BOULDER, Colo. –

Let’s face it — in addition to being wrong, war is noisy, messy and rude.

Everyone seems to despise it, but no one seems to able to stop it.

Well, wait no more, people.

Thanks to years of research, consultation and cogitation, I can state with uttermost certainty that I have uncovered the root causes, and the emancipating solutions, of and to mankind’s atavistic bloodthirst.

Who starts wars? Is it you and/or me, Joe Sixpack, Jane Doe? No.

It’s those pompous, petty, bullying idiots in power, isn’t it? The old maxim that anyone who wants to be in charge, shouldn’t be, is proven in spades here.

For instance, make someone the district marketing manager, and before you know it, he is trying to strike the fear of God into his staff, demanding that competing brands be undercut and forcibly impregnating the spouses of his rivals.

And he probably drives one of those oversized trucks.

Take this up a notch to the geopolitical level and you have Darfur, Iraq, Chechnya, (enter your favorite battle zone here). Big men with little penises are ruining life for the rest of us.

How can we stop them? Here’s some ideas:

Attention:Let’s face it: somewhere along the line, nobody Scotch-taped these embryonic dictators’ crayoned drawings onto the refrigerator, read “Cat in the Hat” to them or tossed them a ball. Those poor little bastards grow up and take it out on the world.

Well, you know what they need?

Their own TV shows. Think of all the freaks out there who slip into a blissful state of self-absorption when a camera and microphone are pointed at them.

I’m talking to you, Trump, Springer, et al.

Give them power — over a studio audience. Let them point their inquisitive infogathering crews at the dingy corners of life. Let them interrogate our modern misfits. Allow them to wage war — on our intelligence.

Ratings, schmatings — I will gladly chip in to keep them on the air until they expire. It keeps them off the streets and out of the tanks.

Aggression:It is a truism that violence can be largely classified as a sublimated sexual urge. In our Puritan culture, “Saw” movies crowd distribution schedules, while the public viewing of the wild comminglings of boo-boos and nay-nays are forbidden.

Ever seen TV in France? It’s the reverse. I turned on a set there once and learned things not even my crazy girlfriend who had her pubic hair shaved into the shape of a lightning bolt knew about.

But I couldn’t find a single car chase, evisceration or gun battle.

This seems to make the French passionate, but not violent.

Now, here’s what we do: mandate man-dates between opposing armies before battle. Once you’ve had a few beers with a guy, gone bowling with him . . . and touched him in his naughty place, you are highly unlikely to blow his head off.

Homophillic? Sure. But I prefer that to reducing him to a red puddle.

Disarmament:Worst-case scenario — the leaders won’t back down. They want combat. Give it to them.

Gym socks filled with horse manure — have at it, boys. (Note: Of course, the manure can’t be poisoned, you can’t hide nails or explosives inside the socks, etc.)

It takes at least 14 hours to beat a man to death with a manure-filled sock.

Trust me, I know.

If you’re that determined to kill someone, they probably deserve it.