When I was young and the internet was even younger, I decided to test my IQ.
On a free day I searched for a reliable-looking online IQ test. I found a good one. It would take an hour to complete and was approved by some psychological society or other. I poured some coffee (surely that’s not cheating), prepared some snacks, pissed, and plunged right in.
A stressful hour of manipulating blocks and identifying patterns later, my cutting-edge Pentium II with dial-up modem displayed the results.
“Your IQ is around 107. You may fall into the category of High Average.”
What a load of rubbish. I’m so clever I don’t even listen to popular music. I’m bored by superhero movies. Even Spiderman! 107 put me dangerously close to the Underclass. I looked around for a more reliable test.
The next one was also accredited with some organization or another. It took longer, but that was okay because I was determined to show how very brainy I was. The test was easier. I’d gotten used to the pattern-recognition questions and I had learnt to skip tricky questions in order to spend more time on the easier ones. That right there is a sign of intelligence, is it not.
An hour and twenty minutes later, the results:
“Your IQ is around 113. You may fall into the category of High Intelligence.”
That’s sounding a bit better. Still, I was disappointingly stuck on the tall nipple of the tit curve. Surely I could slide down the right-hand hill and join the scientists, billionaires and marketing gurus in their exclusive, smoke-filled club houses. Searching again, I found a test that looked really good. It had no time limit, allowing me to pain over each question for quite as long as I liked. That was good for me because I think on my feet about as deftly as a guinea fowl. I settled myself down for a third attempt.
Did I cheat? I can’t remember clearly. Is it cheating to just check an answer in a dictionary, out of curiosity, promising oneself not to change the original answer if proved wrong? Or to confirm a small detail online? Perhaps I didn’t do that. It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I would do. I would have only been cheating myself.
An hour and forty minutes later:
“Your IQ is around 130. You may fall into the category of Superior Intelligence.”
Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know. I shut down the computer and never took an IQ test again.
Realistically, I’m a little above average. That’s pretty depressing because average people are retarded.
Average people care about what the Kardashians do and know who the Kardashians are. Average people think that the news is real. They watch football. They don’t read the great big books that I read. They’ve never lain awake at night agonizing over epistemological uncertainty. They travel to Bali and Ibiza. They speak only one language unless they grew up with another. They live in their own, tiny world, recoiling from the unfamiliar. They’ve never even fucked a Desi just to see what it’s like. Average people are ignorant, uncurious fools who make the world like it is. I hate average people. My narcissism demands that I be separated from them by an unassailable margin.
Yet here I am, not possessing a great fortune and lacking business ideas for building one. I have a moderate career without significant accomplishments to my name. I just misspelled ‘accomplishments’ and had to correct it. The average of the first two tests may be about right.
At least I have a massive cock.
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