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Do Not Test Discordians

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Lust, Groucho:47, 6007 YD

The Chaliceblog is currently showing a good reason not to test Discordians on the concept of whether Discordianism is a genuine religion or a parady religion: as if there is a difference.

This was the original post:

Yesterday night, I was organizing the books in our library. I put theCSO’s Discordian books in the fiction section.

He says they are theology.

If you’re not clear on what discordianism is, here’s a decent explanation.

My argument is that Discordianism strikes me as a parody of Catholicism. If “Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf” ran for president to highlight the absurdity of the American political system, then put out a book about politics, I wouldn’t put it in the politics section. So why would I put a book produced by paraody religion in “theology?”

His is that nobody died and put me in charge of deeming what’s a religion and what’s not.

To some degree, this is a stupid argument. He expressed surprise that I was so insistent that Discordianism not be treated as a valid theology and that I became so passionate about the matter. (I may relent and stick it in Philosophy.)

Part of my annoyance was that I had the Discordians confused with the Church of the Subgenius. I read up on the Subgenius Custody Case recently and while I agree with the general sentiment that the mother shouldn’t be penalized in custody matters for her religion, even if her religion is basically a parody. But I agree in the same halfhearted way that I agree with Happy Feminist that in a custody battle between a spousal abuser and a white supremacist, the white supremacist should win.

I’ll kid you not, y’all, the Cleveland Free Times’ description of these Subgenius events this woman was going to depressed the hell out of me. “Whee! Let’s take a guy named Steve and change his name to ‘Lord Jesus Christ’ and parody the ‘Passion of the Christ’ and there need to be dildos! Lots of dildoes! Why? Because Conservative Christians hate that and that inherently makes it worth doing!”

What the fuck is up with that?

It’s like how the first three minutes you spend at LandoverBaptist.com it’s hilarious, and then you realize how much time how many people have to put into that site and how much they have to hate Christians to make a site that extensive that is devoted to making fun of Christianity in the nastiest ways they can think of.

I’m sick enough of YRUU kids telling me all sorts of bitchy things about Christians that they learned from their parents. I can’t imagine the kind of hate the SubGenius woman’s son is picking up, all in the name of “humor.” Because we all know that humor is innocent and fun and NEVER has an undercurrent of nastiness beneath it. I’m not ignoring the relgious freedom aspects, I’m not advocating making these people stop. But I seriously think they need to grow up.

CC

This arrogance this post displayed naturally raised the ire of many Discordians, and for those it didn’t raise the ire of, it simply provided a prime oppurtunity for Lulz. Either way, a shitstorm erupted in the comments section of The Chaliceblog. As a direct result of said shitstorm Chalicechick posted the following remark in the Parody Relgions section of Sites In Focus:

Chalicechick Says:
January 14th, 2008 at 10:53 am

Advice to all bloggers: Don’t insult the discordians. It’s just not worth the trouble. The voice of experience.

There’s a lesson in this somewhere.

Eris On The Subject Of: Golden Apples

Discordianism, Eris, Humour, rant, religion

As ambassador of Eris on this planet I bring you a message from Our Lady:

Enough with the golden apples already. Apples are nauseating, and moreover, I detest gold. The golden apple I tossed into that fucking wedding was sarcastic, dammit, and was used in a context which is lost today. The Garden of the Hesperides was the Farrah Hair of that time. If you have a personal thing for golden apples, knock yourself out, but stop attributing them to Me. You look like twits, and you bring me down by association.

Cabbages and Greyfaces

Discordianism, philosophy, ,

One day I was storming down the street howling to the skies and mud about the greyfaces that assaulted me on a daily basis, when I suddenly heard someone nearby howling louder than myself.  It wasn’t hard to spot the gnarled old bastard with a face like a chewed caramel zigzagging back and forth across the streets grabbing people by their ears and bellowing “IS ANYONE THERE?” into their faces, then turning to someone else and repeating the same procedure.  One after the other after the other . . . I watched, stunned, wondering why the people being screamed at didn’t take offense.  If someone grabbed me by the ears and screamed into my face he would be swiftly introduced to my good friend Mr. Steel-Toe Boot, but these people seemed to swoon, and then stare off into space in a daze.

I had to find out what was going on.

Eventually the old coot made his way toward me and grabbed for my ears.  Before he could take hold I said, Yes, I am here.  What do you want?

The old man didn’t blink an eye but just grabbed me by the shoulder and walked me onto a quieter side street.  Thank the goddess, he said, sputtering and breathing hard.  I thought I was the only one left, he added.

The only what?  I asked.  He turned his paper-slit eyes toward me and said:  The only person left.

The only person? But what about all the people you were shouting at??  I asked.  For a few moments he stared blankly at me, as if he hadn’t heard what I said.  Those weren’t people, he said finally, they were Cabbages.

Cabbages?  I asked.  They looked like people to me.  The old man laughed.  Of course they looked like people, Cabbages look exactly like people.  They walk like people, they talk like people, they eat like people, they sleep like people, they go to work like people, they see movies like people, they watch tv like people, they read books like people . . . they are the best copies of people you’ll ever see.  But they are not people, my son, they are most assuredly Cabbages.

