When I was a stupid kid (long before I blossomed into a stupid adult), I came across an ad in Boy’s Life magazine I thought was the greatest concept since the rubber dog poop gag: Dial a Joke. 
For merely 59 cents, it read, you could call a phone number and hear a joke. Every day!
What a great invention, I thought. The only failing I could see was that it was too expensive. After all, I figured, how much would it cost to tell a joke?
Leaning on my keen business acumen, (profit had not yet dawned on me), I decided to come up with an improved iteration. So my best friend Dan and I hand-drew an advertisement for dial-a-joke — along with my parents’ home phone number.
We plastered the ad on every light fixture and telephone pole we could find withing walking distance in our Detroit neighborhood. And it wasn’t long before we began to get responses:
It never occurred to me to say “Hello” or that someone might be calling for something other than my cutting humor.
And so it went. At least for a day, possibly two.
It wasn’t until pesky adults informed my parents that every time they called our house, a kid was picking up, telling a joke, and hanging up on them.
So long, business plan. Mom marched to my room and told me to get my ass out there and take down every sign we’d taped. That’s the Man for you: always keeping the little guy down.
I forgot the incident until a couple months later. Laying on my bed, probably leafing through another Boy’s Life for invention ideas, I head the phone ring. Then mom yelled at me from downstairs.
“Scawt!” (she has a distinctive Southern accent) she shouted. “It’s that stupid dial-a-joke!”
Always cool under pressure, I walked to the phone, trying to think of a bon mot (suck it, Groundlings).
Fortunately, no one called again, sparing me a tanned hide. But I learned a valuable lesson about thinking things through.
Later, I’d learn I was hardly alone in poor planning. And that childhood was hardly the province of short-term thinking. Like these folks:
Whoever decided to install a motion-activated hand sanitizer machine right above a light switch.
Whoever was responsible for purchasing these front doors for the Sliding Door Company.
Whoever put this “now accepting resumes” sign right in front of a garbage can.
Whoever placed this article about murder right above the photos from a pie-eating contest.
Whoever made this rather confusing cookie label.
Whoever decided to put these two signs together.
Whoever made this maze.
Whoever designed this cupholder that somehow cannot hold beverages.
Whoever came up with this logic.
Whoever decided “Don’t blend in” was a good slogan for a camouflage jacket.
Whoever put this ad right in front of the garbage can.
Whoever designed this “TWO” birthday cake topper without looking at it from behind.
Whoever made this sign. Sorry Troy.
Whoever decided that stitching a black palm tree logo onto a pillow was a good idea.
Whoever made this ice cream bar advertisement, apparently unaware how people eat ice cream bars.
Whoever designed this sign for a restaurant called Three Bells.
Whoever decided this was a reasonable place to install a TP dispenser.
Whoever thought making a vinegar bottle identical to a seltzer bottle was a good idea.
And finally, whoever designed this screwdriver packaging which can only be opened with a screwdriver.
and, yes, paper clips. Elements may combine in a way they never would have if left unadulterated, but the taproot source — from flesh and brains to chemical, metal, wood and plastic alloys — were all borne of the Big Bang and the chaos that followed. Unless you’re arguing that god is artificial (future column), then anything ever produced is natural. Even robots.
Mercy and malevolence remain just as baffling since we crawled from the ooze.
