The Stench of Stupid
“You have to take the toaster pastry out of the package before you put it in the toaster,” I said to Carl, possibly averting a disaster of epic proportions.
“I know that,” he says, pulling the fully clothed toaster pastries out of the toaster. “How stupid do I look?”
Glad you asked, Carl. Glad you asked.
I whip out the Stupidometer 2000 from the holster on my hip, holding it just inches away from Carl’s sweaty forehead. I’m glad they finally made this thing contactless. It really scared people when you had to put it on their forehead. Freaked them out.
I look down at the reading.
“Well? Is it bad?” Carl says as he slowly unwraps his toaster pastries.
“I’ve seen worse. You’re coming in at a 97.8.”
Carl looks at me helplessly, holding a naked toaster pastry in his hand.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s on a scale of 100.”
“So what does that mean?”
I shrug. We both know what it means. Carl is testing overwhelmingly positive for “Stupid.”
He starts crying. I hate this part.
“There, there,” I say, patting his hand lightly. This is a tough moment of discovery. I mean, who wants to be told with scientific precision that they suffer from “Stupid”?
I take the toaster pastry from his hand and take a bite. Carl is in a state of shock so the chances of him missing one of his toaster pastries is approximately zero to none.
“What can I do about it?”
“I suppose you could try reading a book.” I take a bite of the toaster pastry. Chocolate banana. What kind of person eats chocolate banana toaster pastries? What kind of company would even put these on the market? I make a note to stop by the toaster pastry factory with my Stupidometer 2000 after I deal with Carl.
“What kind of a book?”
I shrug.
“Dunno.”
Carl looks hopeless and I suppose, for the most part, he is. Where do you begin with a guy who was raised on video games, cable TV, and Facebook?
“Maybe start with something simple?” I suggested.
“Such as…?”
“Green Eggs and Ham?” I said.
“That sounds good!”
“It is good, if you like food and poetry.”
“Poetry?”
“You know, words that rhyme sometime.”
“Oh.”
Carl looked into the distance, holding the shiny open package containing just one chocolate banana toaster pastry.
“Do you like adventure?” I continued.
“Sure!” Carl said.
“Then Harold and the Purple Crayon might be right up your alley.
“I’m game.”
“I thought you might be.” I paused for a moment. I didn’t want to overwhelm Carl with the huge burden of pouring over some of the world’s greatest literature all at once.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s start you off with a classic. I want you to take a crack at The Little Engine That Could. Might be just the thing to get you motivated for bigger adventures.
“That sounds fun,” Carl said. “Where can I get it?”
“I’d start at the library.”
“The what?”
I noticed Carl lowering the half-empty pastry pouch towards the toaster.
“Library. They have books there. The books are on shelves and you can go in and get one and they’ll let you take it home.”
“Forever?” He said, his face lighting up.
“No Carl. Not forever.”
Just as quickly, his expression turned sour as he pushed the handle down on the toaster.
“Does this mean we’re done here, Carl?” I know it’s over. We both do.
The smell of burning shiny plastic toaster pastry packaging begins to waft through the air. I reach back to my holster and reluctantly pull out the Stupidometer 2000.
“Carl, did you read the instructions on the toaster pastry box?”
“Instructions?” He said as he waved at the smoke coming from the toaster.
“Thought so.”
I was sure that I had found my first perfect 100, but the Stupidometer 2000 stopped short at 99.9.
Remind me to write to the Stupidometer Corporation to see if it’s possible to award extra credit points.
