Skunk at the Picnic

I am the skunk at the picnic. When my friends engage in intellectual discourse, I am the one who spoils everything. People like to think their positions are solid, their arguments hold water. Their rationale is beyond criticism. I remain quiet until all are finished speaking. Then I take a sip of coffee, a long sip. All eyes are upon me.
Try as I might to be civil, my superior intellect takes over. In a machine gun monotone, I annihilate their specious arguments by pointing to illogical, flawed ideas, inconsistencies and inaccuracies. I chew Fig Newtons while expounding, barely breaking a philosophical sweat. In fifteen minutes I demolish all their cherished concepts. Humiliation is complete. I feel nothing. Not pride, guilt, or shame. I am who I am and do what I do.
I am the skunk.
They had a vote and decided to allow me to continue to attend, but limited me to one Fig Newton. I understand pure jealousy. Brilliance is always persecuted. Ask Jerry Lewis.