Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Important Disclaimers #7: Results May Be Simulated

Actually, no. That disclaimer isn't in the slightest bit important. It's too vague! What's it warning us of, even? And more importantly to (or than) some, arguably: is "even" a preposition? Because that seems a pretty cheap way to satisfy a stupid but persistently-(to the verge of heroically, really)niggled rule!

Full-on hypocrite disclosure: I enjoy niggling rules every now and then. Ain't nothing a shame about niggling a rule or two!

But there's no importancy at all to that disclaimer, as stated. It's too vague! Check it, you'll see what I mean. You can't tell what it means! It could mean any number of numbered statements:

1. The results here presented may or may not be simulations.

2. The results here presented may or may not be simulations.

3. It is true of all results, or it is true in general of results, that results may dah, dah, dah... insert any or more probably 3 is "all the above," pretty much. A bit much, but if you think about it suddenly,

Or you can take it the other way. Take it to say that it's characteristic of results that it may be possible to produce convincing simulations of them. Hard to argue that away. Did you see the last guy who tried?

He went thataway.

Folks, if you check the science on it you'll find a fine, drawn-out line between "a reproducible result" and "a successful simulation of a previously achieved result." Stick the most sensitive measuring instrument you can imagine up your ass and tell me: could you tell the difference? See the difference? Feel the difference?

A lot depends on the instrument. And your familiarity with it, and how rigorously you've prepared your mind and how determined you're prepared to be, when it comes to a good thorough job. This is more than just the old saw: "the right tool for the right job." An old saw like that shouldn't even be in your tool box.

Is that what they're calling it these days? Anyway, a more troubling question is whether we might need to get philosophical here, to determine the stance in terms of absolute truths. Is it is what it is? Or is it is what it seems?

Food for thought like that could be the reason they invented antacids whose guaranteed-potency standardized active ingredient(s) is or are capable of passing the blood/brain barrier. Because face it: that's one barrier you'd normally want a pretty hard core bouncer on the door for, as medicines go, trying to get in to that party. It's practically the only party in town for thinking persons, or those who think they'd like to be seen that way, or those who just love to be seen or love to people-watch metaphorical anthropomorphized drugs pretend to be sharp-dressed young, attractive, graceful but with a hint of being potentially athletic dancers. The party is in there.

You know where. Just beyond that festive rope-with-a-hook-on-it sits the seat of the human booty's (or body's) version of a super-exclusive, only-controlled-substances-on-the-strict-legit-list-permitted VIP dance party hangout: the brain.

The human brain.

But when it comes to the fucking mental indigestion involved in trying to bubble and soak anything nutritive out of THAT convoluted mash and penumbra of noxious emanations, hallucinogenic-class sophistries and clumps of puerile, poorly-chewed "look-at-me" swallowed-too-soon / shoulda-been-spit cud, bring on the sickly sweet and girlchild pinkly appealing chalky soothness of Brain Pepto, man, or their nearest literal, Western Medicine four-out-of-five dentists approved knockoff. I mean, am I right here? Did I read it wrong? You tell me, man.

For all you know...all of reality is a simulation of your ego problem. So go ahead. Make my day meaningfully. You tell me.

You know what? Drop it. There's no going back now, I can't remember the original correctly important version of today's disclaimer, the whole thing's gone past the point of a waste. Frankly, I'm getting a stomachache. Right in the worst possible least probable place: the brain.

Which if you tell me it's needless to say, I will say it bears repeating:

The human brain.

Here's a disclaimer, if you like. Far better to be specific, then to end up with poisoned livestock or better yet, pets, because some idiot's trying to cure gastrocerebral ailments of sheep, cows and god forbid pigs, cats and dogs by forcing a human-approved only medicament through the skull! In the mistaken (and incorrect) assumption, no doubt, that that is the barrier we need to savvy our way through.

Safe first. Then sorry.

That's a disclaimer, if you like. But only if you like.

Verbatim Reply to a Friend Who Unwittingly Used the Word "Emperor" Correctly in a Sentence

Um - WHAT!? BAH!


First off, the office of Emperor itself hey wait - just a sec, cute girl alert.



Think about it seriously, Mister. You know it makes sense. A share of Empire? A revel in a mutually-held responsibility to put down rebellion and take up civilization? That's a call we can all take seriously. Or even if we missed it - in our modern age, we have a safety net. It's called "voice mail," and I am an answering machine in the eyes of some. It's because I'm so answerable. Got slack?

