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The Barstool Experiment

Started by LHX, June 13, 2006, 05:31:36 PM

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Cain

You know she's not a real doctor, right? She's just some bint who gets off on examining poop and vegetables.

P3nT4gR4m

yeah so the guys on the radio said. She creeps me out. "you can be as healthy as me if you just stare at your own poop for long enough, Woman look like she died of crones disease 30 years ago.

I'm up to my arse in Brexit Numpties, but I want more.  Target-rich environments are the new sexy.
Not actually a meat product.
Ass-Kicking & Foot-Stomping Ancient Master of SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK
Awful and Bent Behemothic Results of Last Night's Painful Squat.
High Altitude Haggis-Filled Sex Bucket From Beyond Time and Space.
Internet Monkey Person of Filthy and Immoral Pygmy-Porn Wart Contagion
Octomom Auxillary Heat Exchanger Repairman
walking the fine line line between genius and batshit fucking crazy

"computation is a pattern in the spacetime arrangement of particles, and it's not the particles but the pattern that really matters! Matter doesn't matter." -- Max Tegmark

theCalmpsychopath

Quote from: Cain on: February 22, 2007, 01:16:44 PM
You know she's not a real doctor, right? She's just some bint who gets off on examining poop and vegetables.
that sounds like a fun job
the human brain is like a grizzly bear with a midget on the back trying to control it

Lies

Quote from: blankofcourse on February 14, 2007, 12:33:13 AM
I had to teach 8 year olds about matter today.
They wanted to know if god made matter, and if god was matter.
I asked them if god took up space and had mass.
They were not satisified.
So I said..the word god is matter.
Still, no digs.
When you were eight,what would satifisfy you?

Heh, personally, if I were dealing with 8 year olds, if they asked me if god made matter, I'd tell them the goddess made UP matter, and to answer is Goddess was matter, I'd reply with "Mu". Upon which I don't think they'd be very enlightened at all, unless you taught them chinese. But hey, Kids dig Moo'ing and maybe they'll all start to say moo enough themselves they wouldn't care what gods got to do with anything.
Also, I know it's not good for job prospects, but I'd like to let the kids know everything their parents/clergyman/government told them about god is a lie, and they shouldn't worry about trying to worry about what the world *is* and just go outside and play. We don't need no education, life should be about perpetual play. Intelligence builds Atom bombs. Wisdom lets us realise theres no need to use them, and its much better to just play in the sunshine instead.
- So the New World Order does not actually exist?
- Oh it exists, and how!
Ask the slaves whose labour built the White House;
Ask the slaves of today tied down to sweatshops and brothels to escape hunger;
Ask most women, second class citizens, in a pervasive rape culture;
Ask the non-human creatures who inhabit the planet:
whales, bears, frogs, tuna, bees, slaughtered farm animals;
Ask the natives of the Americas and Australia on whose land
you live today, on whose graves your factories, farms and neighbourhoods stand;
ask any of them this, ask them if the New World Order is true;
they'll tell you plainly: the New World Order... is you!

P3nT4gR4m

Quote from: Lysergic on March 08, 2007, 09:03:09 AM
Quote from: blankofcourse on February 14, 2007, 12:33:13 AM
I had to teach 8 year olds about matter today.
They wanted to know if god made matter, and if god was matter.
I asked them if god took up space and had mass.
They were not satisified.
So I said..the word god is matter.
Still, no digs.
When you were eight,what would satifisfy you?

Heh, personally, if I were dealing with 8 year olds, if they asked me if god made matter, I'd tell them the goddess made UP matter, and to answer is Goddess was matter, I'd reply with "Mu". Upon which I don't think they'd be very enlightened at all, unless you taught them chinese. But hey, Kids dig Moo'ing and maybe they'll all start to say moo enough themselves they wouldn't care what gods got to do with anything.
Also, I know it's not good for job prospects, but I'd like to let the kids know everything their parents/clergyman/government told them about god is a lie, and they shouldn't worry about trying to worry about what the world *is* and just go outside and play. We don't need no education, life should be about perpetual play. Intelligence builds Atom bombs. Wisdom lets us realise theres no need to use them, and its much better to just play in the sunshine instead.

