When I was six, some people gave me a test and then told my parents I was smart. My parents were thrilled. Me, not so much. I thought, hey, that and fourteen bucks will buy you a frappuccino.

I imagine stupid people fantasize about how wonderful it'd be to be smart, but I think it's the other way around. How lovely it'd be to be stupid! I could hit the remote at random and find a good TV show. I could buy a warm meal for just ninety-nine cents.

Being smart, on the other hand, is no picnic. The smart person dodges idiots clustered at the top of escalators, happily chattering away on cellphones. The smart person stands while riding the subway so they don't risk sitting in the drips of the dumb person's Taco Bell. The smart person can't believe half of America thinks George Bush could aspire to anything higher than surfer.

And eventually the smart person thinks, wait: if I'm so smart, how come stupid people are controlling me?

This seems to be an underlying theme in Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, a new show on ABC. Mr. Oliver is the world's most altruistic chef, opening schools to teach underprivileged kids restaurant skills, working with Britain's schools to serve healthier food. Since the U. S. is the fattest nation in the world, it makes sense he'd head here, and in fact he went straight to the fattest city in the fattest state.

The residents, though, were forewarned. The local newspaper published a story in which Mr. Oliver seemed to say they were stupid, and they just about shut him down at the gate. "Why don't you just get lost?" they said. "You think we're dumb."

Now, the average person would reply, "Well, yes, because you are dumb. You know, Einstein never fed his two-hundred-pound four-year-old fried bologna for breakfast and Cheetos for lunch, then said, 'I'm pretty sure that kid's problem is glandular.'"

Last night on David Letterman Ricky Gervais echoed this sentiment. "Some of these people have 60% bodyfat," he said (paraphrased). "That's equivalent to a confectionary. Maybe you should think about eating less when you're chemically identical to a pudding."

Instead, Mr. Oliver's life flashes before his eyes. "Wait," he thinks, "I can't help them if I'm not here." So, he backpedals. "You're all really smart!" he says. "Smart, and attractive, and friendly! And I'm so happy you're letting me visit you!"

Of course, Mr. Oliver doesn't have a choice, unless he wants his show to end during its premiere. But the rest of us watching are dumbfounded. Wait, we think, if we want to help stupid people, we can't say they're stupid? How does that work? It reminds me of those corporations that settle lawsuits without admitting guilt. "Sure," their lawyer says on the courthouse steps, "we paid the residents eighty million dollars, but we still say those clouds that escaped our factory were just harmless, fluffy mist."

We think, can somebody really improve if they don't admit they were wrong?

As the episode ends, it hits us: this is the U. S., in a nutshell. Just as the stupid control Jamie Oliver, the stupid control our government. When we tell them maybe they're a little dumb to believe Fox News, or choose a senatorial candidate based on his centerfold, they rebel. They write up picket signs saying "DOWN WITH THE ELEET!" and put another moron in office. They don't need to get smarter: they outnumber us.

So, I'm curious to see how far Mr. Oliver will get with this Revolution. Can he really educate them? Can he really convince them that they're dying at the age of forty because of their eating habits, and not because Jesus just missed them too much?

We'll see. But me, I'm guessing somewhere around Week Five the futility will hit him, and by Week Seven he'll be eating KFC on the subway and tossing the bones at my feet.