The Crowd Idiot

I saw Lewis Black perform not too long ago. He was hilarious. The bit about a Starbucks being across the street from another Starbucks was top shelf. I sat in the back row. And two seats to my right sat the crowd idiot. They always sit within arms length of me. It is my lot in life. Some people make millions of dollars playing the games we all played while growing up. I sit next to the crowd idiot.


I don’t know why this is always the case, but it is as much a certainty as Newton's law of gravity. It is primarily why I hate to go out where people gather, but this is getting off point. Between Lewis's jokes, the crowd idiot was compelled to bark out words in an idiot’s tongue. He did this a dozen times—an idiot's dozen, which is around 31. He wasn’t funny. He wasn’t engaging. He was, however, a particularly effective crowd idiot, drawing the ire of those near and far alike. And he sat two seats away.


It was when he screamed, "Kentucky Woman", apparently under the delusion that he was at a Neil Diamond concert, that I had my "aha" moment. Ushers should be armed with assault rifles and allowed to remove crowd idiots from the gene pool before they procreate with their tainted seed. And when they do, a tip bucket should be passed among the audience as reward for a job well done.