Man, am I growing weary of idiots.

Which ones? Let’s start with the pretty people behind “Ballerina Farm,” i.e. the stage set for Hannah and Daniel Neeleman, who have made a career out of, first, being trust funders (him) and later, online influencers, a combination that should make everyone with three working brain cells reel in terror. Why are they idiots? Well…

According to a new report from KPCW, shortly after the Neelemans opened their farm stand, the farm’s raw milk failed two safety tests. KPCW reviewed records from the Utah Department of Agriculture and Food and found that samples tested in May and June had high levels of coliform, the family of bacteria that includes E. coli.

Yes, the Neelemans, Bobby Brainworm and the co-editor of The Detroit News editorial page are all on the raw-milk bandwagon. And now the Neelemans have discovered what everyone who deals with dairy cows in any capacity learns within 24 hours of putting one in your pasture or barn: They are literal shit machines, and it gets on everything.

We’re all shit machines, of course. But I think it was Jim Harrison who quipped that cattle are a machine that turns grass into shit, and a lot of it. Raw-milk aficionados like to talk about how clean and well-cared-for the cows that produce their raw milk are, but I’ve never seen one that doesn’t produce pounds and pounds of poop, around the clock. What’s more, it’s wet and splattery. About the only good thing you can say about cow shit is that it doesn’t smell bad. But I’ve spent time in lots of barns, and the only one I’ve seen that was surprisingly clean was Select Sires, an outfit in Plain City, Ohio, where bovine sires live out their days being jacked off by people for the purpose of selling their semen. Honestly, the place was immaculate. I imagine they have staff who do nothing but wait for a tail to lift, then dash over with a shovel to catch it as it comes out.

Simply washing an udder before milking is not enough to combat a typical dairy barn’s germ array.

Get this quote, from Mr. Ballerina:

“Producing raw milk takes careful planning from a facility and infrastructure standpoint,” Daniel Neeleman said in a statement to The Cut. “Unfortunately, we learned this after the fact.”

You’d think someone intending to go into selling dairy products would learn it before the fact, but when you’ve got 10 million followers, and they hang on your every post, why bother?

So that’s idiot batch #1. Here’s #2:

From her roughly $50,000 annual salary as a data processor in San Diego, (Kiely) Reedy, 34, spends at least $200 to $300 a week on food delivery. Ordering in has eaten away at her savings, she said, and led her to socialize less. She tips generously, but worries that the delivery drivers are poorly paid.

“I feel reliant upon it,” she said, “but guilt for using it.”

Food delivery, which skyrocketed during the pandemic as a practical necessity, has become even more entrenched in the years since as a convenience, an everyday alternative to cooking or eating out. DoorDash is now a verb. And the new delivery economy is transforming the way Americans live — reshaping budgets, mealtimes and social habits.

Fifty thousand dollars isn’t a very big salary, especially in San Diego, but Reedy estimates she spends close to a grand a month on takeout? And not fancy takeout, either, but stuff like spaghetti with marinara sauce, a meal she could easily make at home with two pots, running water and the initiative to go to a grocery and buy a pound of pasta and a jar of Prego.

I shared this with some friends on a text chain earlier this week. Said one: “I hate everyone in this story.”

We don’t eat out much, but among my rituals on a self-care Saturday is to take myself out to breakfast at a Detroit Coney Island, all alone, and spend the 40 minutes or so letting someone else cook my eggs and pour my coffee while I read the news. I’m often astonished by the pile of styrofoam go-boxes on the counter, awaiting some delivery person’s pickup. Diner food has a shelf life maybe 40 seconds longer than fast food; imagine ordering McDonald’s or an omelet and then waiting 20 or 30 minutes past plating to actually eat it. We visited Toronto a few years ago, and starting around noon the bike lanes would be full of brown men pedaling away with giant cooler-boxes worn backpack-style. I thought then, and I think now: Thank you, mom, for teaching me how to make a sandwich.

I know, I know — that’s the privilege talking, and I don’t understand how hard people have to work now, and how cooking is a luxury now, and I get it. But if you’re impacting your own savings to afford mediocre delivery chow, I recommend you consider another line of work.

Maybe open a dairy farm, and sell raw milk.

Happy Wednesday, and a reminder that one member of the entrepreneurial class who gave us all of the above, influencing and social media and the gig economy, among other terrors, is today in the process of driving the Washington Post into a ditch. Move fast, break things, etc.