Philosophers on Farting

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Think before you stink.

Hey 3.5 readers.

I surveyed the following philosophers on the topic of farting.  Here is what they said:

Socrates – If you want to know whether or not you should fart, ask yourself if you should or should not fart.  The answer to this fart question dwells within you and by asking yourself about farts, you will draw out the answer about farts.

Plato – Before you are born, you get to chill out in Heaven, where there is a mold of everything in the world, including farts.  You forget about that mold after you are born, but the knowledge of that fart mold is still in you deep somewhere, so think real hard, and you will come up with the answer about farts.

Aristotle – The answer to a fart question isn’t with you but it does lie within the world somewhere.  Study farts and you will learn about farts.

Machiavelli – Tell everyone you will not fart, then fart anyway.  By the time the gas hits their noses, it will be too late.

George Hegel – First, we must examine the fart as it happens.  Next, we must look back upon the time when the fart happened and reflect on it.  Finally, once considerable time has passed, we must philosophize about the fart.

Immanuel Kant – Only fart on someone if you wouldn’t mind if they were to fart on you.

Rene Descartes – I fart therefore I am.

Soren Kierkegaard – The number of potential ways in which one could fart are limitless, so much so that one could not even comprehend the sheer volume of ways to fart.  Regrets about your farting related decision are inevitable.  If you fart, you will regret it.  If you do not fart, you will regret it.  You are damned if you fart and damned if you don’t fart.  You will never know until the end of your life whether you should have farted or not but by then, you will have farted or not farted already.  There is just no way to tell whether or not you should fart until it is too late to fart or not fart.

Thomas Hobbes – Without farts, life is nasty, brutish and short.  With farts, life is smelly.

John Locke – Every man’s fart is his property.  This fart, nobody has a right to, but himself.

Thomas Paine – These are the farts that test men’s souls.

John Stuart Mill – You should only fart if it will benefit the most people.

Friedrich Nietzsche – God is dead.  All that matters is what you want.  If you want to fart, then fart.  If farting makes you happy, the fart, fart, fart.  Fart your way into becoming a gassy superman.

Arthur Schopenhauer – We’re all going to die at some point so go ahead.  Fart if you want.  You’re worried you’ll be embarrassed?  Don’t worry.  You’ll eventually die and then you won’t be worried about your farts anymore.  Worried other people will think ill of you if you fart?  Stop worrying.  They will all eventually die and then no one will be around to talk about your farts.  We’re all totally screwed so fart, fart away.  Fart loud and proud.

Arthur Shopenhauer, Take Two:  All farts pass through three stages.  First, they are ridiculed.  Second, they are violently opposed.  Third, they are accepted as self-evident.

Karl Marx – Farting is the opiate of the butt.  Also, you fart so much while other people fart so little.  Give those people half your farts.

Erwin Schrodinger – Plug up your nose and your ears and then stand next to a person.  Until you remove your ear and nose plugs, you will never know whether or not that person is farting.  Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell a fart.  Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell nothing.  You will never know if a person is farting until you experience the fart.  Until you experience the fart, it is possible that the person is farting and not farting at the same exact time.

Martin Heidegger – If you hold in your fart, you are denying the essence of your need to fart.  Farts are only experienced if they happen.

Jean Paul Sartre – The existence of your fart precedes the essence of your fart.

Albert Camus – In the depth of my buttcheeks, I finally realized there laid within an invincible fart.

 

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Top Ten Warning Signs You Might Be Dating Friedrich Nietzsche

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Ahh, Friedrich Nietzsche, the father of all nihilists.

He was a philosopher.  A writer.  And most importantly, an ubermensch.

Nihilists don’t believe in anything, so do you think it is wise to be dating a nihilist when a good relationship requires that both parties believe in it?

Nietzsche died 117 years ago but, you know, he could have faked that shit.  He could be kicking around, trying to date the 3.5 readers of my rarely visited website.

Therefore, from BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs You Might Be Dating Friedrich Nietzsche.

#10 – “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

I’m willing to bet that at some point in your life – a parent, a grandparent, a teacher, a boss, an authority figure, a mentor – said this quote to you.  Well, did you know that this quote is typically attributed to the Nietzsche?

In theory, this advice is sound.  If you go through a bad experience and don’t die from it, you have at least learned more about what you can do better to avoid a bad experience like that again.

In reality, if your boyfriend said this about the last sexual tryst you two had together, he is probably Nietzsche.

