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There was a point in my life when I was pondering many issues of human nature, and wondering if what we did now effected what might happen to us after we died . . . I was laying face down on the linoleum tiled floor, which is one of the six places I happen to ponder those types of issues best.  The other five were too far away.  The closest place is almost always the best place, for me.

While I mused abstractly I entertained myself by blowing a single piece of cereal across the tile floor, trying to outdo myself with each puff.  As the cereal rolled across the floor it bumped into what appeared to be a large shard of deeply varnished wood.  I was, in fact, under the impression it was wood until it skittered toward me.

i was deeply concerned to witness a rather large cockroach sprinting toward my face, but was even more concerned when it raised it's antennae and addressed me.  -BARON VON HOOPLA!  it called in a deep basso profundo.

-Gah?  I choked in answer.  I stand by it as a valid response, under the circumstances.

-CALL ME GULIK.  I AM A MESSENGER.  I COME HITHER AND DITHER TO TEACH YOU ABOUT REINCARNATION.   

-Zah!  I gagged, being still an ignorant fool, and lacking full enlightenment.

The roach tittered over to the cupboard near my head and opened it, revealing hundreds of cockroaches crawling through my garbage.  I don't know what stopped vomit from spewing out of every pour in my body, but I'm thankful it didn't.  I hacked again as Gulik said,  -THESE ARE THE CHOSEN OF ERIS.  THEIR ENLIGHTENMENT WILL ALLOW THEM TO MOVE UP THE LADDER AFTER THIS LIFE TO KOALA IN THE NEXT LIFE.

-Koala?  I asked.  -That's the next step up from cockroach?

-OF COURSE.  DESPITE WHAT YOU MAY BELIEVE COCKROACHES LIVE A RATHER IDEAL LIFE FOR THE MOST PART.  MOST LIVE IN, OR VERY NEAR, GARBAGE . . . THE CENTRAL DIET OF OUR KIND.  AND, I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE NOTICED YET OR NOT, BUT THE WORLD IS FULL OF GARBAGE, GROWING STEADILY BY THE HOUR.  THERE WILL NEVER BE STARVATION FOR COCKROACHES.

-But, why are Koalas the next step up the ladder?  I asked.

-FOR ALMOST THE SAME REASON.  KOALAS LIVE IN EUCALYPTUS TREES, WHICH IS THE SOURCE OF THEIR MAIN FOOD:  EUCALYPTUS LEAVES.  BUT, THERE ARE FIVE ADDITIONS TO THE KOALA WHICH PLACE IT A NOTCH ABOVE US:

1) THEY ARE ACCEPTED THROUGHOUT THE WORLD BY ALL SPECIES OF MAN BEAST AND INSECT (EXCEPT FOR COCKROACHES) AS THE CUTEST ANIMAL IN EXISTENCE.

2) THEIR CENTRAL DIET, EUCALYPTUS LEAVES, ARE PSYCHEDELIC, SO ALL KOALAS ARE ETERNALLY STONED.

3)  THE EUCALYPTUS LEAVES CAUSE THE KOALA'S URINE TO SMELL FANTASTIC, WHICH IS UNIQUE IN THE WORLD.

4)  KOALAS ARE PSYCHIC, SO THEY CAN-

-Holy shit!  I exclaimed.  -For real??

-YES.

-Prove it.

-FUCK YOU, WHAT DO I CARE IF YOU BELIEVE ME?

-Sorry.

-WHERE WAS I?

-The fifth reason.

-RIGHT. THERE IS NO FIFTH REASON.

-So, I asked.  -What is above Koalas?

-SRIZZLEFISH.

-What the holy Hades are Srizzlefish?

-THERE ARE ONLY EVER FIVE SRIZZLEFISH ALIVE AT ANY GIVEN TIME.  SO THERE IS A LONG WAITING LIST.  THEY LIVE ANYWHERE FROM TWO HUNDRED TO FIVE HUNDRED YEARS.  THEY JUST FLOAT AROUND ON THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN, COMPLETELY ENLIGHTENED.  THEY REQUIRE NO SUSTENANCE, THEY SIMPLY . . . ARE.

-Great Googly Moogly.  What's above Srizzlefish?

-NOTHING.

-Nothing?  How can there be nothing above Srizzlefish?  Something must be.

-NO.  THERE ISN'T.  THAT'S IT.  THE END.  KAPUT.

-So, if there's nothing above Srizzlefish, when do you become human?

-PFFFH!  Gulik laughed.  -WHAT'RE YOU, KIDDING ME?  AND TAKE A HUGE STEP BACK DOWN THE LADDER?  YOU'RE ON GOOFBALLS.

Thus, I was enlightened.

emo boi has
a loose bottom
much
like
his
mother
who i reamed last
night

she didn't
scream as high
pitched
as emo boi
did
but she wasn't
as disturbing
or as
sad

he asked for
water
when it was
over
me and his mom
named
Lucy
laughed

only cowardly fucktards
post
as
guests,
mofo . . .

1- Slapstick Humour
The first circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was Slapstick Humour. One ape was walking toward a pond of muddy water, got their foot caught by a root, and tripped, face first into the slop. After a moment of taking the scene in, all the other upright hairless apes began hee-hawing without knowing why. For some reason the pain and misfortune of the fallen ape stirred something new in the upright hairless apes. It made them feel good.

2-Toilet Humour
The second circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was of Toilet Humour. The largest ape was bullying the smaller apes around, grunting orders and gesticulating wildly to make his point. As he picked up the smallest ape, and tossed him in the direction he wanted him to move, the smallest ape let out a large, long, fart of defiance. Another pause, and then the apes began to hee-haw again. The large ape turned in anger and was going to attack the smaller ape when he was struck in the face with a large turd. The hee-hawing grew louder, and out of shame the large ape wandered away for good.

3-Satirical Humour
The third circuit of humour appeared just before speech developed. A new large ape had been bullying the smaller apes around, and behind his back a tall ape was mimicking the large ape's distinctive facial movements and posture. He grunted, and scratched, and pouted and mugged mercilessly. It took the other apes a few moments to realize what the tall ape was attempting to portray, but once it sunk through, the hee-hawing began anew. The first form of political humour.

4-Intellectual Humour
The final circuit developed when speech became available. The first conversations were dry and humourless, amounting to little more than "Animal, there." or "Me hungry" or the always popular "Me So Horny", but the fourth circuit popped into circulation with the invention of the first limerick, which went like this: "There once was a girl named Zee, who was raped by that ape up the tree. The result was most horrid, all ass and no forehead, three balls and an ill-groomed goatee". This was the first form of verbal humour, but also -possibly- the first philosophical musings of humanity's origins. This was a large step beyond stubbing toes, farts, and imitations, this was the beginning of the critique on society that humour has become.

5-Lulz
A strange circuit of humour has recently been identified, known mysteriously as "lulz".  This mystical form of humour resists definition, as Potter Stewart once famously said, "I know the lulz when I see it". 

All through my life I was told that the way to be happy was to struggle for success. But, success on my terms? Success by the terms of my parents? Success by the terms of my teachers? Or peers? Over time, success was finally laid down to me by society as a whole.

