On the Benefit of Self-Awareness

I've felt jealousy twice in my life. I take it that's something below the average. Hard to believe, that I could in any way be below average. Almost impossible. I excel at everything, almost. Surely you will have noticed this by now. I mention it only as a courtesy to the new readers who constantly flood in as my internet fame continuously grows exponentially. And even they should be able to pick up on that fact, almost instantly. That's how special I am. So I'm tall, which is the best thing to be. And I'm luminously handsome. But you just knew that. My IQ, there's no need to say, is off the charts. Hmm. I guess that's it.

Which is surely not to imply I'm perfect. That would be absurd. I have a few albeit unimportant imperfections. My personality is pretty unimpressive. I'm socially awkward -- one might even say offensive. I drive people away. No woman will touch me. Um, I'm not a good speller. My personal hygiene is often commented up, unfavorably. But that's jealousy. And there's something else, but it slips my mind. Stack these few minor bothers up against everything else, and they fade into utter oblivion. Only I could be aware of them. But all this is neither here nor there. Did I mention that I'm tall?

Some time ago, to continue the narrative, I felt some odd, some alien motive behind an action. What could it be? Jealousy? Me? It hardly seemed possible. Using that searing capacity for self-examination for which I am justly admired -- oh, that's another item for my list, my catalog of excellences -- I determined that it was not jealousy, but insecurity manifesting as competitiveness. What?!? (I hear you mentally exclaim) Jack H?!? Insecure? Oh say it ain't so! I offer a small, reassuring cybersmile. Have no fear, devoted follower, it was but the aberration of a passing moment. And it had a benefit.

Turning my massive yet lithe intellect to the problem, I inquired of myself -- and who better? -- about the distinction between jealousy and envy. I instantly discerned that jealousy has only to do with people and relationships, whereas envy has to do with things. Jealousy is an emotion about emotions. Envy is about what people have. You can trust me in this, for I am very honest -- yet another virtue. Yes, I know, you never thought of this before. Dear little one, that's what I'm here for. I lead you as one guides a simple child by the hand. Ah, a few more items for my expansive Catalog of Virtues: my compassion, tenderness, and patience and modesty.

Now, in my mind's ear I hear some wisenheimer falsely imagining himself foolishly clever in objecting to that last. Jack H hardly seems modest. Well first, didn't we already agree about how extraordinarily honest I am? Let's not backtrack, old chum -- my time is too valuable, even though yours isn't. You have so much to learn, silly goose. Modesty, as you clearly need explained, is not dishonest, and it does not deny the truth. A modest man, such as myself, is noteworthy for not interjecting his virtues gratuitously into a conversation.

This discussion, however, is centered around my excellence, and thus modesty cannot be a factor. QED. Sorry to burst your little bubble, slick. Nevertheless, if you think you can trap me in some other, less stupid way, go ahead and try. I'm ready for you. More than ready. I'm eager. Here I am, panting with desire for you to come and try to one-up me. What a joke. Yeah little man, I'm talking to you. Think you're all bad. You're bad alright -- bad like not good. Ha! Zing! In comparison to me, you hardly show up at all. The puddle that spit makes. Compared to Niagara. That's me, Niagara. Yeah.

Bethatasitmay, regarding that elusive and short-lived insecurity that I mentioned, I count it as endearing. We might almost say it's a virtue, yet another virtue. Come to think of it, my personality is not at all offensive. What was I thinking? Must have been my modesty. My personality scintillates. It's effervescent. Like a sparkling wine -- heady, fruity, succulent ... by fruity I didn't mean sexually suspect. No, that's not why women won't touch me. God, get your mind out of the gutter. That's called projection, you know, casting your own weird perverted freakiness onto someone else.

And I was just being typically humble when I said that thing about women. They can't keep their hands off me. They really go for tall, handsome masculine viral studs like me. I'm 5'9" and a half. That's very tall. And people often comment on my likeness to Peter Lorre -- a man, a famous movie star renowned for his startling good looks. As for my gigantic brain, well, alright, since you beg so prettily I'll tell you finally. My true and genuine IQ is -- brace yourself -- one hundred -- are you sitting down? -- and six! That's right. One oh my god six. Everybody else's is only a hundred. IQs work logarithmically. So I'm like six times smarter than everyone else. I pity you.

So that about covers it then. If you have any more questions that you can't figure out the answers to but I can, just you go ahead and feel free to pipe up in your squeaky little voice and ask me if I'll dispel some small moiety of your vast overcast of ignorance. Maybe the galactic blaze of my brilliance can evaporate that ocean. But I don't have any more time for the likes of you. One of my chicks is coming over to clean up and make me some toast. I'm too important and busy and stuff to pick up after myself. Don't you wish that was you? So tell me, wiener, which are you, jealous or envious of me? Wrong. Both, obviously. Loser.


J