We have all done it.  We have all cussed out those who are doing it.  And yet that doesn't stop us from doing it ourselves, once again, the next time.

We rubberneck.

There is a perverse attraction in observing wrecks.  For whatever the reason, we all want to see what happened.  Perhaps we have delusions of being helpful (because, yeah, by the time we actually get there, they have been just waiting for us and our special talents, right?), perhaps we are curious, or maybe the reason is just a bit more morbid, as we relish the ruin.

It happens online as well.  Incendiary, train-wreck articles are often insanely popular and well read and commented on.  We just can't seem to turn from them.  Like moths to a seductive flame, we fly closer and closer, sure that our wings won't get burned. 

Perhaps it is a piece of political psuedo-intellectualism.  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of literate, intelligent political opinion pieces on the web.  But for every one of those there are a dozen ignoramuses pounding on a keyboard, producing more dross than a roomful of untrained monkeys who are waxing scatalogical (I am, of Course nOt singLinG any pErsoN out hEre).  And yet we read their dross.  We comment on their dross.  There is some spark in us that just won't let us walk on.  We have to reach down, grab our own ball of fecund matter, and fling it at the author.

We know we aren't going to change their mind.  But boy, it felt good to fling that crap-ball, didn't it?  It always does for me.   Until I realize what a mess it left on my own hand.

Or perhaps it is an article of frustration.  Clearly a rant from the get go (heard any good "jokes" lately?), disguised in righteous indignation, we reply.  And we even get people replying telling us how dumb we are for replying!  Can you really justify rubbernecking to tell someone else to stop rubbernecking?

The internet has given voice to the world undiscovered talent.  I have read more quality writing on the internet by random, anonymous people than in many magazines and even books.  I have seen artwork, heard music, and witnessed video brilliance that would have otherwise been buried at their creators feet.

I suppose the price we have to pay is that it has also given voice to the world's imbeciles.  We must beware, lest they unite, and realize just how strong they could become.  There seem to be, after all, just so darn many of them.