Success meant getting a well paid job that stressed my mind because 'stress and hard work build character . . . a job you like will indulge the mind, and that's where insanity starts' which is really just a more elaborate way of stating the old adage 'idle hands are the devil's playground'.

Success also meant looking right - 'dress for success' they tell you, cut that hair, cover up those tattoos, get those teeth fixed, stand up straight, stick out your chin, suck in your gut.

Success also meant getting married to a girl from a 'good family', which is really code for $. You had damn well better make sure she looks like a melange of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears (before the meltdown), though, if you want real success, and if she doesn't quite yet, well that's what God invented surgery for, right? Just don't take any pictures of her in good light until the eyes have been widened, the lips puckered to look like a baboon's asshole, the hair has been stripped and extensions have been implanted into the skull - work on the tits, ass, the works.

Once the girl is established, the next exit ramp to success is having at least two children, one boy and one girl. The boy is to become an extension of you, and the girl is to be the extension of whomever she marries. They had both better be attractive, so they can work in commercials as babies. Success starts early. If they aren't attractive, keep popping them out, the odds will eventually be in your favour. A couple homely kids in the family photos aren't an eyesore if two or three lookers even them out.

Success also meant getting into the right activities, such as golf, or, well . . . just golf I guess. Learn to play golf, get a good score, buy expensive (not well made) clubs and show them off in a large expensive bag which will be carried around by the son of someone who is NOT successful. Be contemptuous of him, his father didn't work hard enough.

Success also means grasping onto some arbitrary religion, but not too tightly . . . zealots never achieve TRUE success. If someone asks you if you believe in God, the answer is yes, but if they ask you which god get the hell out of there, because that question means the conversation is sliding downhill into metaphysics, and philosophers are NOT successful. Go to church a couple times a year, and toss out a couple dollars to the collection plate when you do. Ask for a receipt.

Toward middle age begin carrying a pipe around, and practice clenching it in your teeth, but do not light. You're too good looking to get mouth or lung cancer just to show how distinguished you are. Buy a small red sports car, and drive to the mall to pretend to pick up your kids. Look for a potential candidate for an affair. If you happen to see your children leaving the mall, drive away; walking builds character, and besides, your sports car can't fit anyone but you.

Early retirement, a gold watch, and the inevitable move to Florida are the capping achievements of the successful life. Try to tan a lot, but not so much that you get wrinkles. Think of George Hamilton, use him as your guide. Make sure you leave a lot of money behind so people will always talk about how successful you were. Make sure they get you an obelisk as a headstone. Or, better yet, a tomb. That's true success.

Everything else is just gravy.

My response?

Fuck you, and your expectations, bucko. I will name what success is to me, and that is having as good a time as is humanly possible, as often as is possible. Laughing and crying. Thinking about things beyond how to make the next buck, pursuing art and leisure, pondering metaphysics, eating well, smoking some grass, drinking some beer, giggling with someone I love, trying to help people as much as I can, reading books other than the 'one everyone is talking about' instead of watching hours of Survivor or Desperate Housewives.

I live for that gravy.

Every year on September the 9th the god of excess and righteous partying, Dionysus rose from the dead and threw a swinging bash, held on the peak of Mount Olympus; all of the the gods were invited, from the biggies like Aegis-bearing Zeus, down to the lower level monster gods, like Phorcys, all except for one: Eris, called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Comedy and doo-wop tunes.

Dionysus, already completely smashed, climbed onto a tabletop and attempted to quiet the rowdy, drunken, and stoned gods so that he could welcome them all, for the twenty-third time. "My brothers and sisters," he called out.  "Fathers and mothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, lovers and fighters, listen to me for just a fucking second before you go back to your pipes and beer-bongs . . ."

"C'mmn shit on m'face ya big hunka fssszzl mfffllllllllllssssssss-" Pallas Athene said, standing suddenly, and then melting back onto the bench she had been sitting on.  The gods and goddesses erupted in boisterous laughter.

"Did she ask me to shit on her face?" Dionysus asked. "It doesn't matter, I would have, anyway, by the end of the night . . . my glorious friends, I am so happy to be with you all again, and see all of your beautiful faces . . . and beautiful asses, and, and- well, anyway, I want to thank every god and goddess for showing up tonight-"

A bold female voice sounded suddenly throughout the room.  NOT EVERY GODDESS WAS INVITED, BUT ALL ARE PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR . . . NOW.

All the heads swung around, some more slowly than others, and wearily looked at the stunningly tall and beautiful goddess standing in the doorway, wrapped in golden robes.  "Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh . . ." Dionysus stammered.

ERIS, the goddess of Chaos finished.  Dionysus moved down from the table top, and approached the goddess.  "I meant to invite you, Eris, you know we're tight, you and me . . . it's just that the others . . . they, uh, they get worried about the trouble you cause."

PAY IT NO MIND, DIONYSUS, I HOLD NO MALICE FOR YOU, OR FOR ANY OF YOU . . . IT IS TO BE EXPECTED.  BUT, I BRING YOU A GIFT, AS A TOKEN OF GOODWILL.

Eris held out a long plant with a stem which had five sides, surrounded by five green sepals, and bell shaped flowers hung from it.  THIS IS BELLADONNA, ALSO KNOWN AS THE LOVE APPLE . . . ADD SOME OF THIS TO YOUR WINE FOR A REAL KICK, TEQUILA HAS NOTHING ON THIS.

Dionysus took the belladonna from her, looked down at it, and said "Thank you, Eris, that's very big of you.  Would you care to stay?"

NO, I MUST BE GOING . . . CAPTAIN BEEFHEART IS SUPPOSED TO BE PLAYING AT THE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL, I HAVE TO GO SLIP HIM SOME ACID TO FUCK IT UP . . . IF HE PLAYS THERE HE'LL BECOME HUGE AND LOSE ALL HIS CULT CRED. TA TA . . .

And, with that she was gone.  Dionysus turned and looked at the all the faces around him, quadrupled visually by the chemicals flowing through his white god blood.  "Should we?" he asked.

Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, wobbly, and said:  "Gimme that fucking plant with all speed . . . no mere flower frightens the king of all gods, no matter what the effect."  Then snatched the belladonna from Dionysus' grip, crushed them up barehanded, and sprinkled the remains into a large decanter of wine.  The wine was passed around, and all of the gods took a goblet full, even Pallas Athene, who was looking a rather unattractive shade of chartreuse.

After a few minutes Apollo said, "Oohh, I'm FeeLinG iT . . ." and began to run his fingers through his gossamer hair.  White-armed Hera sat forward and said "I dOn'T FeeL AnytHiNG!" while twisting her lip around between her fingers.  Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, and placed his fingers to his temples. "Do yOu FeEL thAt?" he asked the assembled gods and goddesses.  "Do yOu See ThAT?  dO You hEAr tHat?"

All the divine beings quieted down, and listened, and looked, and felt . . . and just as Hera repeated "I DOn'T FeEL ANyThiNG!" all of them began to share a single hallucination.  In the hallucination they saw the world, and the world was perfectly quiet . . . the view zoomed in closer and they could see Athens and Sparta, the buildings, the trees, the animals . . . but it was all so quiet.  "WhERe iS eveRYoNe?" Aphrodite asked.  "WHy Is iT sO QuiET?" asked Hephaestus.  "I dOn'T FeeL ANYTHiNG!"  cried Hera.

