go. Just let it evaporate up into the atmosphere and circle the globe - cos it IS a globe, you know. Without confession there's only ever gonna be eternal torture. Self torture. Torture of the English language. Torture of the tracky-dack, the Karaoke backing track, the vaguely Swedish-looking IKEA staff. Let it go. We'll come for you. We'll pick you up where you are. The only way out without assistance is the George Castanza method: from now on you must do everything opposite to what you always did it.


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