TURNS OUT I'M DUMB AS A BRICK

I'm not sure it's wise to post this, but, what the heck. If we bloggers can't be honest, open and truthful, then we don't deserve to be called, "bloggers." (If that's what we're called. I'm not sure. I'll look it up and get back to you. There may be some new term that hip bloggers use like, "thrashers" or something. So, if that's true, then I'm a Thrasher because that's what all the hip bloggers are calling themselves these days. Actually, I just reread what I've written and it seems I made up Thrashers a few lines earlier as an example of what bloggers could be calling themselves. So, let's just move ahead and I'll check into the matter.)

So, no secrets. Here we go. This is difficult for me. Let me start a new paragraph after this one and continue.

So, now we're in the new paragraph which has given me time to muster up the courage to tell you what I need to tell you. Okay. Well...how 'bout one more paragraph. I'm still feeling uneasy.

Much better. Welcome back. A few nights ago I was on Facebook. I'm new to Facebook. I don't understand Facebook. It sort of reminds me of High School. Nobody wanted to be my friend there either. I need another paragraph.

Here we are at the new paragraph. Problem is, now that I've started the paragraph by stating that we're in a new paragraph, I'm going to need a new paragraph to continue my thought which has nothing to do with being in a new paragraph. So, let's do that.

As I looked at how few friends I actually had on Facebook, my teary eyes focused on the right of the computer screen where an ad enticed me to take an IQ Test. I did. I scored a 28. New paragraph.

A score of 28 means that, theoretically, I shouldn't be able to open a door, let alone feed myself. A score of 28 means that someone in a coma could beat me at chess. 28 means I should never go outside unsupervised, let alone drive my daughter to school.

It is a miracle that I graduated from Loyola Marymount University. I don't know if that reflects more on my pluckish determination, or Loyola Marymount's standards.

That I have made it this far through life with the intelligence of a bed-ridden ferret concerns me. It is clear to me now why my daughter always has our border collie correct her homework. I finally understand why, when her friends come over, she suggests they all go outside and throw the ball for me.

This is a paragraph of no particular importance.

Perhaps some of you have also scored 28. It's too bad that we can't communicate with each other. It would be difficult through all the drool and spittle. And if we could communicate, what would we say anyway? Oooo0hjrhfhghjgjgjgp! Blahhidihfi. I suppose if you came over my daughter would throw the ball for us. But you'd have to get someone to bring you over. It just wouldn't work out.

I have an IQ of 28. At least I found a career I could thrive in. Animation.