Then, they did see people, walking glumly here and there, chatting mundanely about the weather, which was always good.  They saw more and more people, until the humans were walking shoulder to shoulder, all with blank expressionless eyes.  They saw children picking up toys of horses, and then tossing them over cliffs into the sea, watching them as they washed away.  They saw people who simply stared at a single spot for hours and hours until falling asleep.

"WHat IS tHiS?" cried Demeter.  "IT's aWFul!"

Pallas Athene called out then, and sounded much more like her usual self:  "DoN't ANy oF YOu sEE?  aRE yoU aLL so BliND?  IT is A vISion oF a WoRLd WIthouT StrIFE.  THe poPUlaTionS aRE grOWinG ToO LArge aNd pEOPle Are BecOMinG jaDeD . . ."

"ArE tHEre nO PoeTS, oR musICIans?"  asked Apollo.  Athena turned to him, saying, "WHat woULd thEY teLL ABout?  WHat woULd thEY sInG ABout? HoW PInk tHIs fLowEr iS cOMparEd to THat?  iT is A woRLD oF TEDiuM . . . LiFE haS no MeanINg fOr tHEm . . . THeY haVE no LowS tO coMParE to tHe hIGhs . . . iT IS maDNess"

Dionysus looked at Athena, and then at Zeus.  "WE weRe foolS."  he said, simply, and quietly.  "WE trEAted OUr siSTEr Eris LiKE an OUtCast . . . liKe heR CONtributIONs WErE WorTHlEss . . . WHen REallY . . ."

" . . . THey MEan EVeryTHinG."  Athena finished.  "MOraLiTy, HAppINess, BEAutY, ArT . . . All aRe basEd oN STrife."

White-armed Hera looked at all of the other gods and goddesses while they pondered this, and after a pause said:  "I dOn'T FeeL ANYTHiNG."

High above the temple of Dionysus, Eris chuckled to herself, and floated up high high high into the sky.

Aegis-bearing Zeus' annual marble competition was well renowned throughout the worlds of the gods, and every deity worth their salt was invited, from Jehovah to Odin, except for one:  Eris called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Calamity and paperclips.

Zeus stood near the mound, and held up his prize marble, made from the clearest diamond, with a tiny Gorgon head placed inside.  Light from Apollo's flaming chariot in the sky glinted off the surface and scorched into the divine retinas of the holy beings gathered.  "With this glorious marble I shall once again take the championship . . . I will crush all of the opposition, and claim all your marbles.  What say you all?  Who is ready?"

Jehovah walked forward, and tossed his long grey beard over his shoulder, pulling out his new marble.  It appeared to be a rough-hewn stone.  "This marble of mine is a stone that was used to bash out the brains of a heathen who dared to not believe in me.  That, I will not stand for.  I must be acknowledged as supreme ruler of the entire universe, and all who do not bow to me will be crushed out of existence and roasted in the burning brimstone pits of hell, which I conveniently created for just such a purpose.  But, also let it be known that I am a loving god."

"Yes yes yes," said Zeus.  "We all know about your worship complex, and your bipolar disorder . . . very very very old news.  Are you ready to lose that pebble to me?  Who else shall play?"

Odin stepped forward, squinting heavily.  "I will play you, you miserable letch.  See this, I have plucked mine own eye from my head, knowing it will give me all the power and knowledge I need to stomp your sorry ass.  This time I shall not be beaten, and will be able to retire to Valhalla in peace."

"In pieces, is more like it, if you keep up talking that sort of rot,"  Zeus snarled at Odin.  He turned and gazed over the faces of the other gods and goddesses.  "Who else shall play marbles with me and lose?"

I SHALL PLAY,  came a loud husky female voice.  BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO LOSE.

Zeus wheeled around, and stared at a tall goddess with wild blonde and black hair dancing in the breeze.  One eye was blue and the other was green.  "Eris Nancy Discordia!"  cried Aegis-bearing Zeus.  "Of all the nerve!  I deliberately did not invite you, you always fuck around with the marbles while they are on the playing area . . . more than once my dominance has been brought into question due to your fucking around.  Forget it, you are not playing.  Leave the mound!"

Eris smiled sweetly.  PLEASE DO NOT BLAME ME BECAUSE YOU ARE COCK-EYED . . . THE ONLY REASON AT ALL YOU CONSTANTLY WIN IS BECAUSE THE OTHERS CANNOT BARE TO LISTEN TO YOUR WHIMPERING WHEN YOU LOSE.  THEY FIND IT TEDIOUS AND BORING . . . I DO NOT, BECAUSE I, MYSELF, AM NOT BORING, AND ERGO CANNOT BE BORED . . . ON THE CONTRARY, I FIND IT RATHER GIGGLE-INDUCING.

Zeus snarled:  "Just get the fuck out of here, with all speed."

NOT A PROBLEM, BUT BEFORE I GO PERHAPS ONE OF THE OTHER GODS WOULD LIKE TO USE MY LUCKY GOLD MARBLE IN MY PLACE?  and Eris held up a beautiful and glittering golden sphere, which had etched in the side "For The Luckiest".

Jehovah and Odin both stepped forward at the same moment.  "I'll take it." Jehovah said, just as Odin cried the same thing.  Dionysus and Thor both jumped forward at that moment, but Jesus Christ jumped onto their backs and knocked their heads together.  

DON'T FIGHT, CHILDREN, Eris called out, LET'S DO IT FAIRLY . . .  and with a wide arc in her swing, Eris tossed the gold marble high into the clear blue sky and screamed: SCRAAAAAAAAAMBLE!

Every single god and goddess on the mound made a mad jump at where they thought the marble would land, many an elbow bloodied many a mouth, and several fingers grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled.  Teeth bit, nails scratched.  Zeus' prize marble rolled out of the ruckus, covered in white god blood, and Eris picked it up, wiped the blood off on her robes, and floated up into the sky, laughing uproariously.

A few nights before the wedding of Thetis to Peleus, doe-eyed Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, threw a bachelorette party for the beautiful bride in her temple on Mount Olympus. Amidst the pink silken curtains and plump pillows sat every goddess in creation, save one; Eris, called Strife, for she was a known shit disturber of the highest order.

As Artemis stepped into the room, Aphrodite stood and called out: "Alright my sisters, we are all here . . . let the merrymaking begin! Let down your hair, light the incense. Spill the wine, take that pearl! Let the presents be exchanged."

White-armed Hera stood and said, "Let Thetis, daughter of Poseidon, open my gift first for I am the wife of Aegis-bearing Zeus."

There was some grumblings amongst the women, but Hera's attitude was expected. Thetis took Hera's gift and opened it, revealing an elaborate girdle with lewd etchings depicted on the front and back. All the goddesses giggled loudly, save Pallas Athene, who smiled politely but thought herself above such bawdiness. She stood next, and called out, "Thetis, as the virgin goddess I would take this opportunity to promote abstinence to you, by giving you the gift of a chastity belt - wear it in good conscience!

