The Manifesto
Full Sermon
When the Emperor was wearing no clothes — it wasn’t the kings, the priests, or the scholars who spoke up. It was a kid. And if you looked closely, you’d see what was on his head: a DumbCap.
Because that’s who we are. The back row. The whisper that turns into a laugh that turns into the truth. The voice that doesn’t bow, doesn’t beg. Just points and says, “Hey… isn’t that guy naked?”
That’s the secret of the world: everything is naked. Everything is dumb.
Golf? Dumb. You pay a small fortune to wear a polo and chase a ball while pretending it’s high art. You spend half the day looking for the ball you just hit, then pay extra for a cart so you don’t have to walk. Whisper like you’re in church, clap like you’re at a piano recital, and call it “a gentleman’s game.” Dumb.
Baseball? Dumb. Long naps interrupted by men in pajamas playing catch. Hot dogs that cost as much as a steak, standing for an anthem like it changes the score, and fans who think yelling at umpires through chain link fences is a spiritual calling. Even dumber? The youth leagues. Paying thousands so you can give up every weekend sitting in fold-out chairs on dusty fields. Watching the coach’s kid get a new bat and free pass to shortstop — mullet flowing like it’s the family crest. Dumb.
Politics? Dumb. A costume party of emperors with no clothes, promising parades that lead nowhere. Yelling matches disguised as debates. Lawn signs that never changed a single mind. Dumb.
Work? Dumb. Traffic jams to open a laptop you could’ve opened at home. Meetings about meetings. Bosses saying “we’re a family” right before layoffs. Dumb.
School? Dumb. Memorizing dates you’ll forget, proofs you’ll never use, group projects carried by one kid. Paying mortgage-sized tuition to be told “follow your passion” by professors who’ve never left campus. Dumb.
Social media? Dumb. Strangers fighting in comment sections. Adults pointing cameras at their faces and calling it “content.” Filters that make you look like an alien, apps that convince you to scroll until your thumb cramps. Dumb.
The news? Dumb. A 24-hour loop of fear and outrage. Panels in suits yelling about problems they’ll never solve. Dumb.
Love songs? Dumb. Forever promises written by people who didn’t make it through the tour. Heartbreak ballads for someone forgotten before the album dropped. Dumb.
And yet — here’s the truth: we love it all anyway. That’s why we laugh. That’s why we wear the hat. Because everything we obsess over, everything we take too seriously, is just human nonsense in disguise. Dumb. Beautiful. Necessary.
That’s why DumbCap exists. Not to tear it down, but to laugh at it. To love it more because we refuse to lie about it. To take the sacred cows and doodle on them until they look like what they are: silly, strange, beautiful nonsense.
We are the kids in the back, noticing the lesson plan is theater. We don’t have the loudest voices, but when we point out the obvious, it echoes. Everyone already knows — they just need someone dumb enough to say it.
That’s Dummy. That’s me. That’s this hat.
History is written by the winners.
Truth is shouted by the kids in the back, wearing DumbCaps.
So wear one. To the golf course. To the stadium. To the office. To the voting booth. To the dinner table.
Wear it because pretending otherwise is exhausting.
Wear it because laughter is lighter than worship.
Wear it because when the Emperor walks by, someone’s got to say, “This whole thing is dumb.”
Everything is Dumb. That’s the joke. That’s the philosophy. That’s the brand.
Signed,
Dummy