Right on man
       \
:hippie:

I'm up to my arse in Brexit Numpties, but I want more.  Target-rich environments are the new sexy.
Not actually a meat product.
Ass-Kicking & Foot-Stomping Ancient Master of SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK
Awful and Bent Behemothic Results of Last Night's Painful Squat.
High Altitude Haggis-Filled Sex Bucket From Beyond Time and Space.
Internet Monkey Person of Filthy and Immoral Pygmy-Porn Wart Contagion
Octomom Auxillary Heat Exchanger Repairman
walking the fine line line between genius and batshit fucking crazy

"computation is a pattern in the spacetime arrangement of particles, and it's not the particles but the pattern that really matters! Matter doesn't matter." -- Max Tegmark

Your Audience

#95
An eight year old girl walks into a dirty bar. It's mid afternoon and there are only a few drunks and dealers hanging around. The barman is in the corner molesting a fruit machine for all his money's worth; he didn't see the little girl come in. She approaches the bar slowly and climbs up onto a barstool. One of the older farts glares at her, his eyes damp and bloodshot, heavy in the smokey sunlight. She looks back at him, brow furrowed, a serious look on her face. Her dark brown eyes are unblinking in the tobacco smoke.

The barman suddenly shouts "Fucking useless!", and slaps the glowing bandit with a sweaty palm. He turns back to the bar, stops in his tracks as he sees the little girl, then strides towards her, voice raised.

"You're not supposed to be in here . . ."
"But it's the afternoon," she replies - "Kids are allowed in in the afternoon."
Taken aback, the barman nervously takes a cloth from his pocket and points it at her, "You . . . out . . . now."

"But I'm allowed . . ." she says, "I'm allowed to be here."
Feeling threatened, the barman starts to sweat. He's never got on with children, and this one's rebelious. Deep down, he knows he's out of his depth, and that scares him. "Now . . . who told you that? . . . You're going to have to leave."

Her unexpected presence in his everyday world wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be here. This was wrong. He was going to have to throw her out, but he was afraid of touching her. He half steps towards her, arms reaching forward, but he's uncertain and hesitates. She pulls away from him, gripping the barstool tight with both hands.

"Fuck sakes, lad!" says the old scowler from the corner, "Leave her be." The barman and the little girl both look at the old boy hunched behind his table. Slowly, he stands, wobbles, and then calmly shuffles over to stand beside the little girl.

"Here . . . ", he puts a coin on the bar, "Get her a lemonade or something will you." The barman, relieved someone else has taken charge, scuttles off behind the bar to pour the drink. The little girl looks at the old man. She's close enough to smell the stale beer on his breath and see the stains on his fingers. "Thanks" she says. "Your welcome" he says, half coughing. He strokes her cheek kindly and she smiles. Slowly, the old man staggers back to his seat, and the barman serves the lemonade in a tall glass with a straw. The little girl spends the rest of the afternoon sitting happily on the barstool, sipping her pop.

You turn me on.

saint aini

Quote from: Your Audience on April 04, 2007, 10:11:40 PM
An eight year old girl walks into a dirty bar. It's mid afternoon and there are only a few drunks and dealers hanging around. The barman is in the corner molesting a fruit machine for all his money's worth; he didn't see the little girl come in. She approaches the bar slowly and climbs up onto a barstool. One of the older farts glares at her, his eyes damp and bloodshot, heavy in the smokey sunlight. She looks back at him, brow furrowed, a serious look on her face. Her dark brown eyes are unblinking in the tobacco smoke.

The barman suddenly shouts "Fucking useless!", and slaps the glowing bandit with a sweaty palm. He turns back to the bar, stops in his tracks as he sees the little girl, then strides towards her, voice raised.

"You're not supposed to be in here . . ."
"But it's the afternoon," she replies - "Kids are allowed in in the afternoon."
Taken aback, the barman nervously takes a cloth from his pocket and points it at her, "You . . . out . . . now."

"But I'm allowed . . ." she says, "I'm allowed to be here."
Feeling threatened, the barman starts to sweat. He's never got on with children, and this one's rebelious. Deep down, he knows he's out of his depth, and that scares him. "Now . . . who told you that? . . . You're going to have to leave."

Her unexpected presence in his everyday world wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be here. This was wrong. He was going to have to throw her out, but he was afraid of touching her. He half steps towards her, arms reaching forward, but he's uncertain and hesitates. She pulls away from him, gripping the barstool tight with both hands.