Athena held the chastity belt high in the air, and then lowered it down to Thetis, who gazed upon it as if holding cow dung in her hand. Aphrodite also glowered at it. "Couldn't you at least have wrapped it?" she asked.

Athena stared coldly at her sister, then took her seat again.

"Alright," Aphrodite said, with a sigh. "Who's next?"

I AM. called out a loud, raucous voice. All the heads turned to see Eris, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Comedy and public transit ads. I HAVE A GIFT FOR THE BRIDE.

"Eris!" Aphrodite cried. "You were not invited! I did not invite you, you hag! This was invitation only! I will not have you wrecking this party like you've wrecked all the others!"

DARLING APHRODITE, I HAVE NO INTENTION OF STAYING WHERE MY PRESENCE IS NOT DESIRED, I WILL LEAVE THE MOMENT I HAVE GIVEN MY WEDDING GIFT TO THE LOVELY THETIS. I WOULDN'T DREAM OF FLOODING THIS PARTY, LIKE THE LAST.

Aphrodite said, through clenched teeth: "Dropping my temple into the Aegean Sea is NOT flooding!"

THE BASS ON THAT SOUND SYSTEM WAS MUCH MORE POWERFUL THAN HEPHAESTUS INSINUATED, MY BAD. AT ANY RATE, THE PAST IS DONE WITH, MY DEAR THETIS, TAKE THIS GIFT . . . IF I KNOW PELEUS, YOU WILL NEED IT SOONER, RATHER THAN LATER. USE IT, AS THE OL' STICK-IN-THE-MUD WOULD SAY, IN GOOD CONSCIENCE.

Eris dropped a large gift to the floor, and turned on her heel and strode from the room. All the goddesses gasped in unison, and gaped at the gift on the floor.

Resting on the marble tile was a gargantuan, elaborate solid gold dildo, hideously detailed and overly realistic. The head of the dildo was enormous, and shaped rather apple like. Emblazoned down the shaft were the words: FOR THE HORNIEST.

Thetis picked the dildo up with two fingers, looked it over, and said: "What did she mean 'if she knew Peleus' . . .?" but before she could conclude her thought the dildo was smacked from her hand by Aphrodite, whose cheeks were flushed.

"Wha-?" cried Thetis, in shock.

"Hands of that prick, bitch." Aphrodite heaved. "Didn't you read the thing? It says 'to the horniest' - and that, sister, is moi. MOI!"

She snatched the dildo up, intending to excuse herself temporarily, and hand to party's reigns over to Hera, when a spear stabbed her in the wrist, knocking the enormous phallus to the ground again. Aphrodite squealed out in pain as she saw white blood spurt from the wound.

"Stay where you are, trollop." Pallas Athene said loudly, and placed a foot on the dildo. "I'm as horny as a ten peckered owl, and I will be using this Pan-like appendage with all speed. I am certainly the horniest of all of you."

Demeter stood. "Athena? You? You think you're going to use that glorious golden dildo?"

Athena laughed once, cold and brittle. "Hon, while I have this thing the crack of dawn won't even be safe."

Demeter stood forward, and grasped the apple-like head. "That's not," she said. "what I meant."

Athena caught Demeter's hand as it moved toward her head and held it tight, but Hera got her across the jaw at almost the same moment. Persephone held her around the waist, and Aphrodite bit into her thigh.

In the midst of the melee, the dildo rolled out of the room, and was picked up by the hand of a goddess who laughed loud and long as she floated up into the sky.

High high high up on top of Mount Olympus, where most of the gods live, is the Temple of Pallas Athene. Crowned with a gargantuan gold and silver owl as the roof, to represent Athena herself in all of her glory, the temple stands as a symbol of wisdom and strength to almost all who gaze upon it.

Every year on April 21st (the wisest of all days) Athena called together all of the smartest, grooviest, and most wise gods for a meeting of the minds, to decide what manner the humans should be living; what their morals should represent; how the countries should be divided; what should be forbidden; and who was the wisest of all the gods. The last one was Athena's favourite, since she always won by a unanimous vote.

On the 'Day of the Wise' Athena strolled into the main chamber of her temple and looked around to see if all the gods she had called were present; these gods represented the best minds of her generation, and in attendance were her father Aegis-bearing Zeus, his brother the Lord of the Underworld Hades, Lord of Prophesy and Music Apollo, Lord of the Deep Poseidon, Master of the Forge Hephaestus, and Hera who wasn't particularly wise, but never allowed Zeus out of her site if she could help it.

"Splendid," said Athena, clapping her hands together. "If all are present, we can begin . . ."

WAIT, called out a large, magnificent, female voice. DON'T START WITHOUT ME . . .

Every god and goddess turned to see the tall beautiful goddess striding into the chamber, holding in her arms a large, brilliantly glittering golden apple. She smiled at all the gods present, and placed the gold apple on a table, while saying MY INVITATION MUST HAVE GOT LOST IN THE MAIL . . .

Athena stared blankly at Eris called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Creativity, and Refrigerator Magnets. "Strife, why have you blackened my chambers with your foul presence? It would be impossible for your invitation to have been lost, since none was issued. You scarcely qualify as a goddess, you, in fact, are little more than a personification and certainly should hold no position in my meetings of the Great Minds. Be gone, before I displace your molecules."

Eris smiled even more widely. She said, loudly: GREAT AND WISE PALLAS ATHENE, I MEANT YOU NO DISRESPECT, AND DIDN'T ACTUALLY DELUDE MYSELF TO BELIEVE I WAS WISE ENOUGH TO GAIN YOUR FAVOUR, NO MATTER HOW MUCH I DREAM OF THE PROSPECT . . . I MERELY WANTED TO ILLUSTRATE MY RESPECT FOR YOU AND YOUR CONSORTS BY OFFERING YOU THIS GIFT.

Athena eyed her suspiciously, knowing her reputation as a shit disturber, and asked slowly, "What is it?"

ONE AS WISE AS YOU SHOULD KNOW A PRIZE WHEN SHE SEES ONE, GREAT PALLAS ATHENE . . . Eris laughed. WHY SHOULD YOU ALL BE HAPPY MERELY NAMING ONE OF YOU AS THE WISEST OF THE GODS, WHEN YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY GIVE OUT A PRIZE, SO THAT THE GOD MAY HOLD PROOF OF THEIR UNDYING WISDOM, ALL YEAR, UNTIL THE NEXT MEETING. I THINK IT WOULD LOOK SMASHING ON YOUR MANTEL NEXT TO THE PHOTO OF YOURSELF AND APHRODITE RIDING SPACE MOUNTAIN . . . BUT THAT'S JUST A SUGGESTION. FEEL FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WISH WITH IT. CONSIDER IT YOURS.

And, with that, Eris turned on her heel, and walked back out of Athena's chamber. There was a stunned silence for a few moments, and then Athena laughed once, cold and brittle. "Imagine that upstart. Well, let's get on with the meeting, I'll just take this apple and get it out of the way-"

"Wait wait wait just a second there, missy." Zeus said, standing up. "Where do you think you're going with that?"

"I am taking it to my chambers, father . . . to place on my mantle next to the photo of Aphrodite and I riding Space Mountain."

"I think not." he said. "It was intended as a prize. It was meant for all of us."