What’s the difference?  I asked.  He leaned toward me, and said:  People dream, my boy, people question.  People think.  People play.  People laugh.  Look at these poor souls, sleepwalking through life . . . they think they’re people, but they are vegetables.  Blind, ridiculous, vegetables.

Ah ha, I said with glee.  I know many Cabbages, my life is full of them, and they are the bane of my existence!  I know them as Greyfaces!

No!  the old man said quickly.  Do not mistake the two . . . Greyfaces and Cabbages are not the same, except when they are.  Greyfaces are much more dangerous.

Dangerous?  I asked.  How?

Well, let me ask you this, he said, which would you be most wary of . . . a sleeping dog, or a dog having a nightmare?

I suppose a dog having a nightmare, I said.  The old man smiled.  Exactly, he said.  A Greyface is a Cabbage who is living a nightmare.  The Greyface’s nightmare is truly terrifying.  He is told that the world will crumble around him if all do not think and act exactly as he does, the only sane person on the face of the planet, and will stop at nothing to ensure that his nightmare doesn’t come true.  Greyfaces believe the world is humorless and product-driven.  He believes there is a way to draw a perfect circle and you damned well better find out how, or pay the price.  Never turn your back on the Greyface, my son.

I pondered this.  So, I said after a while, those I referred to as Greyfaces were actually Cabbages?

I don’t know them personally, the old man said, but I would imagine they were.  Almost everyone you meet is a Cabbage.

What’s the difference, I asked the old man.

All Greyfaces are Cabbages, he said, but not all Cabbages are Greyfaces.  Some Cabbages wake up and become real people, some even become Children of the Goddess if they are very on the ball . . . but Greyfaces rarely become people.

How do I know if I’m a Cabbage?  I asked.

He stood up, and patted me on the shoulder.  Son, the Cabbages never even ask that.

The old man began to walk away from me, toward an older lady.  I could see his fingers twitching with anticipation at the thought of grabbing hold of her ears.  WAIT!  I called out to him, What is your name?

He turned back to me briefly.  Coleslaw, he said.  For, I shred the cabbage of people’s minds.

The Legend of Zaurn The Grey

Discordianism, philosophy, ,

by: Tabula Rasa, KSC
El Kabong Kabal

1. When the world was still young and called Pangaea by the gods, a man came from out of the sea clad in robes of black and scarlet, his hair was long and brilliant ivory white; his skin a powdery light grey; his eyes golden. He beheld the inhabitants of Pangaea: little more than Hairless Apes, with no idea of Intelligence; Consciousness; Morality; Illumination; Credit Rating . . . these were little more than common animals. He pulled himself up to his full height, placed his slim smooth hand onto his chest, and said in a strong, beautiful melodious tone: ZAURN. The Hairless Apes looked up at him, scratched their heads, scratched their crotches, sniffed their hands, then looked back up at Zaurn the Wise. Zaurn pointed at one of the Hairless Apes, and said forcefully: MAN. Then, he placed his hand back on his own chest and repeated: ZAURN. One ape scratched his chin, cocked his head to the side and repeated: “Zaurn.” Thus was communication known to Humanity.

2. Soon after the Hairless Apes conquered speech Zaurn the Magnificent blew their minds anew. He wrote on a nearby wall his name, which at that time was spelled: IA. He gestured to the name, IA, then told the Hairless Apes that it referred to himself. One ape scratched his balls, approached the writing on the wall, pointed to it, then pointed at Zaurn the Brilliant, saying “Zaurn.” Thus was writing and graffito known to Humanity.

3. Zaurn then instructed the Hairless Apes that they really must name everything, for If It Is Not Named: It Does Not Exist. The apes quickly began to name everything around them, with various levels of success: if a good word didn’t immediately present itself they would make up a word on the spot, such as “boob” or “diarrhea”, thinking a better word would eventually present itself in the future.

4. Zaurn the Verbose was pleased, and his golden eyes twinkled, but mentioned that there was still much more for the Hairless Apes to learn, for he had yet to teach them about the important concepts of RIGHT and WRONG, which were intrinsically intertwined with the heavy concepts of GOOD and EVIL . . . it would take a long time to explain these Objective Truths to the apes, and an even longer time to get into the esoteric concepts of WORK and LAZINESS, not to mention such crucial topics as NORMALCY.

5. Once the apes knew what was RIGHT and what was WRONG, Zaurn the Grey was truly delighted: the Hairless Apes were both Free and Trapped simultaneously, just as EIEIO, the Goddess of All had intended. EIEIO, the Great Kaos, had sent Zaurn the Grey to the Hairless Apes to both free and ensnare their minds: giving them the gifts of speech and communication so that they may be able to form thoughts and thus become more than they are;, while at the same time having these thoughts bind and constrict their ideas, through endless labeling and defining so that it takes true imagination and magick to break beyond.