My IQ is 131, and That's The Saddest Thing Ever.
From tickle.com:
Only 6 out of 1,000 people have my rare combination of abilities. Holy Catsmoke, Batman! I'm going to be lonely for the rest of my life! I don't know many people that I can relate to: Chris is good, when we're in sync and such. As is Alan. I can tell something lurks behind Shanti, but he's struggling to cast off everything and just blurt it out - cagey... shrewd, perhaps, and perhaps its not such a bad idea. Let's not forget Niall, too, who's almost there.
I could be sadder. I could exist in post scarcity society. I could be utterly down and out in the magic kingdom. I could, infact, be someone's pet.
More exactly, I could be a house hound on the professional show circuit. I could be forced to recirculate the DNA of my forebears in an incest driven breeding plan, hatched by the befouled mind of middle-upper class dog owners everywhere. The very template of perfection, matching a written description of my breed to the utmost degree - yet so riddled with bad genes passed down from mother to child to grandchild and back to mother, a genetic barbie doll of misproportion. I could, like Bo (a dog on the tv I saw, you aren't expected to know who or what Bo is), suffer from narcalepsy accidentally brought on by successive generations of copying - every time I bark too much, BAM! I lose control of my muscles and fall asleep. All because I'm over excitable and experiencing high emotion.
So messed up was this poor dog Bo, that he could never escape the research lab: he would get half way down the corridor when he escaped, he'd be so excited he'd fall asleep metres away from freedom.
That's a dog's life. It's a warning to myself, that if I manage to succeed my children should be mongrels - mix and match DNA, put into an environment with struggle, and forced to adapt or die. Were I to provide them with everything, my bloodline would devolve and splinter, I'd become a domesticated dynasty.
There's a link between adrenalin and melonin - the domesticated dog has a small brain, and is less agressive. That's because dogs were scavengers, and if you run away when people throw out trash from a settlement, you'll go hungry. So the less likely to run away a dog is, the more food it gets, the easier life is. Soon, nature has selected an animal which is slow, and stupid, and not agressive to succeed: the need for adrenaline dies away.
Melonin controls skin and hair coloration in humans, likewise with dogs. With less adrenaline, colours of all sorts sprang out. That's why cats and dogs come in massive amounts of variety of color: domestication has shaped them.
Once the dogs attached to human society, 5000 years of it saw some really big changes. The good Egyptian hunting dogs are fast and sleek desert animals. They have a longer snout, giant legs, keen eyesight. Design wise, they are perfect. You can bet that hunters didn't breed for these attributes: it would be mind boggling to think that intentional planning made a perfect dog by a bunch of desert farmers barely able to survive.
Instead: a hunting dog's job is to go out and chase something down. The best of the bunch are the quickest - for whatever reason (they have longer legs, or better eyesight). The owner doesn't care. He feeds the dog that does well first, and the others later. The better feeding, the easier it is to get a mate and get it on - passing on the genes.
Through generations, hunting dogs like greyhounds have evolved to be really fast and really slick because it gets them food from their owners. I want to breed greyhounds, not corgies with my descendants.
I better get a move on: with only perhaps three in a thousand women out there with similar attributes to me, and me being an only child, I'm in a race against probability. The O'Connor clan is dying, and I'm the holder of a DNA dynasty.
Shit. Maybe I should settle for someone with a good chew toy and lots of dog food.
Your overall intelligence quotient is the result of a scientifically-tested formula based on how many questions you answered correctly. But it's only part of what we learned about you from your answers on the test. We also determined the way you process information.
How did we determine that your thinking style is that of an Intuitive Investigator? When we examined your test results further, we analyzed how you scored on 8 dimensions of intelligence: spatial, organizational, abstract reasoning, logical, mechanical, verbal, visual and numerical. The 3 dimensions you scored highest on combine to make you an Intuitive Investigator. Only 6 out of 1,000 people have this rare combination of abilities.
The way you think about things makes you an Intuitive Investigator. This means you have multiple talents and can do anything you set your mind to. You're able to detect numerical patterns easily and are able to grasp the true complexity of the world, both in its details and in a more abstract form. You've got a sharp logical mind and are adept at using words to get even a difficult point across. The combination of all these things makes you truly brilliant.
Another test:
This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.
Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.
Only 6 out of 1,000 people have my rare combination of abilities. Holy Catsmoke, Batman! I'm going to be lonely for the rest of my life! I don't know many people that I can relate to: Chris is good, when we're in sync and such. As is Alan. I can tell something lurks behind Shanti, but he's struggling to cast off everything and just blurt it out - cagey... shrewd, perhaps, and perhaps its not such a bad idea. Let's not forget Niall, too, who's almost there.
I could be sadder. I could exist in post scarcity society. I could be utterly down and out in the magic kingdom. I could, infact, be someone's pet.
More exactly, I could be a house hound on the professional show circuit. I could be forced to recirculate the DNA of my forebears in an incest driven breeding plan, hatched by the befouled mind of middle-upper class dog owners everywhere. The very template of perfection, matching a written description of my breed to the utmost degree - yet so riddled with bad genes passed down from mother to child to grandchild and back to mother, a genetic barbie doll of misproportion. I could, like Bo (a dog on the tv I saw, you aren't expected to know who or what Bo is), suffer from narcalepsy accidentally brought on by successive generations of copying - every time I bark too much, BAM! I lose control of my muscles and fall asleep. All because I'm over excitable and experiencing high emotion.
So messed up was this poor dog Bo, that he could never escape the research lab: he would get half way down the corridor when he escaped, he'd be so excited he'd fall asleep metres away from freedom.
That's a dog's life. It's a warning to myself, that if I manage to succeed my children should be mongrels - mix and match DNA, put into an environment with struggle, and forced to adapt or die. Were I to provide them with everything, my bloodline would devolve and splinter, I'd become a domesticated dynasty.
There's a link between adrenalin and melonin - the domesticated dog has a small brain, and is less agressive. That's because dogs were scavengers, and if you run away when people throw out trash from a settlement, you'll go hungry. So the less likely to run away a dog is, the more food it gets, the easier life is. Soon, nature has selected an animal which is slow, and stupid, and not agressive to succeed: the need for adrenaline dies away.
Melonin controls skin and hair coloration in humans, likewise with dogs. With less adrenaline, colours of all sorts sprang out. That's why cats and dogs come in massive amounts of variety of color: domestication has shaped them.
Once the dogs attached to human society, 5000 years of it saw some really big changes. The good Egyptian hunting dogs are fast and sleek desert animals. They have a longer snout, giant legs, keen eyesight. Design wise, they are perfect. You can bet that hunters didn't breed for these attributes: it would be mind boggling to think that intentional planning made a perfect dog by a bunch of desert farmers barely able to survive.
Instead: a hunting dog's job is to go out and chase something down. The best of the bunch are the quickest - for whatever reason (they have longer legs, or better eyesight). The owner doesn't care. He feeds the dog that does well first, and the others later. The better feeding, the easier it is to get a mate and get it on - passing on the genes.
Through generations, hunting dogs like greyhounds have evolved to be really fast and really slick because it gets them food from their owners. I want to breed greyhounds, not corgies with my descendants.
I better get a move on: with only perhaps three in a thousand women out there with similar attributes to me, and me being an only child, I'm in a race against probability. The O'Connor clan is dying, and I'm the holder of a DNA dynasty.
Shit. Maybe I should settle for someone with a good chew toy and lots of dog food.
posted by Dan at 7:25 AM
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