"Father," Athena said, with a certain tone that only daughters can wield. "She said, 'Consider it yours', which means mine, MINE. Besides, I am voted most wise each year. I am sure to win again."

"Oh please," said Apollo. "You don't really believe that, do you? You are a fool who knows how to weave . . . crafty and crafty are not the same thing. I see the future, what could be more wise than knowing the future. Give the apple to me."

Zeus said "I am the greatest of all gods, and the most wise. Athena is wisest only in my absence, which is to say, never. Hand over that fucking apple with all speed."

Hera stood. "Whatever is my husband's is also mine. Give it to me."

"Ha!" said Poseidon. "You couldn't find your ass with both hands, a map, and a torch . . . if you are in the running let me also be said to be the most wise!"

And with that Poseidon made a leap for the golden apple, which fell off the table to the ground, where Zeus kicked it out of Poseidon's reach. Apollo caught it in the air, and went to run out the door when Hephaestus clobbered him with a large anvil he kept around for occasions such as this. Athena jumped on his back, and the apple rolled away, against a wall as the gods clawed, bit, scratched, and pummeled each other with every ounce of strength they could muster. As the apple lay silently near the melee, it's inscription of "For The Wisest" was being splattered by white god blood.

As Hermes was swinging through the skies a hell of a long time ago, flitting this way and that, inviting all he met to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, he noticed a young man in an orchard picking delicious apples. This young man was completely nude, as was the habit in those days, and from the hard work he had undertaken was glazed in a fine coating of dewey sweat. Hermes, like almost all Greek men in those days, appreciated the male nude form much more than he appreciated the female nude form, and so swooped down to investigate this young man's body much more closely. In the back of Hermes' mind was his mission to invite all to the joyous ceremony which was going to be performed by the grooviest of all gods, aegis-bearing Zeus of the stiff lightening bolts and even stiffer rod. He had only one invitation left to give out, to that of Eris called Strife, and decided that she could wait, all she ever did was cause trouble anyway . . .

"Howdy, my boy," Hermes said, smiling lasciviously at the young orchard boy. "Those be some mighty big and firm apples you have there . . . are they juicy?"

The young boy was no stranger to innuendo, and saw that this was not simply a conversation about fine produce. He was one of the few men in those days who didn't care much for the greased wrestling lifestyle, but at the same time knew that boinking a god could get you places . . . true, you might end up becoming a goose or a statue or something else equally ridiculous, but there were also rumours that you could end up living life on Limbo Peak, instead of becoming a shade in the depths of Hades. What was a quick roll in the hay, in exchange for a eternity in the heavens?

"So juicy they could squirt your eye out . . . " the young man heard himself saying before he had even decided what to say. That was how the gods worked.

Before he could open his mouth to take back what he had said, the god of speed and agility proved his titles by having pounced on the poor lad, and was using him like a child uses a hobby-horse. All thoughts of continuing his mission were suddenly missing from Hermes' perfect god brain.

This entire episode was being watched from far above by Eris, who secretly ruled everything but allowed others to believe they had something to do with it too, out of her unparalleled modesty. Modest she may be, but she is also very touchy about certain matters of decorum.

She watched Hermes porking the poor orchard boy, clucked with distaste at the stunningly poor performance he showed (and yet somehow kept his reputation as a fantastic lover amongst the Achaeans), and then stood up with shock as the Messenger God dismounted, rolled onto his back in the lush green grass, and fell promptly asleep. She floated down next to his inert body, and began to quiver with rage. THIS, she said. THIS IS THE MESSENGER THAT THE SO-CALLED WISEST OF GODS, THAT FUCKING RAGING HORMONE WITH A THRONE CALLED AEGIS-BEARING ZEUS, SENT TO INVITE ALL OF THE WORLD TO THE BIGGEST PARTY SINCE THE BIG BANG??? THIS LITTLE MILK-SOP?

She looked over at Mount Olympus, and could already hear the music beginning to swell. She could smell the flowers, and could feel the laughter and tears. The wedding was beginning.

Eris had to show that she knew of this outrageous snub, and wasn't going to take it at all lightly. She had to make an appearance, yet a ingeniously subtle one. Let them know she was there, and yet not really there at all. Perhaps leaving a sarcastic gift would be appropriate?

Then a wicked smile slithered across her glorious lips. One thing could be counted on with the Olympic Gods; not their wisdom, not their power, not their compassion, no, the one thing that could be counted on in all situations was their eternal vanity.

Eris, who is rightfully called Strife, picked up one of the apples at her feet. The delicious fruit turned to gold within her hand, and she gazed at it . . . how to address it? "To Thetis"? That would cause a stir since the other witches would certainly want it, but would their prides let them steal a present from a bride in front of all the guests? Probably, but let's work with certainties. Perhaps, "To The Lovely Lady"? That certainly leaves some room for uncertainty . . . probably enough to incite idiocy from Hera and Aphrodite, but she wanted more . . . she wanted full-on chaos.

Then it struck her.

The perfect inscription.

She wrote on the words, and then wandered over to Mount Olympus and rolled the apple through the doors, and floated back up into the sky to observe.

Pan, of all gods, found the apple first. He picked it up and read the inscription, "For The Bitchinest" then polished it on his fur, and held it out to look at it again.

Hephaestus noticed it, and leaned over. "S'that?" he asked.

"Oh." said Pan. "It's just an apple that someone gave to me. I found it here on the floor."

Hephaestus leaned closer to get a look, but Pan kept moving it farther away. "Funny," the lame god said. "I could have sworn it said 'for the bitchenest'"

Pan said quietly, "It does."

"Well, hate to say it, chum, but that's my wife Aphrodite." Hephaestus said.

"Oh," said Pan. "You mean that loose slut riding Dionysus' face over on the punch table? You think it's for hu-------"

Pan's last word was crushed by a rather large anvil that Hephaestus happens to carry with him, for situations such as that. He held up the apple, but was struck down by Ares, who believed that he was, in fact, the bitchenest of all the gods. As he grabbed hold of the golden fruit, a spear pierced his wrist and white blood poured out onto the marble floor. Pallas Athene grabbed the apple as it rolled from Ares' hand, and said "Ta, big bro . . . I'll take that."

All the other gods had seen the apple by this point, and had read the infamous inscription, each believing they were the most bitchin of all the gods. And, with that, mayhem ensued.

It was hard to hear the laughter of Eris above the din of all the breaking bones and clashing swords, but she felt her point had been proven.

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.

I really expected a roomful of clowns to be louder than this, I thought to myself as I shifted uncomfortably in my plastic seat.  For some reason I hadn't thought people trying out for clown jobs actually wore their outfits to the auditions, and showed up in t-shirt and jeans.  I was, in fact, completely wrong.

There must have been fifty clowns crammed in the room which, believe me, wasn't that big.  The guy on my left kept turning and staring at the side of my face.  I could see him out of the corner of my eye.  He was making me very uncomfortable.  A couple of times I looked over just past him, pretending to look at something else, and he would look away but as soon as I looked back down at my feet he'd be staring at me again.

He had a tiny, tiny top hat perched at a cocky angle on his bald, white head.  Two large blue tears drops dribbled out out of his right eye.  The man looked ridiculous.  Even by clown standards.

