Yeah, so this kid has a 176 I.Q. so what! Can he buy
cigarettes and gin?? Ha!
(Author goes on 72-hour bender)
Alright, I’m back. Sorry, had to get that out of my system.
Gargled a few dozen times with Listerine, but still can’t get that New Car
scent out of my mouth (whomever took advantage of my inebriated state and challenged
me to eat 15 car air fresheners, you’ll get your comeuppance).
Where was I? Oh that’s right, super depressed. I mean, this 6-year-old
kid has an I.Q. higher than Einstein’s. Name any date back to 2000 and he’ll
tell you the day of the week. I, on the other hand, got chicken grease on my
tax forms. At age 6, this kid can recite every U.S. president in the order in
which they served. At age 6 I ate paste.
Why do I keep finding this every time I open my computer in
the morning, more evidence of people and things far more awesome than I? That’s
it, Internet, I now officially deem you “The Depression Box.”
And what does little Pranav want to be when he grows up? An
astronaut. Good. Go ahead and blast off, Pranav. Go up there and lord your
hyper intelligence on interstellar creatures for awhile. I’m going back to
eating paste. Or maybe I’ll open my depression box and watch some Hulu.
photo: The Enquirer
10
Things They Don’t Tell You about Parenting