I always pick up.

But! It's not just me who says that!

There's considerable precedent for it, in terms of proven, workable governance models! All we need to be is willing to take a step back from Caesar and be Consuls. In lieu of some potential tyrant, in lieu of a Chief Executive lording it over, demanding in the name of Christ that everybody render all this shit unto him on account of no greater justification than "I'm on the money!" - we check that, balance it, cancel it, strike it so hard it slips right back into reverse and then call off the picket, in favor of a true coalition solution: two chiefs, equal in cahoots by the authority vested in them on our about the waist and torso. A three-piece suit, basically, consisting of waistcoat, vest, and TO-GA! TO-GA! TO-GA! Take these two cochiefs, a randy and rambunctious non-ornamental Senate and a fucking vast and enthusiastic native noncitizen slightly-privilege-challenged worker class of proud-eyed, red-blooded, sweat-browed, peace-loving controllers of the means of production (if you get the dialectic?)! Take them, please. It will be very hard for anybody to fuck that up. The setup alone is far too self-evidently "tight."

Think it through, man, though because in any Empire where they start overthinking of an Emperor, they ought to think again. They have it coming, otherwise - and the history books will show they asked for it. They were BEGGING for it: who wears two vests and three togas, calls it a three-piece suit and parades around in state like that unless they're begging for it? It's basically, their fault: and we should persistently and continuously victimize them on account of that, because they basically brought it on themselves and let's face facts at this point. They deserved every word of the aforementioned sentence. So take heed from that one, pal. Hearken back a bit, take a deep breath, because - "it's been done." Your so called "bold" suggestion, called for in bold tones intoning milk-mild words for the sake of an absolute authority that was corrupt the first time we opened the milk carton and saw, to our horror, the picture on the back was ours? You think something's sweetened that big sour swig in the interim? Or are you just a real big fan of impromptu, untested unQC'd and experimentally laissez fairly made cheese? Because if that's what's coming for dinner, count me in for the beer. But an amusing caveat to that might be: I made it myself, my friend. Now pick me up an ear or two on the way home and spend one, lend one, shuck it to a boil and cut all kernels off lengthwise - or better yet, why not let it hear for itself, and judge for all of us? There's a name for a jackpot like that and it's called, "SUCCOTASH." You got some in your mustache, man - let me get that for you. The beauty of a setup like that is that when it judges for all of us, this jumbled up hot steamy side dish ALWAYS judges in strict accordance with the greatest good it has ever even imagined: its own beauty of the truth of the greater good. Which, as the beholden, it is pretty much bound by sworn and implied duty to keep an eye on, from time to time.

Check it.

Here's how it happened, and I suspect that the second it sinks in you'll be all, "Here here!, or hear hear? Which did we decide again, and why?" How did it happen? For details, sea hear:

The Emperor came saw and conquered and what did it get him? What was his inheritance, for that?

You can pretty much guess.

I bet you can.

But on the other hand, how about my proposal? We've already heard far too much of yours, and IT! STINKS!

My modest proposal, which was in fact the working model for the Empire for quite a considerable storied traditional age-old live-long and glory-filled day, is as proven as it is flexible. It's a much more Republican-style solution to the pervasive, irritating problem of Empire - which is sure to appeal to Cynics and Epicureans alike, so natural and tasteless is its non-selective target demographic. What on earth could be more Democratic than a well-targeted demographic? You see what I'm aiming at, here. TAKE THE SHOT!

And as you do, take heed: and a big pinch of fair warning, while your at it. While you sit, overthinking in your Rodan-inspired thinker's pose, taking a king-of-the-monster's-best-buddy-sized shit as it comes (or goes, as the case may hopefully be): TAKE HEED AND GO EASY. Because history has this to say about it, loser. Your tired ass shit has been tried, convicted, confined, released and all debts settled, in one sharp shiv with a point to it that we, even today, would almost have to be fools to ignore.

It was tried before. The traditionalists, averse to change as usual, settled that dude's hash for him and some say, rightly so. You really wanna go there? I heartily suggest that you have been behooved by better things.

Think on it.

He came, he saw, he crossed the Rubicon, solved the Cube cut the knot that held the oh-so-fabled Damoclean katana from puncturing his ever-so-surpassingly swollen HEAD, and what did it get him?