I mumbled this to him, to break the tension:  -How many of the people in this room, do you think could fit into a Volkswagen Beetle?

He didn't answer me at first, not until I looked over at him, even then it wasn't truly an answer.  -Did you go to Clown College?  he asked me.

I kind of laughed.  -No.

-Yeah, he spat, and turned away.  -I somehow didn't think so.

He turned back to me.  -You really think they're gonna hire YOU?

-Maybe, I said.

-Maybe?  You don't even dress like a clown.

-That's my schtick, I lied, just to see if it would piss him off.  

It did.

He turned slowly.  -That's your schtick, eh?  Huh?  That's your schtick?  Man, you don't even know what schtick means.  Who ever heard of a clown that dresses like you?  That'd be a pretty depressing clown.  A pretty sad party, I should say . . .  yeah, that'd make a lot of children pretty sad.  You make me sick.

-I'm funny, ok?  I countered.

He leaned over, I could smell onions on his breath.  I could just imagine him eating onion sandwiches all by himself in his trailer.  -It takes more than just . . . 'funny' to be a REAL clown.

-Yeah?  I asked.

-Yeah.  It takes stamina, man, OK?   It takes character . . . timing.  DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING?  It takes heart.  OK?  HEART!

-Yeah, I said.

-I mean, I mean, it takes a daily commitment.  A daily commitment to look in the mirror every morning and say, "Ok, no, I'm not going to be a doctor like mom wanted. I'm not going to even be a garbage man, like she begged.  I am a clown.  But.  I am going to be the best damned clown I can be!  I'm going to make Billy's party today the best party anyone ever saw . . . does that make any sense to you?

I hadn't been listening fully ever since he made the comment about the garbage man.  -Who's Billy?  I asked.

-THERE IS NO BILLY!  he screamed.  -I made him up to illustrate a point, son, don't you see that?  How can you ever be a clown if you can't even see THAT?  I work my heart out, day in day out to scrape together a living as a clown and I took the time and money to get my credentials, my PhD in Clownology, and you . . . you waltz in here, no diploma, and think you can just take over.  That's what your generation is like, all of you.  YOU MAKE ME WANNA PUKE!

At that moment an executive opened a door at the other end of the room.  I thought he was coming in to see what the ruckus was, but instead he called out:  -Baron Von Hoopla?

I stood up.  -That's me.

-BARON?  bellowed the clown to my left.  -Baron Von Clownsky?  Yeah, that's cute, Mac . . . that's real GOD DAMNED CUTE!

I didn't even try to say anything as I made my way through a roomful of clown eyes all glued to me, there was nothing to say.  I just walked up the to executive, who appeared confused.  Just as I passed through the door I heard the clown shout out:  -You SUCK, man!

Then the door snapped shut behind me.  I looked at the executive, and shrugged.  That clown had a chip on his shoulder the size of a cream pie.

-I don't know how I'll go about meeting her, he said while looking out at the rain falling into the greasy puddles.  -But, I know now that it's what I was born to do.

    It was two-thirty in the morning, and she noticed that he had dark circles under his eyes.  She took a sip of her coffee, and said.  -Well, to be quite honest, I think it's a retarded idea.

-That's your opinion, but I know that it's what I have to do.

-Well, she said wearily, -how do you plan to go about this adventure?

He took a long drag on his cigarette, looking back out the window at the rain, and said,  -I still don't know.  It's just that I feel Bea Arthur's vagina would be very charming and witty.  In fact, I don't feel it - I know it.

She repeated, sarcastically, -You know it . . .

He stared down at the heater of his cigarette, slowly giving off blue smoke, as if hypnotized.  -It has occured to you, she said, -that you don't actually know Bea Arthur?

-That means absolutely nothing.  It's not her that I'm interested in.

-It's her vagina.

-That's right. he said, winking, -Now you're getting it.

-So, let me get this straight, she said.  -You plan to take Bea Arthur's vagina on the road, to halls all across the country, and then do . . . what?

He sat forward, excited.  -It'll start with some kind of monologue that we'll write together-

-Us?  she said, leaning forward, smiling.

-Wha- no no no, the vagina and I . . . listen.  It'll be some sort of charming memoir or some shit, you know what I'm talking about.  Pathos, eh? Funny, right? Hmm?  Then, a question-and-answer portion, to spotlight how naturally gifted she is, unscripted.

-The vagina, she said, to clarify.

-That's right.

-Well, I think it's nutty.

-You simply lack vision.

-But won't it be violent?  she asked.  -I mean, getting it?

He snorted with laughter.  -Pffh!  No!  I don't plan to cut her out, or rip her out.  That will not be necessary.  I'm just going to coax her out . . . I'm sure she'll be happy to come.

She sighed.  -It's just a vagina.

-Only a woman would say that.  No, she's been repressed all these years.

-The vagina?  she asked, to clarify.

-Yes, it's an extremely intelligent and charasmatic vagina.

-Menopause's been kind to the old girl, she said.

- . . . don't be crass.

-I'm sorry.

-It doesn't become you.

-I'm sorry.

-I'm just sick of her being hidden away while Bea Arthur hogs all the limelight.

-Bea Arthur is a  wonderful actress.

-No question.  Bea Arthur is a terrific actor.  Maude was a breakthrough show.  But, I'm not interested in Bea Arthur, I'm interested in bringing her better half to the world.

-The vagina, she said to clarify.

- . . . yes.

-Fucked.  she said, standing up.  She gathered her purse, and dropped down two dollars for the coffee, and then walked out into the rain.

Puffing on his cigarette he looked out the window and thought about how he'd read somewhere about frogs mysteriously falling from the sky.  He dropped his cigarette into what was left of her coffee, in case she came back.

He leaned forward again, and mumbled, -How to meet Bea Arthur . . . how to meet her . . . ?

It would never cross my mind to attempt to judge other Discordians on how Discordian I believe they are, since the very nature of the beast is that Eris is different to each person.  The brilliance in this, to me, is that this is a beautiful parable of not only religion and philosophy, but absolutely everything - Discordianism is just more honest about it.  Not a single person out there looks at a can of Campbell's soup and thinks the same thing.  Not a single person out there looks at an Andy Warhol painting of a Campbell's Soup can and thinks the same thing.  Not a single person out there looks at the 'singing asshole' in Pink Flamingos and thinks of the same thing, not a single person; it's a hell of a Rorschach test.  

So, Discordianism, like anything else, is different for each person, but even more so, since permission is granted to mould the very concept to fit the parameters of your own mind.  This, obviously, gives a lot of room for interpretation to the individual.   To compound this, the central Discordian text, the Principia Discordia suggests that a Discordian should never believe what he or she reads, thereby causing a paradox, wherein the Principia renders all of its own contents moot.  This has resulted in many people, considering themselves Discordians, giving practically no credence to any of the contents of the Principia whatsoever.  Which is fine, if that wasn't the intention then why claim so in the first place?  I myself only given credence to a handful of concepts in the Principia and see the remainder as amusing filler, but I ask this . . . if you consider yourself a Discordian and think that Gregory Hill and Kerry Thornley were hippie-dippy crackpot peaceniks who wrote a load of nonsense and thought the world was simply an amusement park, then why do you even choose to name yourself after the concept they originated?  If you seem to loathe all their ideals, why do you align yourself with them?