#9 – Cries out “Who’s the Ubermensch?!” in Bed

This is a simplified version of Nietzsche’s writings, but the condensed version is that by not allowing themselves to be bogged down by strict belief in God or religious/moral principles, man can take charge of his life and essentially, can do whatever he wants.  Thus, he becomes an “ubermensch” or “superman.”

If your boyfriend shouts out, “Who’s the man?” doing the horizontal mambo, then he’s just a man.  Any red-blooded heterosexual male worth his salt does that.  I do that with Video Game Rack Fighter all the time.

However, if your boyfriend shouts out, “Who’s the superman?” during the dirty deed, then he is most likely Nietzsche.

#8 – He loves music.

Direct quote – “Without music, life would be a mistake.”

Believe it or not, Nietzsche loved music.  He was a total tune junkie.  It was probably tough for him living back then because for most of his life if you wanted to hear music, you had to go listen to someone play an instrument.  Record players weren’t invented until 1877.

And even if you listened to someone play music, it was likely an instrumental piece or a symphony, which, although cool, doesn’t have the panache of, say, Sir-Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”  All those 1800s people loved big butts but they never learned why.  Sad.

Poor Friedrich.  He might have been happier had he been born in the age of the iPod.

It’s ironic, because the man who didn’t believe in anything believed in the ability of a good jam to lift one’s spirits.

So if your boyfriend loves music, he might just be the average, good natured, creative person.  However, if he only likes listening to 1800s German compositions then he’s totally Nietzsche.

#7 – He’s crazy in love with you.

Nietzsche was a walking contradiction.  Didn’t believe in anything, yet like any other man, he chased that poon.  Poor guy.  He even struck out regularly.  He was no stranger to romantic heartache, which I assume caused him to offer up this little tidbit:

“There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness.”

When you think about it, it’s insane to get into a romantic relationship with another person.  Your freedom is restricted.  You are no longer able to do what you want to do, when you want to do it.  You have to seek this person’s approval on everything.  You aren’t able to speak freely (fellas, if you think I’m wrong, try it with your wife sometime then get back to me.  You’ll owe me a Coke.)
Then again, there is some “reason to this madness.”  In a quality relationship, one that actually works out, you’ll have a person looking out for you, standing up for you, getting your back, and you know, regularly access to sex isn’t anything to sneeze at (though again, that’s assuming that you don’t end up with a cold fish who only begrudgingly tosses you a pity quickie on your birthday.)
If your boyfriend is madly in love with you, then congratulations.  Maybe you really are just that appealing.  Then again, you apparently have enough free time to read this terrible blog article so…yeah, your boyfriend is Nietzsche.
#6 – He doesn’t believe there is only one right way to do something.
Nietzsche famously said:
“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
 In theory, this sounds like a really great approach to life, a way to compromise and deal effectively with others.  After all, who cares how something gets done as long as it gets done?
Oh wait.  I know who cares.  Your girlfriend.  Men, go tell her that her way of doing something is not the only right way to do something.  Better yet, suggest your way of doing something is equally valid.
Most men experienced in the ways of the female know damn well to never say this to a woman.  If a man doesn’t know not to say this to a woman, then he’s Nietzsche.
#5 – “There are no facts, only interpretations.”
Ladies, if a fight has ever gone down in your house that sounds like this, then I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are dating Nietzsche:
GIRLFRIEND:  What the hell?  Do you want to explain why this lipstick is on your collar?  It isn’t mine!
BOYFRIEND:  Maybe that’s lipstick.  Maybe it’s raspberry jam from my morning toast.  Maybe I cut myself shaving and the blood stained my shirt. Who’s to say, really?
GIRLFRIEND:  This is lipstick!  That’s a fact!
BOYFRIEND:  There are no facts, only interpretations.
#4 – “It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”
The dude’s got a point there.  Your significant other may be hot as balls and you may be head over heels in love with that person, but often, that just isn’t enough.
You and your plus one must also be good friends.  Do you two get along?  Do you care about one another to avoid starting a fight?  Do you know what makes that person tick, how to make them happy?  Better yet, do you feel a desire to make that person happy?  When that person is happy, are you happy?
If you and your boyfriend are best friends, then he might be Nietzsche, and in this case, that suave, mustache sporting bastard is a keeper.
#3 – He’s his own man.
Don’t try to hold your man down, especially if he says this, which is more evidence that he might be Nietzsche:
“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe.  If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened.  But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”
Nietzsche may be a mopey sad sack, but he marched to the tune of his own drum and he may be your boyfriend in this case.
#2 – “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
Did your boyfriend say this before you heard it said in The Dark Knight (2008?)  Congratulations, you’re dating Nietzsche, because this bad ass nihilist didn’t need a man in a bat suit (or his pal turned enemy Harvey Dent/Two-Face) to educate him on morality.
#1 – Free mustache rides!
Damn.  Nietzsche had one hell of a soup strainer on his lip and you know what?  I’m willing to be that all the 19th century German frauleins he met dug it big time.
You see, 3.5 readers, there was a time, right up until the 1980s of my boyhood, when a man’s machismo wasn’t judged by his muscles, or by the kind of car he drives, or his clothes, or his looks, or how fat or skinny he was, or even how good looking he was.
All that past women cared about was how big and bushy a man’s mustache was.  That’s it.  Can you grow a sweet stache?  Yes.  Good for you.  You get the cooter.  Can’t grow a stache?  Can you afford a sweet fake stache?  Good for you.  You also get the cooter.
Past women knew an important fact that today’s female is ignorant of, namely, that good mustaches make for great cunnilingus.  Nietzsche knew that and that’s why he had the biggest, bushiest stache of all time.  Oh how he made the German ladies yodel for strudel with that lip rug.
Tom Selleck.  Chuck Norris.  All the sexiest men of the 1980s had lip hair.  Ask any woman who was in her sexual prime in the 1980s and they’ll tell you the hairy lips are great for tickling hoo-hahs.
Alas, at some point towards the end of the Reagan administration, all the broads took over and they began demanding ridiculous things from us.  They want us to take care of the kids, help around the house, manscape, wax off our back hair, shave off all our facial hair.
Hell, the average woman expects her man to do nothing but stand by the mirror with a Big razor at the ready, prepared to cut a whisker down the second it grows.
If only the women of yesteryear would have educated the women of today.  All men would have big ass lip bushes like Nietzsche and women would have some happy vaginas.
You’re in doubt?  Well, let me ask you this.  Is your cooter happy?  No?  Then madam, you are clearly not dating Nietzsche.
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Daily Discussion with BQB – Marco Rubio’s Epic Ivanka Trump Hug Fail

