In the Primordial Alphabet Soup, we were mis-spelled words. We crawled from the same mish-mosh from which also sprang such biological winners as dinosaurs, dodo birds, and the Jackson Five. We humans are an exception to many rules. We are the I after the E except before C. We run with scissors. A stitch in time only saves us five, at most. We've revised Newton's third law to read, "For every action, there's an equal but opposite lawsuit." As far as having a place in the intellectual universe, a picture of the Earth on the back of a milk carton in some Alpha-Centaurian's breakfast nook.

One trait among human beings is that we tend to think that, collectively, we're far smarter than we really are. As a result of only thinking we're smarter collectively without the added burden of having to actually prove it, we each end up thinking that we're smarter than most of our fellow human beings on an individual basis as well. Why? We start out believing that the human race, in general, is advanced. Then we live a while. We meet people every day who we can logically and categorically eliminate as being a part of this "smart collective", and after a while you've eliminated a good majority of the population.

It doesn't stop there. You also unfortunately end up eliminating people whose teachings you once respected. In his book "Pale Blue Dot", the late Carl Sagan said, "There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

When many people read that they no doubt thought that it was a great piece of wisdom from one of the great intellectuals of our time. Basically what the above quote is conveying is, "We need to get along." But what that really boils down to is this; take even the brightest of physicists, astronomers and philosophers among us, and the best they can do is sound like Rodney King after a semester of junior college.

At some point in the future, when another civilization digs up the big box encrusted with 'N Sync stickers that is our time capsule, the most telling of all items about who we were and what we did, will be our instruction manuals. Now, the word "instruction" comes from the Latin "instructus", meaning "teach". We later added the "tion", which I think is Anglo-Saxon for "dumb-asses." Instructions are by definition a teaching tool. But we humans have taken the original intent and stretched it to absurd lengths. We're giving common sense a wedgie, and stretching the waist-band to the Oort Cloud.

Instructions used to be simple and made sense. You can decipher how the manufacturers of the day perceived the intellect of any civilization by reading their instructions for just about anything. You learn the most not by what is said, but by what is not said. Centuries ago, the term "Fireworks" on a box was considered instruction enough. "Why", thought the manufacturer, "would we have to put, 'Light fuse, run away' on the box? It's obvious, isn't it? People aren't that stupid." Yes they are. Nowadays, not only do they have to instruct us to "Light fuse, run away", but they have to carry it one step further. "Light fuse, run away, if dizzy or light-headed, stop running. In case of chest pain, take one (1) children's aspirin. If symptoms persist, consult physician. After firework discharges, and you feel like swimming, make sure you haven't eaten in the last thirty (30) minutes. If you haven't eaten yet but are preparing a meal, make sure that the meat is fully cooked and......"

I won't even touch shampoo instructions. The very fact that someone saw the need to put "lather, rinse, repeat" on something even a trilobite could figure out how to use is proof enough for me the end is nigh. Shakespeare said, "All the world is a stage, and we are merely players." But I'd like to correct Billy. The universe is the stage. The world is the comedian. And we are the punchline.

Need more proof? Okay. I'll soon be blessed enough to be led down a dark, dank hallway where I'll be placed in a Judy Garland-like valium daze and be sterilized, presumably for the betterment of the human race. I have in front of me the "pre-procedure" instructions that the doctor gave me. First off, it says "shave testicles". Now, to the average male, that might as well read, "Stick genitals into Rolls-Royce Turbo-fan engine at full throttle." Did they think they could just gloss over that one right away, move on to the easier stuff and hope I wouldn't catch it? Why doesn't Betty Crocker do that? "Step 1; With hammer, pound a letter opener into your ear 6 inches. Step 2; In mixing bowl, whip 3 eggs lightly with milk...."

The instructions then go on to say something inordinately stupid. "After procedure, go home for the day and lie down." Therein lies all our failings as human beings. We live in a vacuum, we don't think dynamically. The reason I'm getting a vasectomy is because I have plenty of kids. Now, and try to follow me Mr. Instruction Writer, when you have a lot of little kids, and you lie down, kids like to jump up and down on you with reckless abandon. So, if I do what the instructions say, my freshly minced genitalia will end up being treated like a pinata on Cinco de Mayo. Follow me, Einstein? Good.

All in all, instructions drive me crazy. The very need for instructions is antithesis to all, yes all life teachings. The Christian has God on his side, and with that power the need for a little piece of paper to tell you how to put together the ceiling fan sounds a little on the ridiculous side. And the atheist should just have to dump the parts on the floor and come back in a million years to find his ceiling fan all put together, or "evolved", and ready to be turned on. Unless "natural selection", in this case air conditioning, makes it obsolete.

There is one group of people who have earned my deepest respect. A group of people who actually need stupid behavior in order to stay in business. The people whose job it is to write warning labels and signs. "Do not use electric razor in shower", "Turn off power before touching stove wires", and "Severe undertow." They face a unique challenge. Not many of us, no matter what business venture we are taking part in, have to deal with the complete turnover of their target market every month or so. But I think I have what it takes to be a warning sign writer.

I think I'll start now. "Warning- Do not read this column!" Oh, wait, I suppose that should have been at the beginning. I screwed it up already. How fitting. It doesn't really matter though, I eliminated myself as a member of the "smart collective" years ago.

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