Rant 60: Fucking Erisians

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

Rant 60
Erisianity
(and Erisianigans)

,ÄúIt was rumored that in response to the often quoted statement ,Äòit is an ill wind that blows no minds,Äô  the wind blowing at the time shouted ,Äúblow your own damn minds!,Äù
-The Path of Chaos: Chapter 1; verse 23

,ÄúWhat are you thinking?,Äù ,ÄúSomething altogether stupid.,Äù ,ÄúAbout the state of the world?,Äù ,ÄúWhy would I be thinking about that?,Äù ,ÄúIsn,Äôt that stupid,Äù  ,ÄúTo think about the world, or the state of the world?,Äù ,ÄúYou tell me.,Äù ,ÄúNope. You think for yourself.,Äù ,ÄúI asked you a simple question.,Äù ,ÄúAnd I answered it. Didn,Äôt I?,Äù
-Conversation between myself and the White Mouse

,ÄúStupidity is the most dangerous Weapon of Mass Destruction there is, and this WMD is found everywhere,Ķnot even hidden but blatantly displayed. You don,Äôt see other species running around doing the sorts of stupid shit that you humans do. Your species has a lot of fucked up issues,Ķ Eh, we mice survived the dinosaurs and I suppose we,Äôll survive you guys. ,Äù
¬-the White Mouse

,ÄúBureaucracy is simultaneously our revenge against DUMB and one of the highest expressions of DUMB. Thus it could be another chaoist conundrum, but I ain,Äôt discussing it any further. You want some bread crumbs, or what?,Äù
-Tequilarius Malignatus, to the sparrows

Never mind all that crap about stupidity you keep hearing about. You want to know why? I may tell you why,Ķor I may just meander a while on tangential digressions leaving you more confused than ever about exactly what it is I may be saying, in as much as it can be said that I could be saying anything. (No problem there, however, our media does it all the time. At least I,Äôm being up front about it.) Why never mind about the stupidity? Well, for one thing, if stupidity is the dominant influence and lifestyle of THEM, as opposed to us (who have our own issues), than it is sure as hell easy to confuse THEM into pools of dribbling snot in our great Cabbage Barbecuing Operation Mindfuck. Think about that for a moment. Or don,Äôt. See if I care.

In fact the only real issue to contend with as far as stupidity is concerned is the massive military and economic power of DUMB. These days, stupidity can always marshal up more people than we can. So, of course, we,Äôre sneaking around the massive behemoth of DUMB as if we were little mice. But we can always pick THEM off in little bits because the behemoth is too large and too blinded by its own stupidity, masquerading as some sort of progressive holier-wealthier-more-successful-than-thou arrogance to notice the types of things we,Äôre up to. As least that,Äôs what we tell ourselves to keep going,ĶI don,Äôt know what the rest of you tell yourselves, but it,Äôs probably something similar.

We could be just as stupid as some of THEM but at least we admit it to ourselves, sometimes. And if we didn,Äôt, Eris would do something to make damned sure we started to. At least we can laugh at all of our stupidity and even more so at the stupidity of THEM. If all else fails, we can still lay claim to enlightenment or some other such thing to validate what we do, why we do it, and who we do it with/to. We Discordians at least have that much going for us. We can take a joke. Most of THEM can,Äôt.

And just what the hell is really going on, as society succumbs ever more speedily to the machinations of DUMB and DOOM, anyway? The answer depends on whether you are asking about what is really,Ñ¢ going on,Äîas represented in the govermedia,Äîor what is really, really going on,Äîas in the shit you can see, touch, feel, etc. By now you have figured out that the two kinds of what-is-really-going-on don,Äôt seem to come close to matching. (Shit! Both versions seem to be about as far from each other as the opinions of a donkey and a dolphin are about the 10th planet of this solar system. And trust me, they argue all the time about it.) In any event, we are here not concerned with either of those issues as you are probably either doing damned well finding that out on your own (10th planet be damned), or not. Or maybe. Whatever the case may be. No. We are here concerned with the certain doings and possible actions that are taking place in the War On Stupidity and other such Discordian conspiracies.

