For the longest time I was in constant idiot denial. I said, I can quit being stupid whenever I want. So about a year ago, I tried. I was going to go an entire week without doing or saying anything extremely stupid. On day one, I simply didn’t move or say anything. I just went to class, ran back to my room and maintained a dormant state for the rest of the day. (Mom, ignore this next sentence) On the very next day, I slept through my first physics exam. (Don’t worry mom, I made it up and got an A).

I have tried many times to quit being stupid, but I can’t help it. I think it is more than a habit, I’m pretty sure that idiocy is very much a part of who I am. Not only am I a complete moron, I am (to put it humbly) one of the most talented idiots you’ve ever met. I have long since passed the denial stage of idiocy, I am now in the acceptance stage, where I embrace and love my stupidity. Or if you want to be politically correct, my “proneness for error.”

When I was in third grade, I had a very severe concern about my memory. I swore up and down that I was losing it. I was actually really depressed about it. It got so bad that my mom had my teacher come up to me during lunch to convince me that I’m not losing my memory. The only reason I remember that moment is because my teacher Mrs. Stone was HOT! Needless to say the whole thing was a huge conspiracy and I do have what has to be that absolute worst short term memory of all time. Just ask Wilson. Thus the tale of Ryan’s stupidity begins.

When I was about 10 or so, I was riding my bike up and down the street with my friends. Being the inventive and curious young lad that I am, I decide that the conventional brakes on the bike are boring and ineffective. So I’m going full speed and we all start to slow down to pull into someone’s driveway. I look at the wheel and abruptly slam my foot onto the wheel. The wheel, which had excellent traction and momentum at this instant, carries my foot into the front fork of the bicycle, which is more than enough to stop the bike at the expense of sending me flying off the bike into a well performed front flip. Sadly I blew the dismount by landing on my face. I wait a second and attempt to get back up only to be slammed back down by the previously airborne bicycle. That’s right, the bike I flew off of was projected into the air and landed on me. If it were caught on video, I could have won thousands of dollars on America’s Funniest Home Videos. Bob Saget would voice over my video in that annoying voice with something along the lines of “Oh boy, I can’t wait to see what this pavement looks like up close!” and then he’d throw in a cartoonish *boing* sound effect as I fly off the bike to my inevitable injury. I definitely would have won $100,000 if the event were taped. But it wasn’t, so now I’m just a broke retard.

