Explore "The Marching Morons" by C.M. Kornbluth on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man, of / course, is king. But how about a live wire, a smart / businessman, in a civilization of 100% pure chumps?
Some things had not changed. A potter's wheel was still a potter's wheel and clay was still clay. Efim Hawkins had built his shop near Goose Lake, which had a narrow band of good fat clay and a narrow beach of white sand. He fired three bottle-nosed kilns with willow charcoal from the wood lot. The wood lot was also useful for long walks while the kilns were cooling; if he let himself stay within sight of them, he would open them prematurely, impatient to see how some new shape or glaze had come through the fire, and -- _ping! _ -- the new shape or glaze would be good for nothing but the shard pile back of his slip tanks.