Brains of a turnip

I used to get really annoyed at basic math, which is to say that I had all the mathematical genius of a lint ball. I had no interest in calculating the square root of 13 or cross multiplying. Oddly, I excelled at figuring out what time a train would reach the station if it ran over two tractors and a moose in Saskatchewan. (No moose were harmed in the making of this story problem).

I always thought that I excelled at English, until today. I made the mistake of trying my hand at an intelligence test involving word pattern recognition. WARNING: Please read on before you click on the above link if you want to salvage any self-esteem.

My assumption should have been flawless. For those of you who prefer math, you can break it down into an equation: words + genius = writer, ergo (note the fancy word) since I’m a writer, I’m also a genius.

Do I not have excellent spelling, grammar, and punctuation? Am I not endowed with an extensive vocabulary, which includes words like endowed and extensive?

On this test, you only have to get one question out of thirty-three correct to be average. You need at least six to be somewhat intelligent. After several hours … well, let’s just call it a very long senior moment on my part and leave it at that.

So does it really matter if we know our IQ, or if we can remember what “IQ” stands for? Does anyone really care what time some hypothetical train reaches the station? I think not. I figure if I can remember to zip my fly after using the bathroom, I’m doing OK.

Humans only use 10% of their brains, so I figure if some brain cells spontaneously combust from this intelligence test, I still have plenty left over. Maybe some of them can figure out what 191 U N M S means.