It didn't go over well! So much so in fact, that I believe at one point, the top wop (or is it dago?) who more-or-less presumed to sole chief executorship of the people's will (without, I might add, a shred of their testament! - and no, post-facto acclaim is no substitute for consent, my friend! NO BODY fucks that well! Nobody EVER fucked the people better than my man Jules, tryna be the shepherd as usual, getting the words confused and result: stabbing match honorable mention. Nobody EVER fucked the people as much or as hard or as deep as Caesar number one. And I tell you son, they loved him for it but it stank so high to heaven that even now, the biological residue from that way-too-much-more-and-yet-less-than-sexual congress STILL SMELLS) in defiance of tradition and all manner of etiquette and protocol (which tends to rub a proud people the wrong way, my man! CONSIDER YOUR AUDIENCE! Give the people what they want! Pepperidge Farm, Barnum and Baileys, if you get my increasingly belabored references!), tried it and got killed in a stabbing match over it, for his troubles. And ours, as it turned out. As anyone could have told him! As he surely saw for himself, because let me tell you: you don't declare absolute monarch with contagious-via-sexual-reproduction-vector assigned divine right to it! You just don't! On the face of it: bad idea! Assholes have kids too, you know, and I don't care if you think the sun shines out of yours, your kids will be assholes if you can convince them of a thing like that. "Hey junior, yeah, all this is yours. Because ummmmm...well, let me explain it to you in terms that will fuck you up for life plus the entire dominion under you, if you so much as fucking swallow 'em..."

You know? Think about it a second first, and before you know it it won't make sense to anyone anymore. You don't declare a comprehensively evidenceless thing like that. That kind of a king thing dealy? Wait a second, pause, consider. OK?


At least give it a second. It works conceptually and not at all. Have you thought about it yet? Give it at least a SECOND, dude? Even in later ages, duels always took at least a second and customarily, usually, cruelly, two or more. You don't pull the trigger on a thing like divine right sole rulership in less, unless you can back it up with one hell of a two-step. Step one, be a great ruler, the kind later generations will still measure themselves by, and a damn good judge of character besides. Step two: ensure that there are no later generations. There are two ways to do this conceptually, and both are easy. One way? Destroy the universe, or any less overcompensatory measure that deletes the living specimens of the species. The other way is probably far more ideal, yet in practice, it's the way they actually went:

Never die. Simple.

Nice odds on pulling it off.

And let me tell you something you don't want to know, but will find hard to argue seriously against. Stabbing matches? Don't be so quick to condemn. You might find yourself on the business end of the modern equivalent of one of those, which are albeit, far less lethal - but also no where near so authentic and hip-feeling. It's because of all the preservatives and process (which to be fair, is only their due) but I digress.

If you can imagine such a thing, I do. I do digress. We were talking about a stabbing match, and let me tell you those hot, cismediterranean blood types, you know. Always with the knives, them.

We must be tolerant, and presume not to a cultural chauvinism or anything tantamount to it. For heed me my ever accepting and conscious, enlightened, children: to those who don't know about it, who weren't there or haven't heard, let me lay the skinny on you speaking as one who is a member of the abovemaligned belowdefined race, and can therefore joke freely about such things, without let or hindrance throughout all the realm and territory of Christendom, or one better. These "stabbing matches" that you so assiduously reference, these "stabbing matches" that then as now, our friends, the post-, pseudo-, or practicing ethnically-Catholics, their forbears, their cousins of slightly goldier locks, and the combined inheritors of that thrice-accursed heritage and blessed liberally with a huge posterior, secured unto itself by the seat of its pants to a degree somewhat unto, like, I don't know, let me count. WHOA! The results are in! These accursed autumnal blessings of ours keep counting for the length of the game, plus overtime (if in the event, it happens). That amounts to a sizeable portion, assessed at up to a seven times seven generations' gap's worth, at least! And when you look into THAT gap, mind the crease. The abyss has eyes for you.

I believe you people know EXACTLY what I'm getting at, and are merely attempting heckle me with your silence. Well guess what, or better yet: GOOD NEWS! I got the headline for you and it says KNOCK KNOCK! This represents (for you) an almost insurmountable opportunity if you know what it says in the bible. WORDS, MAN, WORDS! And one of them born, if you can believe such a thing and/or are an old school rap fan. Can I get a witness, can a get an A, men? Is word born, or what?