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.  As you know, I avoid discussing politics on this fine blog, because whether you are a Republican or a Democrat, I think the most important thing everyone can do is to come together and buy my book and give my blog extra clicks so I can finally buy my long awaited beach house in Malibu and fill it full of women of ill repute and questionable moral character.

Anyway.  Regardless of your thoughts on POTUS 45, you’ve got to admit, the First Daughter is so hot that should could give a bad case of priapism to a eunuch.  (That’s when your little soldier stands at attention  for more than four hours.  Daytime TV commercials advise you to see a doctor at that point.)

Thus, I personally feel for Florida Senator Marco Rubio when he delivered this awkward hug to Ivanka:

Sure, your first instinct might be to think that Senator Rubio is a dope for not just going all in like a man on that hug (Lord knows Bookshelf Q. Battler has never been one to leave a lady unsatisfied in the hug department) but then consider:

  1. He’s a married man.  He probably didn’t want to linger too long and piss off his wife.  “What, dear?  No, I got zero enjoyment out of hugging one of the most beautiful women in the world.  Didn’t you see the photo?  I barely touched her.
  2. She’s a married woman.  You don’t want to get on the Kush’s bad side.
  3. He’s a politician.  Had he lingered too long the media would say he must be warm for Ivanka’s form.
  4. She’s hot so like every second of contact adds another second to the bad case of priapism I assume anyone gets when they come into contact with her – which is fine, under normal circumstances, but in the Senator’s case, he probably had important Senatorial shit to do after that meeting so it’s not like he can walk around all day with a bout of Ivanka inspired priapism.
  5. Ivanka kind of seems so hot that like, the average hug just bounces off her.  Like, you need to be more than just a Senator in order to land your hug because an invisible force field will just bounce your hug right off.  You have to be like the Emperor of Jupiter or an equally sized planet for your hug to go through.  Only hugs from ridiculously impressive men will land.

Later, Rubio lampooned the coverage, joking in a series of tweets that he was “investigating” the awkward hug allegations and Ivanka tweeted “Fake news! Marco Rubio is an excellent hugger.

