I.Q. Really Means "Idiot Quotant"...

I've heard somebody say that "Everybody is intelligent in their own way." While pondering the said quote and basically thinking, "That's goddamned stupid..." The quote was obviously started by the mother or father of a dumb shit and to build the little bastards self esteem because others around the child kept saying, "Man, You're fucking stupid, arn't you?"

Years ago, I worked as a sawyers assistant at a truss manufacturer. Granted, to build shit repetitiously doesn't take a rocket science degree to do. Show em a couple of times and viola. Well, the job was easy and the money (at the time) not so bad. Plus, you were paid weekly. The group of guys who I worked along side were good time guys. Meaning they were experts at easting, drinking and smoking. Now, I'm not cutting the business of laborer work down. It is honest work and a lot of folk do it. I'm basically talking about the group of chukkerheads I worked with.

Working with wood you will end up cutting it and the byproduct of that is waste, wood that is too small to utilize and is thrown out. The "waste" were dumped into boxed from the saw conveyor, a long belt similar the the ones you place your groceries on before the check out lady rings it up. This conveyor ran continuously. The boxes the waste fell into was a 4 foot by 4 foot wood box with a height of around 3 feet. When the box became full, they were picked up with a fork lift and dumped into a large dump truck. When the Bucket of the dump truck was full... off to the city landfill. This was something that happened 2 to 3 times a work week.

When a volunteer asked if they could go to "the dump" to empty the truck, they drove the 4 miles to the Sturgis landfill. While there, the guys would scavenge. You know the saying, "Another man's junk is another man's treasure." You get it. These guys would bring back thrown out stuff like banged up bowling balls and pins, basketballs with a slight warp to them, alumunum softball bats and that sort of stuff. One time they brought back a black bowling ball. They played around with it in the work area which was a large open building with overhead doors. They would roll it the length of the building and try and hit you in the ankle with it. Well, it didn't take long for these guys to grow bored with it and it ended up outside in the lumber yard. The saw was situated at the west end of the building and during summer we would leave the overhead door open to keep from dying of heat stroke. I noticed the bowling ball halfway between the building and the racks of 2x4's. Arlon was the guy who ran the floor truss press. The press is a table about 20' long with two large rollers that would roll along the length of the table pressing the "clips" that sank into the wood securing the wood together. I noticed Arlon walk out to carry some boards back from the yard. He walked by the bowling ball and glaced down at it. On his return back to the shop, he stops about six feet behind the ball mimicking that he was going to kick it. I then yell for Dan who also worked on the saw with me.

I said, "I think Arlon's going to kick that bowling ball."

Dan replies, "He fucking dumb but not that stupid."

I then say "You need to check this out."

Just as Dan walks up beside me, Arlen steps toward the bowling ball as if he was playing kick ball. With his teeth clenched he kicks the bowling ball thinking it was going to launch in to the air. Upon contact, his ankle buckles to the left and his toes bent down. Dan and I say, "Oooo" Arlen falls to the ground writhing in pain holding his right foot. Dan and I wander out toward Arlon to check his situation. We ask him why on God's green Earth would you boot the bowling ball. He mutters, "I thought it was a basketball bladder."