At one point in my life, I was actually a rather decent baseball player. In retrospect, I attribute my athletic greatness to the fact that I was about a year older than my peers. (I went to an “extra grade” in between kindergarten and 1st grade called “Stars”. My mom told me that it was because I had a summer birthday and they’d rather me be old for my class than young for my class. I recently discovered upon viewing an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond” that that is a nice way of saying that I wasn’t exactly a bright child, and I needed an extra year to get a grasp of higher caste motor skills such as finger painting and sculpting play-dough. Therefore I’m relatively old for my grade.) So at the critical age of 12-13 I hit my growth spurt before everyone else did and I was taller and stronger than most of my friends. I threw a nasty fastball (at least 45 mph!) and no one could touch it. Then a few years passed and I found that if you aren’t bigger than everyone else, you have to rely on actual talent, which I obviously didn’t have. In a sense, it would be like if Shaquille O’Neil suddenly lost 100 pounds. He’d be a joke, as was I. So now I’m easily the worst player on the team, at then end of the batting order and my hitting percentage was somewhere close to .000. I go up to the plate, do the stupid little pat the end of the bat on home plate, I still have no idea why I did that, I just thought it looked cool. I always made a point to make a grimacing stare at the pitcher, maybe intimidate him into walking me, since I can’t hit worth a crap. Here comes the pitch and it’s heading straight for my throat. I’m actually a bit proud of the quick thinking on my part that soon followed, but I’m not so proud of what the thought was. I figure that since it is an inside pitch, I should swing early and try to pull it to left field. So I swing ridiculously early, catching the ball with the very tip of the bat causing the ball to change its trajectory upward and directly into my face. My helmet goes flying off, I hit the ground and the umpire excitedly yells “Steeeeerike one!” as if he had been waiting his entire life to call strike on the retard who swings at a ball and it hits him in the face. Everyone was silent, and then I got up, waved to the crowd to show that I’m okay. Instead of “Oh thank goodness he’s okay” applause, everyone proceeds to laugh hysterically. Which obeys the laws of comedy, its okay to laugh as soon as you find out the injured person is okay. Oh yeah, I struck out immediately afterward.
Just a couple of weeks ago I went to a Sunday night service at my local church here in Birmingham. I am approached by strapping bearded gentlemen named Johnathan Player. He says “Hey Ryan, would you mind serving communion tonight?” I say “Sure.” He asks, “Have you ever done it before?” and I had, but like 7 years ago, so I say “Yeah, but not here” and he says “Well its really simple, all you have to do is pray, pass the tray, pray again and pass the other tray.” And I’ve witnessed/taken part in hundreds of communions so I blurt in, almost interrupting him “Yeah, I think I got it.” Needless to say, whenever I take on anything with confidence it backfires. So Johnathan announces, “If there is anyone who missed communion this morning, please come to the front row if you wish to take it.” So I make my way up to the front and grab the first tray. As I’m holding it everyone in the building is staring at me shaking their head as if saying “Don’t do it Ryan!” Johnathan trying to get my attention, making a circular motion with his pointer finger as if he wants me to change something. I look at him and squint in confusion and I’m just like whatever, “Let’s go to God in prayer” and then I proceed to pray something along the lines of “Dear heavenly father, we thank You so much for the Son that died for our sins and bore the suffering that should have been ours. Lord I ask that you bless this…” I look down and I’m holding the wrong tray. I’m supposed to pass out the bread first! Now I could have played it cool, but instead I proceed to say “bless this uhhhhh…. This uhhhhh…” and attempting to switch out the trays while doing so, which are conveniently made of tin or whatever the loudest metal in the universe is made of. “… uhh Lord bless this uhhh… *clang*…uhhh *cling clang clang*… BREAD!” And then I proceeded to wrap up the prayer in an unconventionally fast manner. I looked up at the crowd afterward with a smile. I don’t know why, probably because I’m an idiot. But at that moment, I realized that I have done so many stupid things in front of so many people, I have become immune to embarrassment. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. What’s the big deal? Oh no, the very first time I’ve done something embarrassing! Who cares? I think this was what my parents were trying to prevent by telling my 3rd grade teacher that my memory wasn’t bad. Now with my newfound immunity to embarrassment, the reputation of everyone I know is at stake.

But then last night, I found comfort in the extent of my dumbness, when I was driving home only to slow down for a man running across the street. I don’t know what had just happened to him, but he was furious. He was running rampant across the street, not looking either way, when suddenly he stops. I slowed down to see what he was up to. He paced back and forth for a little bit and then… HE KICKED A TREE! This is a middle-aged man in the middle of downtown Birmingham, probably the most densely populated area in Alabama. I am ecstatic. Watching this man kick a tree was like an early Christmas present. I slowed down to almost a stop and just stared at him, waiting for what he’d do next. He paces some more, looks around, gives another tree a good stare and gives a roundhouse kick to one of the flimsy branches. I completely lose it. My roommate Matt was in the car with me and I was laughing hysterically and I said “Did you see that guy kick the tree!” sadly he only saw the tail end of the roundhouse kick. This saddened me, but reassured me that I may be an idiot with no regard to my own reputation, but this guy is so far off the deep end, I look like freakin’ Shaft in comparison to him.

Maybe if any of you are idiots too, email me some of your embarrassing stories and if we get enough we can post a conglomeration of stupid activity. It’ll be fun! War Eagle!

Ryan can be contacted at ryan@theauburner.com