Cats are smarter than dogs. It’s a scientific fact. That’s why dogs are so much more fun. Cats are smart enough to know they’re being imprisoned in your home, so they mostly mope around. “Oh, you put food in my bowl? Maybe I’ll get around to eating it, if I feel like it.” Dogs are dumb and treat every meal like the greatest event in history. One of these reactions is fun. The other is not.
The same is true for people. Stupid people are more fun than smart people. Sure, Stephen Hawking is interesting, but he’s not tearing up the dance floor at Stargate. He’s not sneaking a backpack full of Four Loko into Coachella. Hawking doesn’t bang chicks without a rubber and a solid game plan. Hawking doesn’t spray paint huge dongs on billboards. At least not that we know of.
Long story short: The dumber you are, the easier it is to have fun. If you don’t believe me, ask your good friend alcohol. It’s designed specifically for that purpose. Beyond booze, intelligence is a trade-off: You can have these extra brain cells, but you also have to take these inhibitions.
Pop culture follows the same rules. Do you know who watches PBS documentaries? You and some old lady who died in her recliner last week but hasn’t started to reek yet. Do you know who watches Keeping Up With the Kardashians and The Real Housewives of New Jersey? EVERYONE ON THE PLANET, including that dead old lady who hasn’t been found by relatives yet. She liked Kim’s booty. She liked the physics of it, the math involved in the curves.
Of course, there’s a downside to the dumb & fun crowd. Once these people hit 40 or so, they become old like the rest of us, and aren’t able to be wild and crazy anymore. They either become just plain crazy like the homeless people shouting about how politicians are lizard people, or they sit at home being stupid 24 hours per day, annoying the hell out of whoever was unfortunate enough to marry them.
We all reach this great crossroad at some point in our lives. We’re spacing out while stuck in traffic or taking a long shower, and we strategize. Should we go for a smart, unhip person who’s interesting but a huge buzzkill, or marry a fun imbecile who thinks being able to pee their name in the snow is a talent worthy of being listed on their resume?
Most people aim for the middle. Someone just dumb enough to be fun, but smart enough to hold a decent conversation. They don’t have to get “they’re” and “their” correct, but they do have to occasionally read a book. They don’t have to be the life of the party, but they do have to be invited to it. Or crash it. Or make up for their lack of coolness by having unusually large genitalia.
Others take a more procrastination-based approach. Instead of rolling the dice on a significant other when they’re in their 20s, they stay single and have fun until they’re 35 or 40 years old. Then they marry someone ugly and interesting, because by 40 years of age, almost everyone is bald, fat, wrinkly, or just generally fugly. In terms of physical standards, there are no real bad choices at that age.  We’ll all be ugly sometime. You might as well wait until everyone gets there before taking the plunge into the vast pool of forever that is marriage. Sometimes this strategy works for people. Other times they end up owning a lot of cats.
If you’re the adventurous type, there are more unorthodox choices available. For instance, you could ask your parents to set up an arranged marriage. Sure, the fact that you’re 35 might make that a bit awkward, but if you’re that old and still can’t choose someone, you’re probably too picky to do it yourself anyway. Let your mom do what you can’t. If you end up not liking the person, you can do what your mom did and just become a drunk.
You could also steal a mannequin from a department store and name it Maurice, but options like this are probably better kept to yourself.
Japanese body pillows! That’s a thing! Again, most people would consider this an option better left unsaid, but let’s not leave anything off the table. There are no judgments here, other than me silently judging you for fucking a pillow.
There’s one other option, but your parents won’t like it. You could just stay single forever. It’s kind of like winning the lottery. You have all this money to spend, you can do whatever you want all the time, and you never have to get dragged to an Adam Sandler/Drew Barrymore movie again. The downside is that your parents will assume you’re gay, but it’s 2014 and that sort of thing is pretty hip now, so just take it as a compliment.
Is dumb and fun overrated? Maybe. Is it possible to find someone who is fun, smart, AND has unusually large… assets? Maybe. Does your body pillow of Haruhi Suzumiya have feelings and get sad when you leave on business trips? DEFINITELY. The crossroads, dear reader. It will all be decided at the crossroads.
That, or you’ll die in a fire. Or get hit by a bus. Or you’ll kiss Art Garfunkel and turn into a unicorn. Either way, you’re stuck with it for life, so don’t screw it up.