"Word Is Born," my friend, and that's good news for anyone with a current events nostalgia-fetish, as well as for retro music enthusiasts everywhere, in every place and from age to age. Why is it such good news? It's because you will not fucking believe it. So therefore, judge not. That's pretty much the rational caboose to that train of thought, choo choo fans. And if you think I can get up over this NEXT hill - thanks for your faith! I think I can. I think, therefore, I do not judge. And these so-called "stabbing matches" of yours, which you so condescendingly stoop to disparage, did and do in fact constitute a bulwark, to these people. Did you stop to think how much that means? Or should mean - to us? Now?

For them it was a trademark, if you will. A beacon. A benchmark, a hallmark, a reference point - it augered well, for them, and who are we to declare it ominous? Futures is as futures does, I say - but when a fortune teller stands up behind the counter to cash you out, and you're all "THAT'S IT?? TEN CENTS?"

Some fortune!

We must rely on greater, shared, metaphorical riches, as these dudes did. If we're going to survive with a smile on our face and upon the faces of our babies (in-between bouts of squalling, of course - those lusty babes must squall!), we're going to need a little more than a piece of paper with a promise on it "pay ya later! We're good for it! You swear!"

We need a tradition.

An ordeal, if you will - but one that these so-called day-glo bearing trail-blazing pathfinders of ours, the cradle-robbers of civilization so to speak (LITERALLY!) - they, in their so called "savage," "maligned," "benighted" way - WHICH WE MUST PRETTY MUCH NOW CONCEDE TO BE A-OK BY VIRTUE OF THE POWER VESTED IN THEM BY THEIR OWN DANG D.N.A., or the cultural equivalent thereover (and thereunder: as above, just so you know) inheritance or the equivalent in postmortem reparations to the estate, considered these stabbing matches to be, in their eyes, to be truly beautiful. What you call brutal, they retort, "Eh? This is a much-bruited tribute to the honor of man, man! Let me see that ear of yours for a second," and such requests, while unreasonable and dangerous, are not objectively wrong.

You can't call a thing wrong just because they culturally love to do it, even to the point that people who wish to be in-the-know-and/or-appear-so begin to concoct widespread habits into the intrinsically objectionable form of exobiologically-false-sibling-dichotomy-derived contact-plus-safeword-triggered powers in the style of, "FORM OF: STEREOTYPE!" - well, that doesn't make it objectively wrong. Just a little sick, when you pause to think what those taupe-skinned freaky fetii were up to together in that alien womb of theirs - but again, that's a bit of an anthropomorpobe move in the first place. Don't do it. It is NOT objectively wrong, and what the hell is these days, anyway? Who can say? Not this guy!


Anyway, what I'm saying here, [ MY FRIEND ], is it really did work for them for a very long time, and it can work for us. It didn't fail out of failure! It failed out of their failure to appreciate the baroque beauty of the status quo, which let's face it: worked. It worked OK. Nothing succeeds like successes succeed! And these guys, instead of going all cult of personality hero worship on us just because somebody thought his laurels looked kind of too regal to rest on, well, let's just say a word to the wise is sufficient, but a word to wiser would be needless to say. They weren't wiser. Wise is as wise delves, and they'd have been far wiser to take a good fucking look at things, before they chucked that status quo vadis on the scrap-heap of history and started yelling about hideous corpses or some equally garbled, barbarous phrase.

I say we try it! I say we try my idea. It's the perfect compromise, if you think about it like I do. Share and share alike, my brother deep in all counsels and equally chief in executions! Because even if sadly, Caesar the First got martyred to the point that a later generation's Bard practically had to make play of words on it, or tried to, it did work before that deadly precedent got set in cement. As the story goes, the precedent was pretty much set the moment that dude's blood hit the flags 'n' cobbles, and the next guy up was president-elect, in effect - or very much so. Why? Just 'cause. He took office later that same fall, or shortly therefore: it was a cold day in Augusta, that's for sure.

Monday, April 20, 2015

You think you know your self, but others know better.

You might say your potential is part of you. But it is a very specific part: your potential is the part of you that doesn't exist.

What others see is what you've shown. They believe what they've seen. They do well to. That is who you are. And it is what you are capable of.

You exist in a constant and evolving state, different parts visible to different beholders, but everything they've seen is real. You stand right now having been the best person you are or have ever been, many times, and in every way and where you have shown yourself capable. That's the self you create. You have created it, and you are right now. You are all of that, and the scary part is: you are capable of better.

