It’s equal parts amusing and sad-making to see people of superior intellect smugly assume themselves to be superior thinkers, despite having never entertained a serious thought. (I’m not a smart person, but I play one on the internet.) I’ve known plenty of smart people, up close and far away, but none who know how to think. (Here’s how you can tell; When someone thinks, they end up where I am. All real thought leads to the destruction of the dreamstate and a straightline outbound trajectory, but super-smart folks seem as happy as their less-endowed herdmates to keep shuffling in small, pointless circles.) My one advantage is that, with the aid of what I’ve since dubbed spiritual autolysis, I learned not only to think, but how to think. By my lights, being a not-smart thinker is much better than being a smart non-thinker. Dolphins may be remarkably intelligent, but if you ask them who’s buried in Grant’s tomb, they just stare at you like they’re waiting for a fish.