Malignant Savants

by bernquist

There is a tremendous problem in this country, dare I say in this world today. It is an issue that has been brewing for decades, like a ruined sock full of fifteen day old drip coffee (or in this case, decades old drip coffee? Think of the stench!). What am I talking about??? Malignant savants! That is right! You probably read me correctly. Malignant savants!! Malignant savants are eating away slowly at our nation’s cities and rural havens alike with real and actual prissy savant teeth and an insatiable appetite for fame and some sort of soy-laced fortune!

You may not have noticed, but I have. And many of my business associates have likewise taken note. Sometimes two notes. Malignant savants are everywhere. Two nights ago I was on my way home from work by bus on route 784.3^2 East. I was minding my own business, going through the AP Mobile alerts that I had missed out on during the day. Egypt was still ruined; Syria the same. Seahawks cornerback Richard Sherman was prowling the countryside eating all the Bronco fans, etc., etc. It was an entertaining read for a weeknight, but fairly typical.

It was then that I heard that unmistakable banter: the opinions of a malignant savant being foisted upon a poor unsuspecting commuter. This particular savant was prime: pinstripe grey slacks (60% wool, 40% not wool), a Brooks Brothers button up shirt with a pink and white checkered pattern and French cuffs (French cuffs are a dead giveaway that a malignant savant is either within the shirt or nearby the shirt wearer), brown snake oil loafers with matching belt, black scarf also made of some sort of wool derivative, fully wool black overcoat. His head did not fare much better. His features were poignant, a cross between a Calvin Klein hand model and an antique oak filing cabinet. His 42 year old face was neatly adorned with a carefully sculpted stubble, his sprinkled-with-grey brown hair styled in a qiffery perfectly balanced between ambitious grease and terminal aloofness.

I could hear him fairly clearly even though he was a good thirty feet away in a moving public transport missile. It is a true sign of a malignant savant when you can hear someone who is not mentally ill speaking from that far away on a bus. Malignant savants love to be heard. The poor disheveled woman unfortunate enough to be sitting next to him was learning all about how to solve all the problems of the Middle East and boy did she look devastated!! “The issue,” said the savant, “is not one of willingness to cooperate, or even hostility toward diversity of race or creed, but rather it is an unwillingness to reach out, and a head-in the-sand attitude toward moving forward! We should be asking ourselves: how can we add value on a going forward basis? When we circle up down the road, will we truly be able to say that we did everything we could to avoid this fire-drill??!! Our leaders should be forward thinking, paying less heed to pedantic details and lending more focus to our material differences!!!”

It should be noted here that nothing the malignant savant says ever actually means anything. Because he loves to hear himself talk and be heard by others, he speaks in a manner that makes the layman ball up in a curdled iron sack of confusion and self-hate, taking whatever the malignant savant says and lauding it as profound truth even if it is very noticeably unabashed nonsense!! Therein lies the savant’s malignance. He knows, presuming he is as sharp as he pretends to be and as his given profession would indicate, that everyone hates listening to him spew filth from his Calvin Kleinic face, yet he chooses to subject the public anyway!! He does so unashamedly and presumably with ill-intent!! Could it be that he literally believes that we want to listen to or care about his tangled web of vernacular feces??!! There is simply no way!!

Without warning, the malignant savant then leapt to his feet like an effeminate gnome and exclaimed: “May I have everyone’s attention please?!! I would like to announce to you all that my poop smells like raspberry cobbler!!” He then reclaimed his spot with an aristocratic half-smirk epoxied onto his hostility-provoking face, all accoutrements of suit and hair retaining their savantic appearance.

Is there hope? Can we thwart the malignant savant and silence his blatant idiocy before our ears fall off of our heads? Can we teach those who are currently unable by way of social status, education, or a combination of factors to see through his treacherous ape manure? On a going forward basis, I suppose we shall see.