Say goodbye to a simple man 

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And, because there's an equal and opposite reaction to every action in the physical realm, so too must there be a psychic yin to the yang of idiotic bliss in the Jungian realm of the collective unconscious. As such, the most miserable people on earth are also the smartest. See: George Bernard Shaw, David Foster, Wallace or any other tortured, intelligent artist prone to obsessive over-thinking.

I, too, am plagued by similar intellectual despair from time to time. As you have all undoubtedly realized from this dazzling dissertation set before you, I am exceedingly intelligent. Smarter than you, in fact. So much so that I have trouble absconding my own head and am forever caught in an inescapable web of such profound intelligence that I've never managed to capitalize on my equally exquisite beauty.

I've been overthinking every decision I've ever made and plagued by self-consciousness that I'm fairly certain is a non-issue for my pea-brained brethren. I enter a room and while everyone stops to take my picture, I must flee for fear that my inner torment shall intellectualize itself and appear as a ghastly black cloud above the room, raining smelly tar upon the crowd!

This, of course, is no way to live. I'd rather be dumb.

Overthinking, you see, is the bane of the intelligent. True happiness exists in the moments where all critical thought — all that pesky negative energy directed either inward or outward — is suspended. Bliss emerges as such. Should these thoughts NEVER exist at all and happiness will be eternal.

And so, by virtue of being profoundly stupid, a critical thought will never enter your dumb-but-pretty head and so bliss will be your constant companion. Add to the package an exquisite face stretched over your uncannily thick skull and you're in the running for Best Life Ever.

Too much emphasis has been placed on intelligence. Intelligence is, like, totes overrated. We're better off all being like David Beckham, who has squinted dimly from one million-dollar modelling contract to the next. Or better yet, we'd be better off never having progressed past the caveman stage of our evolution. Everyone was a lot happier then, staring oafishly into the fire eating the wildebeest they'd hunted just two hours previous, and afterward clubbing their lovers as an impressionable act of foreplay. I know all of this because I'm smart.

Of course, everyone was much, much uglier back then, with the square jaws, giant foreheads and saggy, hairy breasts. I guess we'd all be dumb and repulsive had it stayed that way...

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