I would ask any person who falls into this category to sit down somewhere quiet and look deep within themselves as to the motives of taking on the name Discordian.  Was it because you truly felt you were a Discordian, or was it because you could fuck shit up on a regular basis, screw with peoples minds, and generally act reprehensible with what you consider a license to do so?

Some time after the ORIGINAL SNUB, which started the Trojan War, but before the war actually began, Agamemnon son of Atreus had collected his fleets at Aulis in Boeotia but found himself unable to sail for Troy due to a contrary wind.

   Agamemnon clutched his long ivory scepter forged by the god Hephaestus who gave it to Hermes, who dropped it in a fountain when plonked at one of Dionysus,Äô parties, where it was subsequently found by Agamemnon,Äôs grandfather Pelops, and was then grudgingly passed down to him.  He clutched the scepter and shook with rage.  He was consumed with revenge and honour, two ingredients which--when mixed--can become poison in a man,Äôs blood. In desperation he called out for Calchas, who spoke with the gods.

   ,ÄòCalchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods,,Äô Agamemnon said. ,Äòtell me which god is it who is pissed with me and has asked the ill wind to blow against the long-haired Achaeans so that they may not sail against the wife-robbing bastard people, the Trojans, who stole the completely foxy Helen from my brother Menalaus, King of Sparta?,Äô

   Calchas was not a stupid man; he knew that those who gave bad news to kings soon became deprived of what was most dear to them: their lives.  Hades did not have a good rep at that time, some would argue it still doesn,Äôt, but it beats Toledo Ohio in a pinch. Conversely, everyone knew that lying about the gods could get you in worse places than either Hades or Toledo. The choice was obvious. ,ÄòGood King Agamemnon, it makes me sick to say it, but there are five gods angered at you.,Äô

   ,ÄòFive gods?,Äô sputtered Agamemnon.  ,ÄòBut how?  But why?  But when?,Äô

   Calchas said, ,ÄòIt is the truth Agamemnon son of  Atreus that swift and sleek Artemis is angered with you because she overheard you boast that you were a better marksman that she.,Äô

   Agamemnon said ,ÄòShit.  It,Äôs true.  I did boast to be a better marksman than Artemis the swift and sleek.  Tell me Calchas, what does wise Artemis ask in return?,Äô

   Calchas quivered in the hips as he said, ,ÄòOnly your first born daughter Iphigenia, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect.,Äô

   ,ÄòAch,,Äô said Agamemnon.  ,ÄòGag.  That I cannot do.  Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?,Äô

   Calchas said, ,ÄòIt is the truth Agamemnon son of  Atreus that beautiful and nubile Aphrodite is angered with you because she heard you vowed to sacrifice the most beautiful treasure in your life in exchange for victory against the little Trojan shits.,Äô

   Agamemnon said ,ÄòAw fer fu-.  Mmm.  It,Äôs true.  I did vow to sacrifice the most beautiful treasure in my life in exchange for victory against the little Trojan shits.  Tell me Calchas, what does wise Aphrodite ask in return?,Äô

   Calchas shivered in the groin as he said, ,ÄòOnly your wife Clytemnestra, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect.,Äô

   ,ÄòFeh,,Äô said Agamemnon.  ,ÄòGak.  That I cannot do.  Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?,Äô

   Calchas said, ,ÄòIt is the truth Agamemnon son of  Atreus that Zeus lord of the sky, had sent an omen to you of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare.  White-armed Here, big mama of all the heavens and gueen of all the mothers was beyond pissed.,Äô

   Agamemnon said ,ÄòGreat Googly Moogly!  Grr.  It,Äôs true.  Zeus did send an omen of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare.  Tell me Calchas, what does wise Here ask in return?,Äô

   Calchas jiggled in the gizzard as he said, ,ÄòOnly all your children, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect.,Äô

   ,ÄòBah!,Äô said Agamemnon.  ,ÄòYuk.  That I cannot do.  Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?,Äô

   Calchas said, ,ÄòIt is the truth Agamemnon son of  Atreus that flashing-eyed Pallas Athene, unsleeping daughter of Big Daddy Zeus was offended by your father Atreus.  He vowed to sacrifice a lamb to aegis-bearing Athene in exchange for success in battle, this he did not do.,Äô

   Agamemnon said ,ÄòMother fuck!  Mmm.  It,Äôs true.  My father was a complete dipshit, he did stuff like that all the time, one time he promised me half of Caledon- aw fuck it . . .  Tell me Calchas, what does wise Pallas Athene ask in return?,Äô

   Calchas trembled in the pancreas as he said, ,ÄòOnly all your only son Orestes, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect.,Äô

   ,ÄòHomina homina homina,Äô said Agamemnon.  ,ÄòRetch.  That I cannot do.  Calchas, you sweet slut, who speaks with the gods, tell me which is the last god who is pissed with me?,Äô

   Calchas said, ,ÄòIt is the truth Agamemnon son of  Atreus that Eris also called Strife is offended by your feeding of hot dogs to your troops.  Her only sustenance when she went into self-imposed exile after THE SNUB was the hot dog bun, it is an affront to the goddess of Discord and she smites you in bitter and somewhat petty retaliation.  It,Äôs boring on Mt. Olympus.,Äô

   Agamemnon said ,ÄòRats.  It,Äôs true.  I feed my soldiers Armor Hot Dogs, they,Äôre the dogs long-haired Achaeans love to bite.  Tell me Calchas, what does wise Eris ask in return?,Äô

   Calchas twitched in the pineal gland as he said, ,ÄòOnly all the soldier,Äôs hot dog buns, torched on an alter, in respect.,Äô

   ,ÄòUh uh.,Äô said Agamemnon.  ,ÄòNo way.  That I cannot do.  They would eat me alive.  Besides, it is never that easy.,Äô

   Agamemnon pondered all the gods requests and wondered which would be the least disastrous for him.  The easiest in the eyes of a misogynist bronze era Greek was obviously the sacrifice of his eldest daughter Iphigenia, but once she was dead and cut up for sacrifice Agamemnon and Calchas realized they had no kindling.  The only thing flammable to start the pyre was the hot dog buns.

   Agamemnon broke his scepter across his knee, ,ÄòThis is ridiculous!  I promised my soldiers those buns, but if I must, I must . . . burn the buns, Calchas.,Äô

   The moment Calchas lit the buns the wind began to change.  Agamemnon felt sick, and tried to convince himself that the fat of Iphigenia,Äôs thighs was already starting to burn, but he knew in his heart the truth. Despite that, he turned to Calchas ,ÄòA cheer for swift and sleek Artemis who granted muh-mercy on the long-haired Achaeans.,Äô

   A loud cackle from high above startled Agamemnon and Calchas as they toasted, but neither of them asked from whence it came.



The moral of this story?  Don,Äôt over complicate things!

Hail Eris.

