Once upon a time (circa 1999,) there lived a midget by the name of Turtle. Turtle the midget was a crack dealer. Turtle sold crack to people from many walks of life, but his best customers were three college professors at M.I.T..
One day, the three professors from M.I.T. called Turtle, “Turtle,” they said, “we would really like to buy some crack from you today so that we can do our equations at light speed.”
“Okay,” said Turtle the midget, “but, I am out of crack at the moment. As soon as I can meet up with my distributor, I’ll make sure that you’re my first stop.”
“You better,” the M.I.T. professors told him, “or you’ll be as dead as the flat Earth concept.”
“Take it easy, yo.” Turtle replied, “Have I ever let you down before?”
“Of course not.” the M.I.T. professors answered, “The mere thought that one might fuck with the M.I.T. staff is as ridiculous as one believing that the sun orbits the Earth.”
Turtle immediately called his brother, Fish Head (also a midget,) his distributor. But, his nephew, Stinky (yet another midget, apparently it runs in the family,) answered the phone. Stinky told Turtle that Fish Head was still in South America securing the goods. This worried the diminutive dealer immensely. “No ones ever messed with the M.I.T. professors before. It’s common knowledge that they are bloodthirsty bastards!” Turtle thought to himself , “What am I going to do?” Turtle slumped down into a corner and began weeping like a little bitch when he noticed that his leaky roof had caused his wall to warp.
“I know!” the pint-sized pusher exclaimed, “I’ll bring them some chunks of sheetrock and split before they get high! And as soon as I see Fish Head, I can bring them the real thing and a little extra to make up for the switcheroo!” With that, the kinder candyman grabbed some sheetrock and set off to swindle the three M.I.T. professors.
When the hip-high hustler made the drop-off and tried to scram, the three M.I.T. professors insisted that he stay and witness the greatest moment in the history of quantum physics. No matter how Turtle resisted, it became increasingly clear that he wasn’t going to get away. So, Turtle the midget accepted his fate and braced himself for death.
It didn’t take long for the three greatest minds at M.I.T. to figure out that the crack that they attempted to smoke was not crack. “I don’t believe that this crack is crack!” Said one. “I think that revenge would be the proper course of action at this juncture.” Said another. And the third looked at Turtle and said, “Prepare to die, you runty rip-off artist!” Turtle covered his eyes, awaiting the hail of bullets that he was sure would come. But, when nothing happened he opened his eyes and saw no guns.
The first M.I.T. professor tried to kill Turtle with a series of equations, each more difficult than the last. He wrote and erased, wrote and erased, wrote and erased until he was blue in the face. But, still, Turtle stood unharmed. The professor repeated the process again and again, until finally he collapsed, a sad, broken man.
“Where my colleague has failed,” said the second professor, “I shall succeed!” With a speed that defied logic, he constructed a magnificent rocket. He began the launching sequence and said, “This shall be your end, you mischievous midget!” It was a glorious sight as the rocket launched, but, as we all know, rockets only go straight up. There was a sparkle in the sky and the rocket was gone forever. Turtle shot a puzzled look at the professor in time to see him collapse from exhaustion.
“Now you’ll get what you have coming, you devilish dwarf!” Screamed the third M.I.T. professor, “I have created killer robot! A brilliant thinking machine smarter and faster than anything on Earth!” He turned the robot on and immediately it began thinking.
“After a millisecond of careful thought,” the death machine explained to everyone, “I have decided that my purpose is flawed. Life is a precious thing which should not be wasted.” And, with that said, the third professor collapsed. The robot, the most advanced thinking machine ever built, flew away to join a Buddhist monastery.
Turtle, the crotch-high crack dealer, wiped the sweat from his brow and ran as fast as his squatty legs could carry him. You see, although they were the most brilliant minds on the planet, the three M.I.T. professors could not manage to kill a lone, tiny, drug dealer.

And the moral of the story is:
Just because you’re a genius, doesn’t make you a smart guy.