Mean

Have you experienced this gnashing urge to hurl whatever you are holding, say a padlock or a volume of Encyclopedia Britannica, to somebody whose level of idiocy has reached a point that even the most forgiving of humans cannot tolerate, much less you?

You thought such existence of a pea-sized brain is only possible in the realm of science fiction, but you caught yourself aghast after discovering that God has forsaken them and deprived them of a basic human attribute — possession of a brain that is of decent size capable of basic functions and of thinking with a semblance of sense, at least.

Now tell me, who says God is fair?

I just cannot fathom why people like these exist. Diversity makes the world more exciting, I hear somebody reasoning out. These dimwitted, imbecilic, morons have the same right as I have to exist and enjoy this fleeting opportunity to live. If you ask me, however, I’d rather be dead than dumb.

“What are you reading?” He asked in his all too forced American twang.

“Oh, a novel by Joseph Conrad. By the way, I’d rather read than talk about banalities and your problem with that seventeen-year old you impregnated,” said I.

“Interesting. You love reading Pupung?”

“Sure, I also enjoyed reading that when I was in college.”

“I have a complete collection of all the volumes. But my all time favorite is Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.”

“Really? Please evaporate.”

I went on reading and tried to look as riveted as I possibly could with the story of two men forced by their work and circumstance to live in the Congo Basin. This I hoped would send him a statement that I do not need a brain dead lurking while I am spending my precious time reading. But he is as thick skinned as he is a pudding head.

“Do you want to go out and use the free internet in the other building?”

“No, I’ll just stay here. If you want, you can just go. I’m okay here.”

“You know what, my wife [they’re not married] is giving birth this August.”

“Oh nice, eh di ayos. Leave me alone.”

But he stayed there beside me interrupting my reading every thirty seconds disregarding my almost pleading actions that told him to leave me alone. I was holding a heavy duty padlock that time. Reading the darkness in Conrad’s characters Kayerts and Carlier, I had a hard time holding back my internal need to force the metal lock inside his big mouth.