"Fuck sakes, lad!" says the old scowler from the corner, "Leave her be." The barman and the little girl both look at the old boy hunched behind his table. Slowly, he stands, wobbles, and then calmly shuffles over to stand beside the little girl.

"Here . . . ", he puts a coin on the bar, "Get her a lemonade or something will you." The barman, relieved someone else has taken charge, scuttles off behind the bar to pour the drink. The little girl looks at the old man. She's close enough to smell the stale beer on his breath and see the stains on his fingers. "Thanks" she says. "Your welcome" he says, half coughing. He strokes her cheek kindly and she smiles. Slowly, the old man staggers back to his seat, and the barman serves the lemonade in a tall glass with a straw. The little girl spends the rest of the afternoon sitting happily on the barstool, sipping her pop.



good story...
lacks prerequisite violence.
Mary: Let me ask you something.
[Grabs his hand]
Mary: Why are you alive?
John Preston: [Breaks free] I'm alive... I live... to safeguard the continuity of this great society. To serve Libria.
Mary: It's circular. You exist to continue your existence. What's the point?
John Preston: What's the point of your existence?
Mary: To feel. 'Cause you've never done it, you can never know it. But it's as vital as breath. And without it, without love, without anger, without sorrow, breath is just a clock... ticking.

theCalmpsychopath

i liked it, but i was expecting more death and raping
the human brain is like a grizzly bear with a midget on the back trying to control it

Triple Zero

needs more tentacles.

(seriously, i will read it tomorrow)
Ex-Soviet Bloc Sexual Attack Swede of Tomorrow™
e-prime disclaimer: let it seem fairly unclear I understand the apparent subjectivity of the above statements. maybe.

INFORMATION SO POWERFUL, YOU ACTUALLY NEED LESS.

LMNO

Please explain why you think this is in any way relevant to the topic at hand.

Triple Zero

ok, i read it.

still needs more tentacles.

also, it's a nice story. well written and such. but, except that it takes place in a bar, it doesn't really have much to do with the metaphysical parable discussed in this thread, also known as "the barstool experiment".
i suppose you're trying to go from the angle that the barman's paradigm is suddenly shaken up by the appearance of a little girl in a grubby bar. especially the final bit, that she keeps sitting there all afternoon, being out-of-place sitting there. just it's more of a description of the status quo of a cabbage barkeeper "The barman, relieved someone else has taken charge", and he doesn't even walk out with some sort of lesson or revelation or whatever.

so yes, what LMNO said, please explain what this has to do with the barstool-experiment or discordianism.

also, you're the alt right? so you should probably already know random writing and short stories have their own place in the "Literate Chaotic" or "Bring and Brag" subfora, and you even get to create a shiny new thread for them!
Ex-Soviet Bloc Sexual Attack Swede of Tomorrow™
e-prime disclaimer: let it seem fairly unclear I understand the apparent subjectivity of the above statements. maybe.

INFORMATION SO POWERFUL, YOU ACTUALLY NEED LESS.

Your Audience

I'm sorry, I thought this was just an intelectual game. Did I brake the rules? I was simply developing the story, that is the purpose of this thread isnt it?

I'm simply using the same themes but in a diferent way. That is, who's version of reality holds sway in any given relationship. The violence is strongly implied I think.

I would hope that you didn't really think this was a discusion on Zen techniques?
You turn me on.

LMNO

Now you're just trying to fuck with us.

Triple Zero

the barstool-experiment parable is sort of like floaty pink cloudy hippie detergent

BUT

it hits the priest and scientist alike.

and if you don't get that, just trust us that random stories should go into those other subfora. the barstool-experiment parable is a littlebit more specific than what you just said.
Ex-Soviet Bloc Sexual Attack Swede of Tomorrow™
e-prime disclaimer: let it seem fairly unclear I understand the apparent subjectivity of the above statements. maybe.

INFORMATION SO POWERFUL, YOU ACTUALLY NEED LESS.

Your Audience

Yes, I think you're right. The version this thread started with is a lot more specific with regards to the metaphysical dead-end it highlights.

I think what I was trying to do was take it out of the realms of intellectual masturbation and try and relate it to something a bit more personal. I don't claim to have succeeded, but I think it was worth a go.

By the way, I thought fucking with each other was the whole point?
You turn me on.