Today I want to warn you about the dangers of being a stupid little kid. I'm feeling especially generous today, so I'm adding in a free side dish of "The History of Stupid Little Kids" if you call now! That's right, you'll get a Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid PLUS the History of Stupid Little Kids, all for the low price of having read my blog! Are you interested? You should be! Act now!
Survival of the Fittest: What it is and Where it's at now
"Wow, kids aren't the bastion of intelligence I thought they were? How enlightening, Mr. Sandwichman. I never would have been able to figure that out without your guidance." Why the hell are you still reading? What is the matter with you, imaginary reader? Do you enjoy--ah, wait. Internet. People do this all the time. Ugh.
Way way back when mankind was just discovering that they were slightly more intelligent than the monstrous animals surrounding them, there existed a thing called "Survival of the Fittest." This is the thing that Charles Darwin proposed allowed for evolution to bring us the world we have today. Certain traits developed that allowed creatures to survive longer than others. Those creatures then passed those traits on and on and on. As populations spread, they were put in different situations and had to develop certain traits. And that is why we have all the species we have.
There's just one key issue to be aware of here. Only the strongest survived. Stupid ones (for instance, kids that might throw rocks at a hornet's nest with the idea that their super soaker and an ounce of bug spray would be enough of a defense) would get eaten pretty quickly. Most of the time, this happened because such idiot individuals would wander into a predator's mouth thinking, "Hey this cave is so much warmer than Ug's cave. But oh no! It's not a cave! Now I'm dinosaur food. :("
Over time, mankind developed better technology that allowed everybody to survive longer, breed more and breed faster. Everybody. Everyone that was human, anyway.
We don't serve your kind here.
With humans kicking Evolution in the jaw, the whole concept of "Survival of the Fittest" has started to decline. It's no longer "The strongest survive!" but rather "Who can hide from humans the best?" Throw in some "Who can be the most frightening?" and you're a spider.
Teehee! I hide in your shoes!
That is a reasonable argument and you should be aware that reasonable things don't exist on this blog.
I am now legally required by the State of Kansas to provide an alternate hypothesis to Evolution.
God made the world and humans. Humans did stupid things all the time. God became angry.
Years and years and years later, God had this prophet. Elisha was the protege of Elijah, but Elijah had been taken up into heaven. Shortly afterwards, a group of stupid kids made fun of him for being bald
AND GOD SENT BEARS TO MANGLE THEM. (2 Kings 2:23-25)
Moral of the story? No matter what you believe, the stupid should not survive.
Okay, so you're the great-great-great-great-grandson of Ug. Ug's friend Ungabunga is the one who found that really cool "cave" years back. Through a weird twist of events involving an ostrich farm and a hideous amount of necrophilia, your family moves to Europe. Due to the fact that thy mother provides sexual favors of questionable and unsavory varieties, your family quickly becomes a bunch of nobles. Well, you're digging your French noble-house and your French noble-food pretty well when you decide to enjoy the French noble-passtime of laughing at the peasants. You approach one group because you're a stupid kid and shout, "Your mother is so thin, if this were a 20th century cartoon, I could play her ribs like a musical instrument involving specialized sticks!"
Well, those French peasants don't really like your fatass or your mom's fatass (which when they say "goes around town" they mean "goes around town") so they have a revolution and kill you all.
Stupidity in progress.
By some miracle, you are now living in America. Your grandfather of x years back is celebrated for having started the French Revolution by being the straw that broke the camel's back. You're working in a cloth-making factory when you notice a bit of hair caught in the gears. You, being a stupid kid, reach in without thinking, get dragged into the machine and are crushed to death.
Defying logic, your genes have been passed down. It's now the 20th century and things are a lot better. Technology has come a far way. People are living long and life is good. It's roughly 1998 and you're a 7-year-old kid that is possibly allergic to hornet venom. You've seen "My Girl" once or twice and saw Maculay Culkin's character get stung to death by bees. You fear anything that flies and stings, now. As you should. That's the "Survive!" part of your brain working.