You thought I was joking when I told you the story about how a certain military warehouse full of ordnance became the center of a colossal mindfuck when, apparently, several crates of ordnance were opened and the contents were discovered to be nothing but fruity and colorful cereal for children? But we are not here even concerned with that, now, are we? We are here not even concerned with the rabid paranoia among the banking and finance industries that the appearance of fnords written on legal tender is causing. No. That,Äôs just one of those little damned things that can not be catalogued, though THEY might try, and thus is not discussed openly. In the best case scenario, as one of my sources on the inside told me, it,Äôs just some fad started out as a prank by one or other of those crazy anarcho-hippie-types. No, we are not here concerned with that either. We are not even here concerned with the frightening fact that the fraction of 1/3rd can not be adequately resolved in the decimal arithmetic system we use. Nope. That concerns us not in the least, as scary as that may be.

We are concerned with and intrigued by Eris, but that,Äôs a topic for later.

Okay, so maybe I lied. It,Äôs a topic for now. We are concerned with Eris, Her doings, and the doings of ourselves, Her Children; all of things collectively known as the Discordian Society, in as much as it can be said to exist in any sort of collective,Äîmore like a group of loose nuts who happen to bump into each other and go ,ÄòOuch!,Äô every now and again, if you ask me. But what do I know, or care? I drink tequila for holey communion, for Eris,Äôs sake. And why are we concerned, you may ask? You know damned well why,Ķand don,Äôt start whining about your cookies being eaten by that rabid pack of neon green squirrels that live under your bed again. You and I both know that those sorts of squirrels do not eat cookies; being humanitarian squirrels after all; and not cookie-tarian or nut-tarian, or vegetarian,ĶUnless cabbages count as a vegetable. (To be fair and politically correct, we cannot insult the vegetables anymore by calling cabbages vegetables. And if you think the vegetables are pissed, wait till you hear from the Pine-Cones for Safer Microwaving.)
(I got a letter from them,Äînot to be confused with THEM,Äîone day and then all sorts of crazy shit happened in my kitchen. Needless to say that when I was finally able to pry the toaster from the faucet, which somehow had gotten stuck into the refrigerator door, I was happy to discover some pie left in the fridge and forgot the whole matter until now.) As I was saying before I got distracted by pie, we are here concerned with the doings of Eris.

,ÄòWelcome to the third floor!,Äô as they used to say in the nut-houses. Speaking of which, I hope you all have realized that this society is our great Open Air Nut-House. (Those seeking asylum can apply via the astral plane to our Decentral Office of Cluttered Bowling Alleys. Even though they sometimes get confused with the Agency for Karma Management, we,Äôll have you know that they are not responsible for any espionage, at least allegedly, no matter what the White Mouse claims. Never trust a Discordian ,Äòplumber,Äô, BTW.) As I was saying before the parenthesis (parenthetically (and most digressively (in as much as it can be said to exist, or not, or maybe) speaking), of course), we are living in the great Open Air Nut-House otherwise known as Eris,Äôs Playground,Äîand if you are getting sick of me repeating myself about it, take your whining someplace else, unless you feel like being tonight,Äôs entertainment, or unless you would like some cheese with it,Äîand for this we should feel special because She has entrusted us with the keys, the locks,Ķhell, even the damned doors and gates, or other such portals of entry/exit (often called the pineal gland). Eris also provides us with cookies (despite the fact that we usually have to either find them or make them ourselves), the shits-and-giggles, the hoots, and the various inspirational ideas for various Golden Apple tosses which overtake us and others from time to time,Äîor from minute to minute, depending on your level of sanity-insanity, or some other such criterion. And we want you to know that if you haven,Äôt yet realized this, we have subliminal propaganda that can help you. (Refer to our Office of Anarcho-Fascist-Oink-Oinks for instructions in the matter. I or We,Äôll have you know, by the way, that the Office has recently purged itself of all of the Marxist-Leninist-Communo-Capitalist cabbages for their deviations from the strict criterion of Party-Lineage, as set forth by the Apostle Zarathud. Or because THEY were no fun to be around and never brought beer to our Parties. Either way, you decide.) And if these parentheses would stop interrupting me, I may get around to saying what it is I want to say, if I even, in fact, have something to say, in as much as there is anything to say, in as much as it can be said. In any event, I can always play cut-up with texts and insert them here. Or you can.

