Missed edit window, nooooooooo!!!
Ok, that apostrophe shouldn’t be in my last post. Neither should all the other typos that can be found to prove my low IQ!
No, no, no, no. I’m an expert on what’s wrong with all of liberal society because, after finding some explicit porsnography and then my daddy giving me several books explaining sexual reproduction when, I was a 9-year-old boy, I tried to (and FAILED) to [del]molest[/del] have intercourse with an 8-year-old. Girl, that is.
You’re all just jealous.
Pictures of people snogging?
That or excessive commas.
When I read “I have an IQ of 170” or “I tested off the charts in kindergarten” what I see is “I secretly have really low self-esteem.”
–Vinyl Turnip, who tested off the charts in kindergarten
That would be pretty good on the Kelvin scale - it would be about 295.
And fleas have pretty spectacular penes.
In kindergarten we had to count out loud to 100 and the teacher marked how far we got on a chart. I stopped at 56 to take a breath and she marked 56 and called the next student over. The only person I was higher than was Robert, the kid who ate crayons and still peed himself.
Since that day, I have trained mercilessly by watching spelling bees on fast forward while playing scrabble against myself and reading 17th century French philosophy in the original Greek.
My IQ has gone up by over 200 points, and I can do 20 reps of Heraclitus. All of the ladies look when I go by, and now I’m the biggest brain on the beach, kicking rhetorical sand in the faces of people who are entertained by television. The other day I counted to 100 twice in a row without breathing. I recorded this and sent it to my teacher.
If you send me 10 dollars, I will share my secrets with you, and you too can give yourself the extra sigmas you’ve always felt entitled to but just couldn’t earn.
Somehow this post makes me imagine the imtellectual equivalent of the guy who flexes so hard he rips his shirt sleeves.
Scene: A beach, midday.
Random Goon: kicks sand on ivn1188
ivn1188: Oh yeah? You’re gonna regret. assumes a strained expression, after a few seconds of which his skull splits in half to reveal it can’t contain his ENORMOUS THROBBING BRAIN. He immediately keels over lifeless.
Random Goon: Flees, shrieking like a little girl
Never mind; that was my cholesterol.
Ah yes, the geniuses and experts of the Internet!
I once got sidetracked into a lengthy argument about website security by someone who wanted the site to post in explicit detail its security procedures and host an open discussion of its security vulnerabilities. There was a lot of hacking and cheating in the (gaming) population the site catered to, so security was an issue.
This guy represented himself as a computer security expert for the U. S. military, and insisted that changing passwords frequently weakened security – that changing passwords whenever there’s been an incursion or security incident is bad practice. He wanted us to post publicly why we were changing the passwords each time we did so, and detail our other efforts to track down the violators and secure our site.
Ultimately he would not stop tirelessly arguing that:
- he was smarter and better-trained than the rest of us
- explicitly diagramming our security efforts to the public would make us more secure from attackers, including those reading the site
- changing a password does not improve the security situation even temporarily
I ultimately found it easier to reset an access setting on his user account.
I seem to recall a scene like that in Ren & Stimpy - and if there wasn’t one, there ought to have been. 
My incredible, off-the-charts IQ allowed me to read your mind and get that name. You were sitting a bit funny, which is why the surname is a bit off.
OK, actually, that’s just a coincidence. 
The funny part is that a high IQ is one of the few things that’s actually discernable on the internet. You can claim to have a twelve inch penis and who’s going to be able to call you a liar? But your intelligence is there on display for everyone online to judge.
Coincidentally, I do in fact have a twelve inch penis.
Yeah, but ones floating in a jar of formaldehyde don’t count. 
I have a 12-inch pianist. Goddam that deaf genie.
Be glad you didn’t wish for a twelve inch prick.
That’s actually how I first heard the joke. As told by Tom Waits in 1974.
It’s not like John Dillinger was using it anymore.