Your mom has a friend in this neighborhood, right? Of course! Well, one fine summer that friend goes on vacation. Hornets inhabit her mailbox. You think, "Well, this simply will now do. I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" This is the 20th century part of your brain thinking. All sense of survival has been driven away because technology has come so far. You can now be incredibly dumb and still manage to survive. Consequences be damned.
Mr. Sandwichman was a Stupid Kid
"I must valiantly drive these fiends away for the sake of Boobs! TALLY-HO!" Now, I didn't fully understand why I was doing what I was doing. I just knew that when I was around Boobs, I felt quite content. Must be the Misogynist Chauvinistic Penis, am I right feminists? Ho ho!
I don't remember who came up with the idea. In the end, it doesn't really matter who the mastermind was. We still threw rocks into a hornet's nest. Literally. That saying didn't exist until after what my brother, my friend and I did. [citation needed]
Our plan was pretty simple.
Step 1: Throw rocks into mailbox, disturb hornets.
Step 2: When hornets fly out, spray their wings with water gun so they can no longer fly
Step 3: Walk up to downed hornets with bugspray. Kill them.
Step 4: ?????
Step 5: SUCCESS!
We made it to Step 1. Step 1 went without a hitch. It went flawlessly. If the rest of our plan could have gone as smoothly as Step 1 did, we would be gods! Strangely, though, hitting about 15 targets that were no bigger than 2 inches long is a lot harder than pissing those 15 targets off. Who would have thought?
My brother, my friend and I quickly found ourselves in over our heads. We had an idea of how things would go, and then shit went down. It didn't exactly go the same way as planned. It took all of 2 seconds to realize, "Oh, hey. Hornets have stingers. These hornets aren't happy. RUN!" Keep in mind, having been as young as we were, we didn't have a Plan B. We didn't account for "In case this goes wrong..." If somebody ended up getting stung repeatedly by the entire hive, we probably would have just abandoned the poor guy.
Good ol' wikipedia tells me that an entire nest of non-European hornets can sting you to death even if you aren't allergic. So here we are, two 7-year-olds and a 10-year-old realizing what we had just done and were now running. Chances were high that the slowest person would have to take one for the team and distract our pursuers while the others called for backup, re: my mom. So, who would the slowest person be? Well. My brother had a bike. My friend had a bike. I did not have a bike. Uh-oh. Looks like I would have to man up and
Run faster than either of those two bastards could ride. I was the first one back inside my house where the hornets couldn't get me. The Flying Insect killer had been used up, our water guns abandoned and our plan compromised. None of that mattered, though, because the hornets couldn't get me. I decided the best way to relax after my battle was to play with my giant tub of LEGOs.
I went into my room, poured out more bricks than I would ever need and went to work building something or other. Then I felt a tickling on my leg. I scratched at it but didn't really think too much about it. The tickling returned. I scratched back. It kept getting tickled. I finally moved my leg to find out what was tickling me.
OSHI--!
I belive upon discovering what had been tickling me, my thought process went something along the lines of "SUNAVABITCHFOLLOWEDMESHITSHITWHATSHOULDIDOOHGODHELP!"
I darted out of my room and down into the garage where my brother and I had originally found the Flying Insect Killer. I remembered putting it back in the cabinet, thinking that my parents wouldn't notice us using it all up. If I was nearly as intelligent as the school said I was, I probably would have been able to figure something else out. I am not that intelligent, apparently. Or maybe I just lack common sense. But, I grabbed the first thing I saw that might kill that mother fucking hornet. A can of KILZ.
I thought to myself, "Self. This says 'Kilz' which means it can probably Kill. It's also in a cannister similar to the one we used outside. It must be another kind of insect killer!" So. Armed with my spray paint, I ran upstairs and sprayed that little devilish fucker to death. On carpet. I noticed that the area turned white, but I figured that would go away as it dried. It didn't. "That's all right, though," I thought. "I won!"
And that's how I almost got stung to death.
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