At a low period in my life I was seeking enlightenment. Lounging in my empty bathtub, fully clothed, I pondered the state of this sorry world. Wondering why there was so much confusion and strife afflicting so many; wondering if this was this and that was that, and whether tit really did anything for tat. Realizing that I wasn't philosophizing anymore and merely invoking Suess I decided that it was time to move outdoors, for fresh air and sun, to seek my enlightenment in the world.

On the sidewalk I found an Oh Henry bar. Looking around, I saw nobody who seemed ready to lay a claim on it - the bar seemed to be up for grabs. I crouched down and examined it closely, without touching it, of course. I wasn't about to become insnared by some intrepid alien or big game hunter. I didn't detect any strings, and the sidewalk around the candy seemed kosher. The bar was mine. Snatching it up, I moved to a bench to consume it in comfort at my own leisure. It was chocolatey, it was caramely, it was nugety, it was sweet and it was gooey. It did not, however, enlighten me.

Sitting on the bench, I sighed. Where next should I seek my enlightenment? As I mulled this query over I noticed a small book on the bench next to me. Curious, I picked it up, and read the cover; it was the Collected Short Stories of O. Henry.

This was a stunning coincidence. This, undoubtedly, meant something. As I opened the book to peruse the contents I was struck by something that made the book altogether more strange - all the pages were torn out, save those between fifty-five and sixty-nine, a story entitled The Green Door. I felt this story must be of cosmic significance, and so devoured it on the spot. Here would be the answers to the cause of all the strife and confusion in the world. I read the story in a few minutes, and chuckled once or twice, was saddened at least once, and sighed at the end. The story was touching and amusing, but I did not, however, answer my questions.

I felt perplexed. I felt confused. I felt discombobulated. I did
not, however, feel enlightened.

Still searching, I walked.

I walked five blocks, and was then struck down to the pavement with another stunning coincidence. A porno theatre was showing a revival of Behind The Green Door. This was a stunning synchronicity. This, undoubtedly, meant something. I paid my admission, bought another Oh Henry bar at the candy counter, and ventured into the theatre. The movie had already started as I made my way through the sickeningly clammy sound of about fifty people beating their meat in the audience. I shuffled into the back row and tried to find a seat which hadn't been issued upon. As I sat down -just for a laugh- I began to smack the palm of my hand against the back of my neck furiously, and moan overly loud. The monkey spanking subsided for about seventeen seconds. I chuckled to myself, and began to unwrap my candy bar.

As I took the first bite I realized the movie had stopped in place on the screen. Marilyn Chambers' legs were spread-eagled, and all her glory was center stage, so to speak. So many euphemisms which are inappropriate rattled through my brian . . . tacos and beavers should not be compared to the same part of the body described as The Mound Of Venus. As this thought fluttered through my mind I also noticed the silence in the theatre. There were no sounds of auto eroticism whatsoever, in fact my fellow patrons seemed to be petrified in the more literal sense. I became alarmed by this, but was even more alarmed when Marilyn Chambers' bush on-screen burst into flames, and began to speak to me.

BARON VON HOOPLA, a satiny female voice called from the burning bush. YOU MADE LEVITY IN A PLACE OF SOLEMN WORSHIP.

I gulped, since there seemed little else to do under the circumstances.
HOW DO YOU STAND AGAINST THESE CHARGES? the female voice asked. Guilty, I hiccuped. I had mocked the meat-beaters. My candy bar was melting in my hand. I could feel it.

GOOD. said the voice. YOU'RE ONE OF MINE.

Who, who are you? I asked.

I YAM WHO I YAM, came the reply.

Popeye?! I exclaimed. It didn't sound like Popeye.

NAY, I AM CALLED ERIS NANCY DISCORDIA. GODDESS OF CHAOS CONFUSION STRIFE CREATIVITY AND BUREAUCRACY. I AM THE HODGE OF THE RISING PODGE AND THE PODGE OF THE SINKING HODGE - GRAND WAZOO OF ALL THINGS FUNNY.

Why have you chosen me? I asked, not cowering as blatantly as a few minutes prior, but still cowering nonetheless.

FOR YOU ARE A GOOD APPLE. YOU ARE AWAKE ENOUGH TO QUESTION, SKEPTICAL ENOUGH TO QUESTION THE APPARENT ANSWERS, GULLIBLE ENOUGH TO FOLLOW MYSTERY, HUMOROUS ENOUGH TO MOCK THE SERIOUS AND SERIOUS ENOUGH TO AWAKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU EMBODY THE IDEALS OF THE SACRED CHAO, AND LO, I DEEM YOU A KEEPER OF IT. Onto the ceiling of the theatre, the fire from the burning bush traced out a design. It was a circle bisected by an 'S' shape; on one side was depicted an apple emblazoned with a 'K', on the other a pentagon.

It's some for of Yin Yang? I asked.

THE YIN YANG IS A FORM OF THE SACRED CHAO. IT IS A REPRESENTATION OF THE UNIVERSE. ALL THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK WILL BE FOUND WITHIN THAT CIRCLE, WHICH IS THE SERPENT SWALLOWING ITS OWN TAIL.

That's the answer to why there is so much strife and confusion in the world? I don't understand . . . why an apple and a pentagon?

CHAOS IS THE ENTIRE CIRCLE, ONE HALF IS ORDER, THE OTHER DISORDER. THEY ARE BOTH NATURAL MANIFESTATIONS OF THE UNDERLYING CHAOS. ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, YOU UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING. FARE THEE WELL-

Wait! One more question! What's the best way to deal with the strife and confusion of the world?

LAUGHTER! came the reply. FARE THEE WELL-

Wait! One last question! Why Nancy??

WHAT?

Why Eris Nancy Discordia? I asked. Why Nancy?

NANCY'S A NICE NAME. FARE THEE WELL KEEPER OF MY SACRED CHAO! SPREAD MY WORD - ALL MEN SHALL BE SAILORS THEN UNTIL THE SEA SHALL FREE THEM!

Wait! I called, You stole that from Leonard Cohen!

NAY - HE STOLE THAT FROM ME.

Thus, I was enlightened.

The bush ceased to burn. The film ran forward. The manhandling kicked back in, but sounded more serene this time, like a gentle rainfall on a tin roof. I stood up and noticed a small book on the seat next to me. I took it out into the light of the lobby and read the title, 'Principia Discordia', I heard a female voice in the center of my head say READ IT: BELIEVE ALL OF IT, BELIEVE NONE OF IT. I walked outside, and promptly slipped on a banana peel, while thinking 'Indeed, do many strange things come to pass.'

Anyone here ever tried accessing their 'inner Eris'?

Or more specifically, has anyone ever tried contacting their unconscious mind via the excercise RAW puts forward in the second half of Prometheus Rising?

Not sure if there is a thread on this already, but I was wondering if people know much about Gregory Hill?

I've noticed that I havent been able to find a single picture of him on the internet, whereas I can find several of Kerry Thornley.

Also, Malaclypse the Younger is mentioned several times in Illuminatus as having dissapeared into the ocean, or going to start the ELF . . .

Also also - Kerry Thornley and RAW had a falling out in the 70s when Thornley thought he was working for the CIA, but I never read what Gregory Hill thought about it, or whether Hill and Thornley were still talking at that point.

So . . . does Gregory Hill even exist?  Or is his 'real' name Robert Anton Wilson?