Sounds to me like your genes have already been wasted. This isn’t my personal view but rather a thought I had. Please pass no judgement.
no, because it doesn’t work that way. Just because mom is a Nobel laureate and dad is a nuclear physicist doesn’t mean their kid(s) can’t be a fuck-up.
hopefully your definition of “intelligent” isn’t “agrees with what I already think.”
We’d be crediting the formulation of general and special relativity to someone else.
You’re falling into the trap of believing that if Einstein hadn’t done what he did, then no one else would have. And that’s utter nonsense.
Suppose my (putative) child was indeed a genius, but also inherited the (sometimes) crippling depression and anxiety which runs through my family, and takes his/her own life as a teenager? Would it not have been a disservice to them to bring them into existence?
you cannot predict how any particular child of yours may turn out. “Being smart” doesn’t prevent genetic or congenital defects. “Being smart” doesn’t mean you can raise your kid to be a success. That you assume any kid of yours is inherently going to be a “genius” means you really need to re-set your view on life. I recommend a session in the Total Perspective Vortex.
He’s a legend in his own mind.
That it is.
And since nobody else has mentioned it, you have no idea what your IQ is, because you’ve never taken an IQ test. And the fact that you’ve mistaken whatever you did take for an IQ test does not speak well for your actual intelligence.
If you want to further your education, you might look up “narcissism” in a psychology text.
As the world record running speed is under 28 mph and you can go almost 30 will you be competing in Rio?
And that’s only for 15-20 meters at best.
And I’ll mention that benching 140 at 175 bodyweight is far from impressive.
We’ve been over this, Steve; that’s not your breeding, it’s the super-soldier serum.
Statistically, intelligent parents don’t necessarily beget intelligent children. It’s called regression toward the mean.
For us older folks, it’s the bionic limbs. 
So, you’ve said that you want to discuss this as a general idea, and also that you’re able to manipulate anyone who’s not your mom. Which raises the question: did you deliberately manipulate us into discussing the breathtaking hubris that your first post evinces?
If so, then sure, you got us! You may well not be interested in discussing the idea of eugenics as an abstract concept; you may have tricked all of us into expressing our disdain for braggadocio.
If not–if you really wanted to discuss eugenics, but instead got a thread full of posts as close to personal attacks as this forum allows (and maybe over the line, that’s for mods to decide)–then you may want to revisit whether you’re really as skilled at manipulation as you believe.
Edit: and I see that you’ve only posted in this thread, a single post in another thread, and another thread you started two years ago. My general advice–hang out, participate in threads that aren’t about you or by you, show some interest in other topics, so that people will take your posts more seriously–stands.
If this is true, I encourage you to get a vasectomy first thing tomorrow.
Are you Cro-Magnon?
Intelligence is passed along the X chromosome, so your IQ matters much less than the child’s mother and your own mother’s. That’s why genius sperm donors often have only moderately intelligent offspring.
You forgot the 
(Poe’s Law and all that…)
Just so this thread isn’t all about Papertrail, I’ll mention that, as far as I can tell, I’ve been blessed with good genes, and once in a while the idle thought crosses my mind that it’s kind of a shame that (unless my life takes a very expected turn) I won’t be passing them on to anyone else. (Which, according to evolutionary psychology, is the whole point of life, from the perspective of the genes themselves.)
But this has never been more than an idle passing thought.
Being as I am also quite intelligent - more intelligent than other people. And it seems to me the general population is becoming more and more stupid with every passing day. This is the way our world is heading…
You might just be doing your potential kid a favor by not bringing him/her into this world! Frankly it is torture for me to witness such stupidity in this world - I am quite glad I am older.
You meant “of”, right?
And yet you failed to proofread “visuals”.
Do you, for example, review your posts before submitting them?
Heh–I just noticed this. 20,000 words per minute works out to 333 words per second.
Here’s a challenge for anyone curious. Click the spoiler box, give yourself a second to read as much as you can. The whole thing is 333 words long exactly (which is a lovely coincidence–I didn’t intend that when I grabbed the text). If you have an eidetic memory, of course, after reading it for one second you should be able to recite the entire chapter.
Ready? One second. Go!
“TOM!”
No answer.
“TOM!”
No answer.
“What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!”
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for “style,” not service—she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:
“Well, I lay if I get hold of you I’ll—”
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.
“I never did see the beat of that boy!”
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and “jimpson” weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:
“Y-o-u-u TOM!”
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.
“There! I might ‘a’ thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?”
“I don’t know, aunt.”
“Well, I know. It’s jam—that’s what it is. Forty times I’ve said if you didn’t let that jam alone I’d skin you. Hand me that switch.”
The switch hovered in the air—the peril was desperate—
“My! Look behind you, aunt!”
The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over it.