The Norwegian public has a constant thirst for idiots. This is because idiots make it smart, successful and sophisticated by comparison. By reading about people doing stupid things and getting themselves into complicated situations we can not only enjoy seeing them reap what they sow and revel in the unlikelihood of the same happening to us, but we can also huff at their receiving attention. However, the joy of learning about idiots offing themselves is a genuine biological feeling.
Everyone has some degree of concern for the future of human kind. Seeing how a member of the more shallow end of the gene pool has misspelled his own name in graffiti, discussing some matter with a concerned friend of a friend composed of unrighteous wrath and enlightenment in unequal measure or seeing the snotty and obnoxious neighbour kids really makes you appreciate the wonder of contraception.
This is not an expression of social Darwinism. As with any controversial issue; race, sexual orientation, gender, class, I hate everyone irrespective of any physical or personal qualities. It is a natural, biological reaction from when we were all wearing revealing loincloths laughing at Bob Zog falling into the animal pit or being trampled to a wafer thin slice of meaty pancake by a mammoth or feeling the frustration of Bob Zag falling out of the tree spoiling the carefully planned ambush. This is also why we found Dustolv entertaining.
Dustolv went to Africa, worked as an obscure mercenary and shot a Congolese driver in an area full of government soldiers, was duly imprisoned and had his complimentary sub tropic disease. There were calls from the dungeon and the more nationalistic, right wing, tractor-pulling, trailer-inhabiting Norwegians for the intervention of the Norwegian Foreign Office but these were politely slapped down by Sir Bob Gard-Støre. And then, just as we were waiting to hear of Dustolv’s death sentence being converted to life imprisonment, nothing. A new year came… nothing. What happened was that it became cold in December and Norwegian media were somehow surprised. To be fair, one might say that the Norwegian Minister of Fishing and major fish farm tycooness stole some of his limelight by being extraordinary blockheaded, but still; nothing. I hate to sound saucy, but it seems Dustolv was milked dry by the Norwegian media and left to rot.
This also goes to show that the attention span and consistency of the Norwegian public and their opinion are disappointingly short. We are not really concerned with the fate of idiots although we would like to think so. What we really want is five minutes of snorting resentment at the breakfast table, as the great Sir Bob Fry said, whether it is aimed at wounded national pride as in the Dustolv case or the impertinence of fellow Norwegians such as Jarle Traa, who injured himself in a ridiculous manner in the Himalayas and expected to be saved by the state. For this purpose there are no more fitting groups than the idiots.
Idiots will also be the subject of a later post, where I will introduce and present my favourite Darwin Award winners.