The Study of Stupidity

Stupidity had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so nerve-wrecking. The human brain was its Avatar and its target—the weakness of the human mind. It would cause the victim to do very strange things—unthinkable things. The victim would feel perfectly normal for about ten minutes, but after this phase of normality, the signs would begin. Each host would do strange actions, such as trying to write a parody that has an idiotic idea and has sadly failed, or attempting to get a tasty delicacy out of the refrigerator without actually opening the door first. At last, the victim might choose to end their term by deliberately tossing themselves off a highly elevated bridge and having their body hit the filthy ground, and worst of all, they would get their clothing dirty and wrinkled.

But the Prince Donkor was dauntless, highly intelligent, satisfied with himself, and had clean and ironed clothing. When half of his people were infected, he summoned to his presence a thousand intelligent and light-hearted friends from among the scholars and snobs of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his urban palaces. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, designed to fit the needs of all these magnificent and innocent people. The Prince Donkor, deciding to aid to the infected, created an organization, of which he had named himself, “The Saving the Tragically Un-Protected Individuals of the Dominion Foundation”, or the acronym, “The STUPID Foundation.” On the Monday of every week, all the healthy members of the organization would gather inside the elaborate building that held every meeting. There was an aroma of fresh-baked pastries: scones, muffins, banana bread, crepes, fruit cake, croissants, and donuts. There was a mellifluous sound of live music and percussion instruments, electric guitars, bass guitars, saxophones, trumpets, pianos, and violins. There was live entertainment, such as ballet-dances and tap-dances, skits and dramas, ventriloquism, and stand-up comedies. All these and security were within. Without was Stupidity.

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his weekly and productive meetings, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Donkor entertained his thousand friends at an extensive party, or what he liked to call it, “The STUPID Convention.”

It was a voluptuous scene, that “convention.” The building in which it held had four rooms—each of which had a shape of a square. The interworking of Donkor’s mind was very complicated and confusing. The room to the east was painted entirely white with black geometric shapes and perfectly symmetrical figures drawn on the walls. In one corner of the room, there were five rows of five calculators set on wooden tables. On the wall opposite of the door, there was a large white-board, and on the white-board, there were calculations of a trigonometry problem, written in fresh black ink. It smelled of fresh paint and new Expo markers. The room next to the mathematical room was painted a light scarlet. There were short excerpts from Edgar Allan Poe stories written on the walls with a slightly faded black ink. There were shelves full of books taking up almost all the space in the room, but leaving enough space for a small aisle. There was a combined smell of new books that haven’t been even flipped open yet, and old books that have been used so much that they were falling apart. The room right next to this room was painted a ghastly green, and there were many historical facts and dates forced upon the walls with a faded marker that was obviously running out of ink. In all of the four corners of the room, there were priceless artifacts sitting in sensitive glass cases, with a single, shining light spotlighting each of the artifacts. In the center of the room, there was a single wooden desk with countless research papers and antique articles sitting on it. The room smelled as if there was an old, wooden cabinet filled with mold and rotting foods. The last room was painted entirely with a hideous sable color. There was a tiny window, but it was covered with blood red draperies that were disgustingly wrinkled. The Prince meant to iron the curtain months before, but he decided not to go into that room. There was no other decoration in the room, and nobody dared to step foot within its precincts at all.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. However, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a strange figure with a pointed head, which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise—then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such that have been painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. The figure was ghastly and gaunt, and was shrouded from head to foot in loose and old Abercrombie & Fitch clothes in sizes that were so big for the figure, that he had started to trip on his own garments. The pointed head turned out to be the most outrageously hideous thing of all: a dunce cap. All the guests shrunk back in horror. But the figure had gone so far as to assume the type of Stupidity. His vesture was so terribly wrinkled and dirty—and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with dirt, a clear indication that he had tried to throw himself off a bridge, but had failed miserably.

When the eyes of Prince Donkor fell upon this spectral image, he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

“Who dares”—he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him—“who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and wash and iron his clothing—and we may have to hang him, at sunrise! Wait, I mean the man! Not the clothing! We do not need to hang the clothing! We have a dryer! But the man must be hung!”

It was in the eastern or mathematical chamber in which stood the Prince Donkor as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the four rooms loudly and clearly, for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand. As he spoke, there was not a movement of the guards in the direction of the intruder, who, at the moment, was rushing from the mathematical room to the literature room—from the literature room to the historical room—and finally, from the historical room to the black room. Nobody moved a muscle, and the Prince Donkor, who was embarrassed, decided to rush after the intruder. He ran as fast as his feet could take him, and bursted into the black room. 

“Wait! Please! I have to catch my breath…sorry I’m not that athletic… I got to stop eating those delicious donuts...but”—he panted—“anyways! What—is—your—business!”

The Prince Donkor approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the dark apartment turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry—and the Prince Donkor fell upon the filthy ground. The guards thrust up enough courage to run into the room to find the Prince dead and in wrinkled clothing. They only found the dunce cap covering the Prince’s face, and the intruder was not to be seen. Stupidity infected the people and drove all the guests insane, up to the point that every single one of them wanted to throw themselves off a bridge—the whole country was infected. And Sickness and Sorrow and Stupidity held illimitable dominion over all.