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Newton. Immortal. I’m thinking, why? What was Isaac doing? Nothing. Zippo. He wasn’t talking every Kardashian alive into retirement. Didn’t exile candidate Anthony Wormer to Elba. Not even the one who made Meg Ryan’s signature haircut.

This guy was doing zero for mankind. Not hauling his wife’s bras to the laundromat. Not tinkering with his iPad. Nothing constructive like RSVPing another Hamptons party.

Just sitting around when an apple plopped on him. Big effing deal. Things fall on me all the time. But do I call a news conference? Make some speech about gravity because some stupid piece of fruit flopped down instead of up? No. I do the only smart thing. I eat the apple. I bet he ran home, told the wife, who was so excited she said: “Nice. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Take the garbage out.”

What is that extra chromosome that signals genius?

Like, imagine for instance, the dude who kicked smoking because of Medicine Man Bloomberg. In his man cave, he’s huddled bored. Having already TiVo’d every “Dancing With the Lunks” since Randy Jackson’s bar mitzvah, he’s restless, Tobacco Addict’s cigaretteless fingers are nervously twitching a piece of wire. Result? A clothes hanger.

If not for this two-pack-a-day guy’s stained hands, our drawers would hang on a nail. Yet, who’s grateful for him? No official remembrance like Mother’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Bastille Day. Forget a whole 24 hours in his honor. Just a morning.

Shouldn’t some group, hunting something to picket for, thump to remember him on — say — Hanger Morning?Doesn’t even have to be a whole day.

There’s his friend. Also unbusy. Passing the hours cracking his knuckles over a large mess of papers on the floor. Under them is a discarded piece of wire. Can’t reinvent a hanger. That’s already been done . . . so . . . ta-da! Paper clip.

Before Sheryl Sandberg co-wrote her book, womankind were the creative geniuses doing the heavy lifting.

1903. Nobel Prize in physics. Let civilization never forget Pierre Curie’s missus. She was cooking something. Quenelles, no. Omelette, no. Cassoulet, uh-uh. The husband could run down for his own takeout onion soup for all Marie cared. Mme. Curie was dishing up radium.She at least got respect.

In a 1943 movie, Greer Garson played her. I’m hearing it’s a while before Amanda Bynes nails the role of Mrs. Sandberg.

Today’s microwave discovered by two Brits? Heat up leftover coffee, reheat stale popcorn, warm a stew aging in the freezer since Thanksgiving. A lamb chop laying so long it’s grown hair? Behind old sardines pasta rediscovered for an unannounced drop-in whom you hate dropping in even when announced? Also let’s don’t anyone deny resuscitating a bagel Sunday morning. Give those Brits a kitchen Oscar.

Weeks before Leonardo DiCaprio spent Tag Heuer income on his newest Victoria’s Secret temp, there lived an Egyptian. Late for Pharaoh Hotep’s pyramid-warming, he dredged up the sundial. The year was 1500 B.C. I mean, give or take a fortnight. Egypt just enshrined him at the local university named for their famous leader. Sundialer is now a statue outside Farouk U.

Years back, ringing doorbells was the Avon Lady, Fuller Brush Man, salesmen pushing encyclopedias, Hoover vacuums, John Hancock insurance. We had milkmen, ice men, Tupperware parties. Now who comes to the door? Robbers. Census takers. John Liu canvassers.

Forget the brain who invented the childproof bottle top. Nobody can open it.

Einstein even said, “Shove it.” Prying open a jar of mouthwash, I cut a finger and broke a nail. Him, I don’t want to honor. When Alexander Graham Bell’s newfangled creation rang, he replied: “Call back. I’m on the other line.” But that’s only a rumor. Eternally trusty Verizon is checking on it.

Preceding NY Post headlines, hieroglyphics, Gutenberg Bible, Morse code, whose inventor’s first name is known today for Sam’s Club. Benjamin Franklin’s mommy, hearing his ideas, replied, “Go fly a kite.”

Wilbur and Orville Wright’s daddy: “Kids, don’t forget the seat belt.” Personally affected, I remain eternally grateful for hair dye.

As I think about it, somebody should say a few words for Scotch tape.