On the RAMU last night, I was amazed to discover that there are people who haven’t seen the 2006 movie Idiocracy. Here are the first couple of minutes which, in opinion, is the best part.
Two years before the movie was released, I published my own, much less funny, study, “Global IQ: 1950–2050”, which, based upon U.S. Census Bureau population forecasts for 185 countries around the globe and the IQ measurements and estimates from Lynn and Vanhanen’s IQ and the Wealth of Nations, estimated the mean global IQ at yearly intervals between 1950 and 2050. In short, in 1950 the world had a population of around 2.55 billion with a mean IQ of 91.64. By 2000, population had increased to 6.07 billion with a mean IQ of 89.20. By 2050, the forecast is 9.06 billion and an IQ of 86.32.
There is a great deal of uncertainty and possible quibbles with any analysis of this kind. I discuss many of these issues in the document, which provides links to primary data sources.
One thing to think about when contemplating this trend and the élites’ notion of “global governance” is that I can find no evidence for sustained consensual self-government in populations with mean IQ less than 90.
As Sarah walked from the diner’s serving room to the kitchen, she knew two things: her blood pressure had already begun to rise, and that it was only a matter of time before her latest customer began screaming like a psychopath. Sadly, it was a routine that they had all become used to.
She really used to love her job. The extra cash she earned from picking up an odd late night shift at the Heartland Diner in D.C. helped her keep her family’s heads above water. The diner’s customers, for the most part, were regular folks who occasionally passed through town: friendly, honest, polite, good tippers. The D.C. locals, however, felt that the Heartland’s ambiance was a bit too low-rent for their refined tastes, and that was fine by Sarah. She really did used to love her job. But then he started coming in.
And whenever he did come in, Sarah and the rest of the Heartland crew knew that all they could do was play along – that and get the hell out of the way. No matter how crazy he got, they knew that no cop in D.C. was going to come down and tell the most powerful man in America, and he was the most powerful man in America, to knock it the hell off.
So, tonight, as on previous nights, Sarah and the crew watched nervously from the kitchen doors and waited for the most powerful man in America to finally leave.
Robert Mueller sat alone in a corner booth. Across from him, placed as if it was intended for an absent guest, was the dinner he had ordered – his usual. The left corner of his upper lip began twitching into a barely subdued, reflexive snarl as he stared down his quarry – a lonely sandwich on a plate on the other side of the table.
This went on for many minutes.
Finally, Mueller reached down beside him and produced a manila folder. He opened it and placed it down on the table in front of him. The document inside was oriented print side up and upside-down, so the sandwich could read it. He then reached into his jacket pocket.
Carlos the line cook, not looking away, whispered to Sarah in disbelief, “Jesus! He brought the packets again!” But before Sarah could answer, Mueller, instead of a packet, pulled a pen out of his pocket.
He laid that pen on the document. And then, using two fingers, slowly pushed the folder, document, and pen over to the sandwich.
There was a long pause. At last, with his patience nearing its end, Mueller whispered menacingly, “don’t make me send Weissmann to your house…”
The ham sandwich, however, remained steadfastly uncooperative.
Mueller’s back began to stiffen and Carlos again whispered in horrified yet amused anticipation, “He’s going for the packets! He’s going for the packets!”
Mueller leaped from the booth, ripped the top slice of bread off of the sandwich, jammed a hand into his jacket, pulled out two condiment packets, tore them open, shot the Russian Dressing contents onto the sandwich, threw the empty packets onto the floor, slammed the discarded slice of bread back on top of the sandwich, and began screaming, “You’re dirty and you know it! You’re all dirty, goddamnit! Now, sign ze papers! Sign ze goddamned papers!”
This also went on for many minutes.
And so, another night passed at the Heartland with Robert Mueller raving at a dinner plate. And as Sarah stood there, watching from the kitchen, she thought about her bills, her high blood pressure, her husband’s diabetes, the ridiculous excuse for health insurance that they were mandated to buy, the second jobs that they both must now work despite welcome relief from the latest tax cut – and she sincerely wished that there was some way that she could make the rest of D.C. understand just how the Heartland really sees them.
10 Cents and I were discussing light bulbs on the late night phone call. And it brought to mind an old piece of text explaining why we should not call them light bulbs, but rather “dark suckers”. I have not the time to convert this old text to incorporate the newer LED type of dark suckers, but here it is in the older format.
I can’t believe that a “bad” commercial gets branded as “racist”. The ad was supposed to be playful and mixing the Italian and Chinese culture but people had to see things in it that were never there. Now Dolce and Gabbana is in deep kimchi. Chinese are banning their brand.
Does anyone know what happened to the humor gene? Has it mutated out? Has nurture trumped nature?
I read this article and thought about the Hood Canal Floating Bridge. It opened in 1961 until it was known as the Hood Canal Floating Bridge in 1979. In Russia the PD-30, 330 meter floating drydock is now the PD-30, 330 meter floating drydock wetdock.
Can you think of other misnamed things? Here’s one the Affordable Care Act.
In the 1967 Star Trek episode “The Trouble with Tribbles” Dr McCoy discovers “Well, the nearest thing I can figure out is that they’re born pregnant—which seems to be quite a time-saver.”
I always thought this was one of the funniest lines in the episode. It couldn’t really happen, though, could it?
This is a mite of the genus Adactylidium. It’s a lot smaller, and less furry and lovable than a tribble, but it’s essentially born pregnant. The mite is a parasite which feeds on the eggs of tiny insects called thrips. The female eats the egg and develops five to eight female offspring and one male in her body. The male impregnates the unborn females, who then eat their way out of the mother’s body. They then seek new eggs upon which to feed. The male neither feeds nor seeks new mates and dies after a few hours. The females who are successful in finding a thrips egg live for about four days, when they are eaten alive by their own offspring.
Regarding John’s recent post about daylight saving time, I did some more research and found an image from last year. It shows the unusual effort necessary to accomplish this task in some areas. I don’t doubt the same thing will happen again this year.
Remember a few weeks ago when the big splash was announced that Bill & Hill were going on a speaking tour? it was called “An Evening with President Bill Clinton and former Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton.” Just out of curiosity I googled it – it was being produced by a company called “Live Nation” and the first date was Nov. 18 in Las Vegas. I went to the site and –