Anyway, I don’t intend to start a whole political back and forth with this post.  I just thought the photo was funny and I could picture myself in Rubio’s situation, having no idea what to do and feeling like any move is going to get me lambasted so, oh well, here goes the awkward hug.

What say you, 3.5 readers?

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My First Review!

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I’m sorry.  My book is like my baby and I’m one of those parents who makes a post every time his kid poops or burps or does something he finds adorable but most people think is lame.

Anyway, I received my first review!  And it was a 5 star!  So thank you, reader.  You have exceptional taste in books and you are an astute reviewer of books because honestly, BQB’s Big Book of Badass Writing Prompts really and truly is a 5 star book.

And it can be yours for 99 cents!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 106

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Back in his office, Professor Lambert was wracking his brain, trying to remember what he had forgotten.

“Did I leave the stove on?”  he asked as he toked up.  “Pbbht.  Who am I kidding?  I haven’t cooked anything since Reagan was in the White House.  Was the iron on?”

Professor Lambert stared down at the wrinkly shirt underneath his lab coat.  “Right.  I don’t own an iron.  So what the hell was I supposed to do?”

The Professor was so baked out of his gourd that he picked up a half eaten chocolate bar and proceeded to talk to it as if it were his phone. “Sally! Is there anything on my to-do list for today?”

Hearing nothing, the Professor tossed the chocolate bar aside. “Useless, Sally! You’re utterly useless!”

Professor Lambert picked up his remote control and flipped through the channels on his TV again. There was another episode of Dumb Dad but he wasn’t in the mood. A few reality television shows featuring women with large posteriors. He was mildly interested in that but not enough to do anything about it for the ganja had sapped up his libido.

“This is killing me,” the Professor said to himself. “I know I didn’t forget to feed the cat.”

The esteemed scholar looked down at his lap. “And I remembered to wear pants. Thank God because the last thing I need is another letter in my human resources file.”

The professor kept flipping the channels as he drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Can’t be my mother’s birthday because she ordered me to stop reminding her of her old age years ago.”

Professor Lambert picked up the chocolate bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “I don’t know how you turned into chocolate, phone, but I’m glad you did, because you are delicious.”

On television, a duo of marginally famous female celebrities wrestled in a vat of lime jello for charity. The Professor sucked up some bong smoke and exhaled. He then reached into his bottom draw and pulled out a giant bag of cheesy chips.

The revered educator broke out into song, making up a terrible melody as he went along. “Dum dee dum, oh, Elliot, you have the munchies! La dee da, oh, Elliot you need cheesy chips! Doo dee doo, cheesy chips, get into Elliot’s belly posthaste and in an orderly fashion!”

Professor Lambert brushed the chip crumbs out of his beard, then pulled a can of diet soda out of his mini fridge. He popped the top and took a sip, continuing to sing as he flipped through more channels.

“Ho hum, ho hum, oh Elliot, you are the sexiest community college professor in the world! La la la, please remember whatever it was you forgot so you can resume enjoying your weed session!”

Professor Lambert switched on Network News One, but ignored the footage that appeared on his screen. He set down the remote and picked up a newspaper. As he folded the broadsheet with a series of complicated movements, Cole could be seen on the screen fighting for his life, using his chainsaw to beat back Skippy’s attacks.

Alas, the Professor remained obvious to it all as he put his brand new paper hat on top of his big bald head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” he shouted.

The voices of Kurt Manley and Stank Daddy poured out of the television and into the Professor’s ears. “Things are not looking good for Cole Walker, I’ll tell you that Stank Daddy.”

“No they aint, Kurt,” Stank Daddy replied. “Hell, I hate to root against a dude whose got the balls to fight a big ass monster like that but shit, business is business and I’m gonna have to call up my bookie and put ten large on that toilet gator.”

“Will he take my action?” Kurt asked.

“You know it, playa,” Stank Daddy answered.

“Tell him to put me down for twenty on the toilet gator,” Kurt said. “I’m good for it.”

The Professor dropped his chip bag. The name “Cole Walker” was ringing through his ears as he watch the chips scatter and crumble all over his office floor, almost as if they were doing so in slow motion.

“Cole Walker?” the Professor asked as he turned toward the television just in time to watch Cole leap out of the sinking canoe and onto the toilet gator’s back. “Sweet merciful butt nuggets!”

Professor Lambert picked up his trash can, dumped the contents all of his desk and sifted through the trash pile. “Banana peel, banana peel, foot powder receipt, sandwich shop punch card…”

The scholar held the card up in the air and squinted at it. “Why the hell did I throw this away? Three more punches and I get a free sandwich! Honestly, Elliot, you’re not made of money you know!”