Perhaps you disagree because you are either in a foul mood or in a fowl mood. This is fine provided that you recognize that any mood is better than feeling like a cabbage, or worse yet, BEING a cabbage. In as much as it can be said that Eris, or the Universe (provided that there is a difference,Äîwhich may possibly be subtle and swift to anger. Thus, I wouldn,Äôt recommend flushing it down the toilet as it would most likely foul up your plumbing. And if you think you are in a foul mood now, wait and see how foul of a mood you,Äôll be in if your toilet stops working) may or may not be playing a joke on you. And rest assured, or not, that if Eris is playing a joke on you, it will be damned funny. Probably even funnier than the time the pigeons invaded an outdoor symphony concert and stole away all of the bread, cheese, and wine from the audience. (I was assured by an ornithologist that that sort of behavior is, in fact, usual for pigeons and that there was no need for alarm, unless you were in the audience.)

Anyway, no matter the problem or issue, we have Eristic Erisianity to help you out of it, or at least to get you to laugh at it. And if that doesn,Äôt work we have electric shock treatment available for a limited time only. (Although our appliances may protest being used for such labors as it is probably not covered in their union contracts.) Or we can get you to drain a half-liter of tequila in one gulp,Ķthe resulting state in which such an action will put you will make everything else you are going through seem like so much smoke. Unless of course being hung over is your problem, in which case report to the Discordian Temple and purge thyself of your sickness. (Hell, we don,Äôt actually care where you purge yourself, so long as it,Äôs not on our floors, walls, doors, furniture, prairie squid, appliances, cars, or what-have-you.)

None of this has anything to do with explaining the real reasons why the doors and the windows keep moving around. Or why the street signs now have Welsh graffiti on them. Or why some random person somewhere woke up from their drunken slumber with their hair colored purple. Or why I am a reverend of something or other but have never called my self such. Or why banks have not nearly enough actual money as they loan out. (The Banks believe that THEY themselves invented the little con-job, but we know that it is really Eris who is playing the joke on THEM.) Or why certain gnomes go batty for my new tequila lime pie recipe. Or even why you may some day find yourself waking up with pink thigh high boots on your legs, a tartan kilt, and a purple suit coat on, in the place of the clothes you fell asleep in the night before; with a piper standing over you, skirling loudly away,Äîso loudly, in fact that your boogers have gone south for the winter, trailing all along your face and, no matter how hung-over you feel, you decide the only thing you want for breakfast is five double glasses of cheap scotch (seeing as all the tequila is gone),Äîplaying Rod Stewart,Äôs ,ÄúIf you want my body,Äù tune in the key of the way-too-high-pitched C. And none of this certainly explains why Eris has appointed several squirrel nations as Her chosen messengers, or angels, if you will, because of St. Gulik,Äôs complaints about being overworked. Perhaps I have smoked way too much pipe tobacco, or perhaps Eris is playing with my coffee again. Perhaps I have overdosed on parentheses or something. There are so many possibilities. Perhaps too many to list. (And in any event, what do you, we, or I care about such a meandering ramble that such a list would entail.) Just remember that if you find yourself in a shitstorm, pass it the fuck along and away. We are here to help you do so, by Eris and by Bob,Äôs smoking pipe, in case you need or want the help.

All Hail Discordia, and set us up the scotch!

Mae ,Äòy mhib yn smygu.

(Bureaucracy 14th, 3170)

[gnimbley]

mmmmmmm. tequila lime pie.

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

mmmmmmm. tequila lime pie.

Mmm, indeed!