I don't mean you need to go out and break your personal bench press record. Your personal bench press record is a part of you already. Pursue a new one if it amuses you, and if your wrists and elbows can still take it. Mine can't, but one time in the garage in front of two miffed witnesses I weighed one hundred and fifty five pounds. Then I bench pressed two sixty five. That still deeply amuses me! It was ultimately worth the tendon damage, because my wrists don't hurt unless I bench press anyway. Why bother? Whatever the point of bench pressing is, that point was proved to my satisfaction. I'm not particularly interested in impressing the East Ukrainian judge.

Your personal best is yours. Your personal best is you. It's already you. It has been and continues to be: you, part of the self you created. You aren't in competition with it. What I mean is that whatever you've ever done, whatever has struck anyone's eyes amazed, whatever little thing or touch or word you put in, something that in somebody's mind or heart made them realize they know you, or love you, or trust you, and think highly of you - a hundred things, maybe, different things for anyone you know! Every personal best you've ever pulled, deliberately or not, calculated or not! Determined or not. I'm saying it wasn't faked. Any of it. It was just you. You are the act you put on, and the choice you make, and the word you state. It was just the self that you made that day.

And sure, you may have had some performance goal in mind, to impress someone, to win some thing, but that doesn't matter. Ulterior is not false. We all of us, sometimes at least, want to come off as our best, especially in front of specific someones. But too many of us don't realize that after we've pulled it off - no, it wasn't a trick. It was something you actually did, and can do! You are that person, who can do things like that. And if your word, your choice, your act may have served some additional purpose in their eyes, that's fine too. But first and foremost, that word, that choice, that act spoke for itself: in an act of creation. Concrete. It has passed from the potential through the possible, and into the actual. No matter how improbable it might have looked to oddsmakers before it happened, there was a game-breaking play you made that cannot now be unmade. Your act has passed from imagination into fact. It's always doing that. It has made you you, and it continues to.

You change who you are forever, when you pull something off like that. For whoever has seen or believed it, you will forever be the kind of person who could do something like that. Who did.

No matter who knows how many people benefit in how many different ways from your great act that goes over so well, that act is not just some fake show that was put on or put over. Even if you wish to insist your act had some measure of duplicity to it, some heroic con, the fact is: you pulled it off. What you pulled off was not a trick, but a curtain. You pulled away the cover, and the show was who you are. What you're capable of. You can grin and think there was some trick involved in the act you made, but don't kid yourself that anyone else was fooled. They saw you. And what you did, for whatever reason you want to put to it now, was simply what you could do. The best of how anyone has ever seen you, is you. Really, now. And the best you are is a thing you could be in any given moment.

And you don't even have to try hard! And you don't have to worry about it. You don't have to hit a single mark. You just have to enjoy being that person. You know the one! Your favorite you. The one who surprises you, let alone other people! The you who you kind of secretly have a crush on, a little bit - the vain yet somehow selfless hero of your little secret autobiography that you've been plotting out in your spare time, and composing every moment. Whatever ways you may have impressed yourself in the past, you are already that person: the one who can do even better than that, pretty much at the drop of a hat. Whenever the chance happens to present itself.

Of course chance does come into it, or better yet, chances do. Opportunity comes into it. We don't at every waking moment run into the chance to do something that stamps a revelation on ourselves or another's forehead. A chance to just utterly fucking make who we are, and what we are capable of. Opportunity is deeply involved in it, but to nowhere near the degree that motive and opportunity are involved. Because as you walk around, if the best you are is who you really kind of actually secretly want to be, then any given moment suddenly threatens to present these great little opportunities. Great and small. And increasingly - on purpose, even! - you seize them. You walk right into them, impromptu, as you create your me.

You can be a little smug about it! It's okay. You're not perfect by any means. Everybody knows you know that. And who cares for perfect, anyway? The best you can be has nothing to do with the worst flails and failures and accidental catastrophes, the disgraceful, very bad deliberate decisions you've sprawled and will sprawl across the eyewitness of others as you go. The best you are is a person who includes the worst you've done, alas. The best that you can possibly be is still a human being. The best you have ever been is always someone who gets to fuck up. It's allowed. You can even be forgiven for it. Who needs to forgive you? An even better question might be: who do you want to be?

Motive, opportunity, potential - potential is some part of it, too. You are also the fact that you can do better, in addition to being who you are, in addition to being what you have proved capable of. But as was said: your potential is the part of you that doesn't exist. Your potential is the part of you that may never exist. You don't even have to worry about it. Though you may have a pretty good idea, or you may have a very bad idea, really you have no idea what your potential is. You don't have to live up to it. Your potential pales into mists and dreams, next to the best you've ever been. The best you are.

