Rant 47: the Up Chuck of One Hand Clapping

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

Rant 47
The Up Chuck of One Hand Clapping

,ÄúHail Eris and Death to all Fanatics!,Äù
-Chant of the Discordians for Softer Sandpaper
 (during a recent ,Äòexercise,Äô inflicted on a socialist demonstration)

,ÄúDiscordianism is the breakdown of totalitarian totality. Eris takes away progress as much as She gives it away. There was one other thing I was going to say, but you don,Äôt know the secret handshake.,Äù
-Tequilarius Malignatus (while mingling with certain 4th of July celebrants)

,ÄúCaid?© sin don t?© sin nach mbaineann sin d??? N??l faic aige le d?©anamh ach imeacht le craobhacha. Go bhf??ire Eris air. Agus cuir ionsorainn an Tequila.,Äù
-Spokesperson for An Chraobh ?öll ?ìrga (The Golden Apple Branch, a radical Gaelic-speaking Erisian Faction)

,ÄúYou are just everything left over after Eris got finished with Not You.,Äù

,ÄúIsn,Äôt it time the rich get a little poorer and the poor get a little richer?,Äù
-Reverend Verthaine of the Church of Eris


I want to vomit, but I am out of bile from already vomiting so much these past few days. What gives? I have decided that vomiting is a perfect response to the way things are these days, and it is the perfect reward to inflict on certain people for the way they act these days. Why do I want to keep vomiting when it is so much more useful,Ñ¢ to laugh? Well, in case you didn,Äôt realize it, I am sickened with the bad hangover of living in a society of Grayfaced DUMB. And besides, vomiting is a very special way to anoint random people as Discordian popes, I kid you not. I may as well use my sickness at this society for something useful after all. Why should the toilet be the only thing that benefits from it?

I know that the toilet is a Discordian altar that deserves many offerings, but since society has gone to shit anyway, I am justified in declaring the whole damned show as one big toilet that needs to be flushed from time to time, but not until I can blow a few chunks here and there along the way. (Besides, it,Äôs not so good for the plumbing to receive all of the little children of nausea I have running around inside of me. I may as well spread the sick around.) Since the whole society is a toilet, then I declare my intention to worship as I see fit,Ķby the Almighty Smiting Up Chuck of One Hand Clapping.

The Masters of DUMB and DOOM don,Äôt want anyone to get sick of it all because that interferes with business. If it,Äôs bad for business, then it may as well not exist. But we can,Äôt just blame the Masters. Everyone of us gets stuck in our own self-important routines and pigeon-holes and we react with utter shock when we realize that life won,Äôt cooperate. We get stuck in our business-as-usual,Ñ¢ lifestyles of stupidity masquerading as a shining glamour of excitement. We collect all of our things, experiences, and blurbs of knowledge in the vapid deluded hope (though we never admit to its vapidity, and when we suspect that that,Äôs its true nature, we run to religions, therapy, and drugs to help us forget about it all so we can get back to business-as-usual,Ñ¢) that we are living well. We don,Äôt want to see for ourselves the greatest fnord there ever was,Ķthe fact that the Masters of DUMB have smoked all the good tobacco out of the cigarette of this world, leaving us with only the short-butt leftovers to hack and cough on. Children of Eris, it is time to throw up all over them. We have been snubbed, we are being snubbed, and we will continue to be snubbed unless we start having the nerve enough to allow ourselves to throw back up all the shit we have been force fed all these years, decades, centuries. Whether it is literal vomit that needs to come up and out in a great enlightening forceful exorcism, or whether it is metaphorical vomit in the form of a calculated and angry Gray-smiting Mindfuck, it has the nature of the Golden Apple all the same.

DUMB has convinced most people that chaos is the problem while the approaching of DOOM reaches around your necks to slowly choke the parts of life that are non-compulsory out of you. Beware the Coming Day of the Fnord!

This society and its passive masses is filled with en-nauseating rapid ensqualidation which masquerades as comfort and entertainment. And most people could not give a care about the fact their lifestyle choices construct certain death and poverty for others. Most people believe that to be intelligent, one merely needs to agree with business-as-usual,Ñ¢ or reality,Ñ¢, and then back it up with academic-sounding or informed-sounding vocabulary which really says little. They have been convinced of the ancient slander that chaos is evil,Ñ¢ and therefore needs to be rejected or held back and at all costs. They have built wonderful banquet halls and have not invited Eris to their feasts. Aren,Äôt you sick of it all yet? It is time to smite them with the Up Chuck of One Hand Clapping.

Sure, you can go on ahead and say to me ,ÄúBut, Rev. Hugh, you,Äôre taking the whole thing too siriusly.,Äù And, of course, that will lead me to deny any knowledge of anything to do with sirius matters in another Eris-inspired ramble that contains approximately 23 hidden jokes, five semantic double binds, three mindblowing word-viruses, two liters of tequila, and a whole bunch of other things that I always forget to mention. And then there,Äôs always this: What the hell do I care if you should happen to mistake it for siriusness? (See the guidebook for Espiskoposes, Chapter 17, Pineal Gland Edition #23 for elucidation on this.) In any event, I can always just puke all over you, but rest assured that I will wait until you wear that pretty purple and black gothic lacy outfit with those nice new shiny black steel-toed paratrooper boots. The vomit will add some color to the whole thing, if nothing else. And besides, why should you take my threatened Up Chuck so siriusly?

If I run out of sick to throw up and around, then I,Äôll just make my own brew, which you can be sure, will be the foulest smelling brew you have ever seen, even if I leave out the rotten broccoli bits. I fully expect some of you to join me in the latter project, or not, as the case may be. (And that,Äôs the main reason why I have the dental drill and the electric tazor under my bed. If that excites you, then you are probably just Discordian and we have much more in common than you believe.)

The world is an open-air toil,Äîuh, Discordian Temple, which deserves our worship, whoreship, and funkadelicallacious Mother Ship. Are you hung over with the nausea-induced stupidity of this society? It,Äôs time for the Up Chuck of the Upstart of One Hand Clapping,ĶThe Golden Apple keeps on rolling and this is one more manifestation of the mythologically mindfucking phenomena. Hell, I,Äôll even start calling this new manifestation ,Äòthe Chunky Twist Sink,Äô (imagine the possibilities), but if you are going to play the game along with me, we had better start stocking up on bleach or some other such disinfectant. I don,Äôt know what sort of germs the rest of you carry, and Eris help you if you try to throw up on me. (Again refer to the above-mentioned appliances.) In any event, there is always the random splash factor, Hail Eris!

If you want to feel funky, feel free,Ķbut please don,Äôt spread your funk on me. The reactions, actions, consequences, and/or ramifications will be astounding,Ķor something else entirely. Now, get down, or get up, or jiggle around and worship worship worship your Goddess! (Pop-tarts on are on sale these days.)

All Hail Discordia!

,ÄúIf chaos is not allowed to manifest its natural creativity, it most certainly becomes destructive.,Äù
-Tequilarius Malignatus (when he thought he was explaining tequila-dipped cigars)

(Setting-Orange, the 64th day of Confusion in the year 3170 of Our Lady.)

[fluffy]

::twitch twitch::