In the final moments before my birthday (in other words just before twelve o'clock last night) somebody half my age told me I was the most intelligent man she knew. It was very nice of her to say so. But wrong. I am adept at projecting an image of professorial confidence, but in all honesty I simply twist conversations towards whatever data-sets I command.
Or I stay silent and listen while others discourse.
That's not intelligence, but finaglement.
I'm a clever sort of dick.
That is all.
In answer to the inevitable questions: I'm not saying, and October 13.
And dammit, I feel old. Now get off my lawn.
Without Aspirin, life would be horrible.
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