the art of ineptness

Over the usual bland Chinese food we always can’t seem to get rid of, a colleague and I were deriding certain people worth deriding. I said to him that it is not really my habit to badmouth people, being the Confucian that I am, adhering to that principle of the good-natured-ness of man with utmost fervor. What I can lay claim to though in the past couple of years as a working, toiling individual is the certainty of the said people’s existence and the apparent reasons why they are worth picking on. It’s not even just picking on, because that connotes bully-ism which I am definitely not. And picking on also connotes that the said people are innocent with no muck in the eye. Because they certainly have a lot of it. I did not imagine that I’d be breathing with the said people until about two or more years ago. Lousy motherfuckers. Such idiocy. Such retardation that shames the actual retards. Such callousness. Such corruption of moral fiber. Unbelievable ridiculousness and self-righteousness. Organized ineptness and absurdity. Gosh, why not summon such descriptions and fake the discomfiture? In the midst of all this mediocrity though, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that I am able to feel jitters when I come to think of the day I’ll imbibe such systemic idiocy.