The World's Smartest Man

Imagine the world's smartest man. Nothing surprises him, as he anticipates it in advance. He calculates, correctly, the end result of all things. No joke is funny to him, as he sees the punchline coming far before it's delivered. At a party, in a group conversation, when someone utters what they think is a rather novel and witty commentary on life such as it is, creating wide-eyed ooh's and aaah's and chuckles from the rest of the group, the world's smartest man remains mute, staring blankly, for he had already considered this person's epic pronouncement long ago and abandoned it in favor of something that rang more true. Another, trying to be clever, uses a double entendre, and the group smiles knowingly, smiles because they noticed it, smiles because they were clever enough to notice the cleverness, but the world's smartest man's expression remains unchanged. The group, noticing, proceeds to look at him oddly, and the deliverer of the witticism takes it upon herself to explain what she thinks he has missed. But it was not missed - he had seen it coming, and when stated, his mind simply logged his prediction as confirmed.

And so the irony of it all is, that in the end, to everyone else, the world's smartest man appears stupid.

(and though I am *not* the world's smartest man, I am smart enough to anticipate that you, precious reader, may think this to be autobiographical, but in fact, it is only *partially* so. It was a story idea I got while waiting in traffic on the San Mateo Bridge Saturday afternoon. I am also smart enough to know that some of you would revise the final sentence to add "and arrogant"!)