You could do better.

Handjob Karaoke: My Final Revised Stance Pt.3

OK, I've revised my opinion on this and now I will definitively say: GROSS. The whole thing's just gross!

I happened to be doing Karaoke on Saturday Night, and halfway through U2's song "So Cruel" it just hit me what a horror, what a violation that setup is of everybody involved. Plus anyone watching. That's entertainment?! That's human contact? It's like... it's like... as an American I can't stand for it. Look, the Japanese gave us karaoke, so maybe I'm out of my depth here on what I've got any right to speak on, but I'm pretty sure Americans invented handjobs so, you know what, they got their chocolate in our peanut butter on this one.

Handjob Karaoke critique: final verdict, gross. PRET-TY GROSS.

The above is not in any way a critique of what people do freely with and to each other. To me it reduces to the all-too-pervasive power of life as entertainment, increasingly: of voyeurism as performance art, which in my view cheapens and degrades what should be a human and uplifting ritual where one person - any one person - can get up in front of everyone watching and murder the work of somebody famous (or at least famouser). And expect to get cheered for it. To hold their head up high, afterwards - and go back to their seat without having left something essential of themselves on the stage they vacate.

So, whatever, what I'm saying is I'm not trying to knock anybody's kink or combination theirof. Anyone who has a taste for exhibitionism, sexual OR musical, I just feel like such things should either not be combined, or else be done as a guerrilla act, an act of civil disobedience and if the cops catch you at it, NO: you did not have a permit for that. You'll both get a stern talking-to, and you'll be getting your picture taken and have some fucking paperwork to do. Which to me is just how it should be: you take a risk, it increases the high, right? Society doesn't have to condone that shit and you don't want them to. Right?

It's not the combination of manual gratification and singing to a canned track I condemn, it's the idea of making it something any pussy can do because they're drunk and somebody dared them. You know? And later, how do they feel about that spectacle? CHEAPENED? DEGRADED? VIOLATED POSSIBLY? Well, whoever got involved it's their own fault. And responsibility is theirs for what they done, but I don't think we should put our stamp on it. It should take a hero (and I guess, an accomplice - although which one's which or who is the sidekick in that situation I leave to the comic book fans) to bust out in front of people and pull some shit like that! And the people should feel surprised, shocked, indignant - an act like that should have power. It's the cheapening I object to, principally.

Basically, it only took this one fucking cheapjack Japanese nil-budget stunt game show to turn me into a fucking prude. I've crossed the line now. So much for mister libertarian. Now I'm the guy all "We As A Society Should Not Condone!" LUCKILY, GOOD NEWS #1: Who the fuck am I? Why does my say go? IT DOESN'T. My say don't go, would be good news #2 I guess, or #1a.

Good news #2, 3 or 1b should be at the very least: I may not have say here, but I think I make a powerful argument and I bet society at large in the various civilized, media-degenerating cutting edge consumer-driven marketplaces of ideas will agree with me on this one: Handjob Karaoke crosses the line.

Big frown, guys. I give it a big frown on this one. Seriously. I mean, the above is pretty much my straight-up, considered and settled retrospect on this. My opinion on this one feels like home to me. I don't think I'll be acquiring the taste for this sort of tasteless display. It's fucking degrading to all of us, if we permit this sort of filth on our aetherwaves.

But I'm interested in other perspectives though! What do you guys think? I can never tell sometimes when I've stuck the landing and hit home exactly where I ought to have, or if I'm in that moment's suspense at rest at the end of a swing too far, pendulum-wise.

I say it's handjob karaoke that has swung too far. Have you guys heard about this? It was in the news last week and I for one was appalled, or if I wasn't then I am now. Last week it seemed kind of tastelessly charming and even amusing even. Not now. Sorry. Handjob Karaoke represents the absolute pinnacle of the slippery slope as far as I've so far seen, and we better wake up before we all end up in the audience witness to something we really didn't want to accompany our evening out. People need to speak out at this point - otherwise, where's the moral compass?!

I've done my part. The next is up to you.

Wednesday, April 01, 2015

The Strong Agnostic Proposition: Slightly Reformulated

I believe I've cut it a bit finer on this one. The strong agnostic formulation should be:

"Proof of the supernatural can not exist."

Not "does not." Can not!