"If you must say something negative,
make sure it's positive."
Pablo Smog

I am guilty of a hate crime.  A hate-thought crime, to be more specific.  Not against chicks, or blacks, or sodomites, or any person at all, really.  Not even idiots.  As a recovering idiot, it would be wrong of me to hate the idiot.  The idiot can be redeemed.  It's the idiocy I hate.  The willful incapacity of the idiot to cease from his or her stupidity.  That is my crime.  I am guilty of hating stupidity.  I hate stupidity.

Don't you?

What are crimes against stupidity, anyway?  To what degree of excellence is it necessary to strive, to be guilty of a crime against stupidity?  If you extend so much as a fingernail outside the magnetic sewage beam of mediocrity, if you attempt to escape the gravitational power of the lowest common denominator swamp into which we are all expected to sink like idiots, smiling,

Are you guilty of a hate crime?

If we take the concept of "hate crime" to its natural conclusion, to what degree is it possible to troll the purveyors of stupidity with a declaration of hatred for stupidity?  Shall we troll them with a T-shirt?  A handbag?  A fitted, 3-layer mask?

The mask is a perfect place to declare one's loathing for stupidity.  Imagine walking through a crowded room full of idiots... poor, sad social-engineering projects whose inner excellent and individually-created souls will subconsciously register the indictment of their own willful stupidity on your T-shirt, or your mask, and who will have the choice to let this seed of excellent dissent germinate in their hearts and minds, before taking the stupid way out, choosing to become the object of the troll by idiotically, unthinkingly believing that you are complying with the mainstream narrative of stupidity because it's the smart thing to do.

You won't have to say a word.

Or get the refrigerator magnet, the sticker for your guitar case, to subconsciously wean your idiotic, double-standard bearing social justice roommates from the steady diet of unbelievable stupidity they've subsisted on thus far.

It might take awhile, but eventually the point will be driven home.  By the Uber driver of reason, perhaps, after a night of heavy drinking from the trough of incomparable idiocy.  They will see the punk-rock button on your jacket, the declaration on your iPhone case of a singular, unrepentant loathing for stupidity, and will eventually realize that HATING THINGS FOR WHAT THEY ARE IS STUPID.

Unless, of course, they're stupid.

Thanks for listening.