Newt’s most recent armpit farts concerning the burdensome poor have reminded me of recent revaluations of intelligence; reappraisals that might, in a just world, threaten to dislodge old bastards from department chairs in the biological sciences.
Once you begin to seriously consider hierarchical 19th century assumptions about race, you begin to wonder if they knew any damned thing. And you’d be right to wonder. And after you’d read some of the crap they wrote, you’d know for certain they didn’t. It’s not unlikely, given the historical record, these mutton-chopped inebriates went around stinking up their century wearing shoes polished with shit. Morally and educationally, they were babes in the woods, armed with maxim guns and a belief that habitually drunk white men were a match for any savage as long as the playing field was harrowed, flattened, bleached, and cleared of superfluous savages who might interfere in the game. Sexually, they were your phys ed instructor/assistant football coach. They were always somewhat off, like an almost forgotten Tallegio in the floorboard of your Chevy Nova, and you knew it, even if your classmates were oblivious. Even when you played along. Sucked up. Hoped it would help your miserable ass find a toehold in the gentle oblivion of the golf course subdivide.

Doesn’t matter anymore. Science is beginning to peel humans away from the existing models of intelligence, or in other words invalidating the excuses for our violently stupid arses.
Functionally, we’re about as intelligent as a goddamned jumping spider, perhaps less.
We can’t fly, and we’re not good at diplomacy: Enter the corvids

I’m just waiting for the paper that demonstrates pillbugs can recognize a grifter through ultraviolet vision.