The Quality of Sympathy

Earlier today, in a random conversation, an associate of mine who I shall not name bemoaned the quality of student that seems to be clogging up the educational system these days. These are the kinds of people, and we’ve probably all met at least one, who will walk down the corridor texting, run into someone, and proceed to blame that person for the collision.

Now for those of you who don’t know me very well, which ought not to be many since most of my readers are personal acquaintances, I tend to be a very cynical person when it comes to schoolchildren, or even just children in general. In fact, I once threatened to tie up my 9-year-old cousin in a sack full of rocks and throw him in the river. Fortunately, he then stopped coming over for dinner and I was no longer subjected to the infuriating combination of his complete lack of manners and his mother’s blithe consignment to her son’s growing tyranny. I weep for the day that he grows up to be one of the people in the preceding paragraph, for a fear such a dawn shall ere long arise.

Fear not, my good friends, for the universe has developed a mechanism for sparing mere mortals the pain and anguish of spending the entirety of their short lives in the company of such imbeciles: Interstates. Yes, those wonderful, long, meandering thoroughfares with their higher-than-average speed limits and numerous solid concrete obstacles are a wonderful means of getting rid of the impossibly self-absorbed among us. For you see: they travel these roads much like they do the hallways in school, that is to say, paying no attention whatsoever to anything but themselves. These are the evolutionary dead-ends who insist on not only answering but replying to the text they received just now while traveling at 80 or more miles per hour whereupon, they frequently encounter an obstacle, or merely a slight curve, in the road, crash, and die horribly. At this point, said idiot is no longer my or any other living being’s problem, and the best part is; it’s entirely their fault.

If you’re going to pity anyone in this equation, do not pity the stupid ones. Rather, I suggest you pity the God of Death: that poor bastard is drowning in genetic defectives and has nowhere else to send them…for ETERNITY…

Some people fear Death, others actively run from it, a few curious individuals spend a lot of effort deliberately challenging Death, (see here emergency service workers, extreme sports junkies and people who shop on Black Friday), and most people prefer to wander around in the dust and humidity pretending for as long as possible that Death is non-existent. I, however, bearing in mind the growing disproportionate amount of oxygen-wasting machines, both expired and otherwise, choose to feel sorry for Death, and offer him/her/it/them my sincere sympathy.

Advertisements

2 comments on “The Quality of Sympathy

  1. ladyimbrium says:

    Reblogged this on Lady Imbrium's Holocron and commented:
    Signal boost for my bro, also… I agree with him. I’ve had the chance to walk a while with death, and while I most often “see” the stereotypical black robed Reaper, I’ve “seen” a few other forms too. I kind of feel sorry for Death, having to deal with all the stupidity in the world right now. They must be very busy.

  2. scoutlady13 says:

    I work with a LOT of people who make me less sympathetic to the world on a daily basis. This is not particularly a good thing, as I happen to make my living, in a roundabout way, off of human stupidity. However, it’s in endless supply. Nothing like job security, eh?

    In addition, (and blame Imbrium for this) I have nominated you for a Liebster Award, because you make me laugh and think at the same time.

    http://insearchofamuse.wordpress.com/2013/01/08/liebster-award-dammit-imbrium/

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s