All over the internet, I notice you churlish cretins lauding the supposedly intellectual television program known as Rick and Morty to make yourselves appear more intelligent by extension, as you are ardent watchers of the aforementioned show. However, you piddling planarians only succeed in illustrating how vapid you really are, as Rick and Morty has the intellectual depth of a petri dish. Truly, the most noetic show is neither Rick and Morty, the Big Bang Theory, Jimmy Neutron, nor any other deluge of drivel you deludable dimwits bombard your brains with. Rather, it is Johnny Test, a pinnacle of animation, sound design, acting, and plot. Despite this, most of you sniveling sub-10000s (someone with an IQ under 10000: for the record, my IQ is several orders of magnitude higher than this; my reason for my usage of this term is simply because I am partial to the number 10000) will dismiss Johnny Test as another subpar piece of rubbish from Teletoon, but you all fail to realize how much genius goes into producing that show. I have watched Johnny Test since I was a juvenile, and already I bear an IQ so toweringly high no known test can measure it (that is to say, no known test for humans can measure it: when using the scale with which computer processing power is evaluated, I clock in at over 8.3 trecentillion yottaflops). I have memorized every facet of human knowledge and only used 32.8% of my potential intelligence (my remaining neurons I allocate towards personal use, research, and wealthy companies for use as server farms and bitcoin mines). Not only that, but I have transformed all of the atoms in my being into a quantum computer to serve as an extension to my enormous encephalon, which handles the menial tasks and other trivialities associated with existence (such as respiration, ingestion, digestion, socializing, et cetera). Capable of perorating proficiently in every method of communication in the world, I have developed my own language that employs a manifold of grammar rules, and I created it all while thrashing a coalition of humanity’s smartest supercomputers in a game of Tic-Tac-Toe (for those who say that Tic-Tac-Toe is “easy,” think about the all the times you’ve played Tic-Tac-Toe: a majority were ties, no? Think about that, and also about the fact that a single, solitary supercomputer, much less over a dozen, is smarter than millions of you combined). And no, you cannot see me type this language because it is purely telepathic. At this point, I can imagine several of you already typing frantically in a fervent effort to keep your egos afloat in the face of such psychological grandeur. That’s right, the collective intelligence of all of you, if we’re using luminosity as an analogy, is akin to a diminutive candle in comparison to the massive quasar that represents my mind. Confronted with this, most of you will attempt to deride me with paltry, nonsensical invective and vitriolic vituperations to protect what minuscule amount of self-esteem you possess. These predictions are not the result of mere intuition, of course. In actuality, I have run several simulations using my brain alone on the possible consequences of my publication of this digital manuscription. My reply to all of you digital detractors is that if you so desire to demonstrate that you are brainier than I, then arrange for an intellectual debate between you and me on a topic of your choosing, any time or place. My schedule is very pliable as I’ve already won over 4 dozen Nobel prizes, so I’m perfectly willing to put a temporary halt to my research, if you could even call it that (I speculate without demur that none of your debate skills will be enough of a problem for me to the point where I will be forced to snap out out of my subconscious simulations to employ the use of those neurons). Besides, I don’t want to be a glory hog and leave none of the secrets of the universe left for unlocking. You know, let the dogs have their day and all of that. I already know that none of you simpletons with your senescent synapses will be able to match up to my vast vernacular and verbiage, my mental dexterity with declension, and my phrenic puissance with my phraseology and pronunciation. In a matter of seconds (or possibly longer, if I’ve overestimated your already positively benthic IQs when running my simulations), you’ll fly into cantankerous conniptions after my consummate trouncing and repudiation of every single one of the “facts” that you hold so dear as proof of your purported intellect. And in response to those who claim, overcome with envy and spite, that as intelligent as I am, I will never sleep with anyone: I don’t need to. I am quite capable of simulating, to the meagerest tactile sensation, every position in the Kama Sutra (as well as a few I myself have devised for maximum oxytocin and endorphin release) simultaneously in a few seconds, and the only reason it takes even that long is because I am prolonging the simulation in order to enjoy the experience: I could do it in hundredths of a millisecond if I so wish. However, for someone with such acute acumen as I, life is far too easy. When pure ennui drives you to calculate the movements of the 27 subatomic particles you’ve discovered and how they interact with one another in the 2,038th dimension using a base 3.2407 quadrillion number system, you realize that the universe and its infinite copies and offshoots offer nothing more to you. Except, that is, for Johnny Test. Even for an individual with such altitudinous IQ such as myself, it’s difficult to understand every single subtle joke and reference. That’s not to say I don’t understand any of the plenitude of allusions, in fact, I am able to comprehend virtually every single one. For example, one minutia most of you would fail to notice is when Susan’s chin moves two extra pixels further than in any of the previous episodes when she talks during the seventeenth second of the fifth minute of season 3 episode 10. Hardly any of you would conceive of the fact that this is a reference to the exact number, down to 84 significant figures, of the percent change in total nitrogen in the Earth’s atmosphere due to the eructation of a small cynodont 257 million years ago. There are more examples I could give, such as the color of the walls of the sisters’ lab being a slightly different hue from the norm in season 4 episode 19 (a reference to the presence of approximately 2.9 millimoles of ammonium diuranate in the ink of a Chinese manuscript dated 1256 BCE), but that would detract from the intended purpose of this writing. Johnny Test is a work of art, a perfect concoction of knowledge from a multitude of academic fields that combine to make a program that is the only form of media I have ever encountered that has been even somewhat laborious for me to fathom, and I’m talking about someone who altered the biochemistry and chirality of their body in order to make it more efficient than the prodigality that is the human body. My temples ache with the pain of having to pump copious amounts of Testium (an element I discovered that takes the role of oxygen in my unique biochemistry, named after my favorite show of course) to my brain in order to comprehend what I have just watched. And to everybody who claims that the reason my temples are sore or why I have “delusions of grandeur” are due to my being “high” or whichever way you aim to construe my exegesis of an episode, you will hear vocalizations of a gelatological nature emanating from my larynx whilst Xyzyzyx the paisley pangolin (a treasured acquaintance of mine) and I reflect on your foolishness later that day. I await the furious fussilade of odious obluquies and belittling bombast in the comments below. “Too long; Did not read”: Did you really think I would include one of these silly little things at the bottom of my witty wordsmithery? It's not my fault if you can't handle my de trop of definitions or my lexical linguipotence! Get back up there and read it, even if you have to go through it with dictionary in hand.