A promise is a promise... Or is it?

This post exists purely due to my wanting at least one post a month. Since it is 9:40 P.M. on August 30, I am well within the buffer zone.

I'm quite sure that it will come as no surprise that my I.Q. is well above the average. How much you ask? Well, perhaps one day you'll be as smart as me and therefore able to comprehend numbers greater than 7. You're still asking? You obnoxious git. That's no way to treat your obviously superior future leader/genocidal king/retail manager. So when you shuffle into a clothing store of the future, ask for some knitwear and are unable to be alive due to having a somewhat stubborn predisposition of mediocrity, we'll see who the real "delusional invalid" is, won't we? Wait, you're still asking the specific amount of points by which my I.Q. is above-average? Whatever, my I.Q. is 132.

Now, your small-brained head may be questioning (with limited understanding of the very words you murder) the validity of my score. I'll have you know that the test was judged by a top board of scholars. The flashing banner ad said so, just under its many asterisks and conditions that I needn't molest my valuable time with. Only plebeians use written words. In my new world order, we will all make use of a complex system of blinks that I myself have conceived. I am merely engaging in such a simplistic medium for the benefit of this readership. That's right, Enrique, that means you.

At the conclusion of this test (I like to call it "THE TEST!" because as everyone knows, capitals make it true; henceforth, the test shall be referred to as THE TEST!), I was prompted to celebrate by entering my bank details into the text box next to the Flash frog. I am still awaiting my novelty cheque.

So, may you all bask in my glowing glory glow from down in the gutter (specially-built for dullards) as copies of THE TEST! are dropped from monkey-piloted space-craft, designed by me and my crack team of French supermodels.

So yeah, this is simply me fulfilling my promise to myself that I would provide one post per month, at the very least. No-one cares except my one fan: that strange Spanish man who has begun to send me emails about the mould in his house and how much it looks like Jesus. Brilliant.