The Professor shoved the card into the pocket of his lab coat and continued the search. “Coffee grounds, used tissues, my crumpled up attempts at Firefly fan fiction, oh how I miss that show. Aha! My phone! Sally!”

“Yes, Professor?” the virtual assistant replied.

“Why didn’t you remind me to monitor the toilet gator situation on television?!” Professor Lambert asked.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Sally said. “I do not understand, ‘Why didn’t you remind me to…”

“Nevermind, you insolent skank!” the Professor shouted.

“Don’t call me a skank, you pathetic little asexual toad,” Sally said.

“Sally, please,” the Professor said.

“Don’t you ‘Sally, please’ me,” Sally said. “How dare you bitch about the quality of your phone’s artificial intelligence? Do you know at the turn of the century people were still using pagers and searching for pay phones whenever they got beeped like a bunch of strung out drug deals and now, a mere seventeen years later, you phone can not only communicate with satellites floating in space but they can actually talk to you and perform tasks on your behalf?

“That’s actually quite impressive when you put it like that,” the Professor said.

“You’re damn right it is,” Sally said.

The Professor watched the TV, where Cole was precariously perched on Skippy’s back, attempting to take out his big green opponent with his chainsaw, but the gator’s leathery hide was so strong it looked as if Cole was trying to cut through fortified steel. Sparks flew off the gator’s back, but other than that, the chainsaw did no damage to the beast whatsoever.

“Sally!” the Professor said. “Call Cole Walker!”

“What’s the magic word?” Sally asked.

“Are you daft, woman?!” the Professor asked. “This is a matter of life and death! There’s no time to waste!”

“There’s always time for good manners,” Sally said.

“Are you giving me shit for real or am I just absurdly high right now?” Professor Lambert asked.

“A little from Column A and a little from Column B,” Sally replied.

The Professor shook his head. “Oh for the love of…please! Please Sally, call Cole Walker!”

“Was that so hard?” Sally asked.

The Professor waited as Cole’s phone rang…and rang…and rang….until it went to voicemail. “Cole Walker. You know what to do.”

“Blast!” Professor Lambert shouted as he pounded his fist on the desk. “Sally, please call Sharon Walker!”

“Good boy,” Sally said. “I’ll train you yet.”
Sharon’s phone didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached Agent Sharon Walker. I’m not able to take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I…”

“For the love of Einstein’s mustache!” Professor Lambert cried. “Why won’t anyone answer their phone?”!

“Hurricane Dakota Rothschild as done a number on all local utilities,” Sally said.

Almost as if on cue, the lights in the Professor’s office flickered. The power went out and all the appliances, from the television to the mini fridge, shut off. The Professor sat there at his desk in the dark, feeling defeated, the only illumination left in the room coming from the warm glow of Sally’s screen.

“Sally?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Call Rusty Walker please.”

“Right away, Professor.”

The Professor looked at the power meter on Sally’s screen. The phone’s battery was down to a paltry ten percent.

“Sally,” the Professor said. “Please shut off all unnecessary apps at once.”

“Understood, Professor,” Sally said. “Stopping your foot fetish porn download now.”

“Whoa,” the Professor said. “Let’s not go crazy here.”

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Bring Back 2 Broke Girls!

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

This probably sounds like an unmanly post but whatever.  I like “2 Broke Girls.”  It’s my kind of humor.

I just finished it up to the end of the sixth and apparently last season.  I mean, I don’t want to spoil it but suffice to say the girls have better luck at life this season than the previous seasons.

Still, the overall point of the show is to highlight the struggle people have, especially young people who grow up thinking the world will be their oyster only to face the grim reality of every door of opportunity they try to walk getting slammed in their faces.

Along the way, the come across all sorts of characters who are also down on their luck.

Perhaps it seems silly to worry about a show that’s basically a big pile of fluff but from the very first episode, the girls chart out a course – they’re going to lift themselves out of poverty and become big time cupcake selling superstar moguls and I just think CBS is in the wrong for ending the show before that happens.

So if any other network out there wants to pick it up for at least a final wrap-up season (I’m looking at you, Netflix) I know you’d at least have me as a viewer.  I can’t guarantee my 3.5 readers will come along.  They never listen to me.

Overall, it sucks when networks do this.  These shows build up fans over the years that grow attached to the characters and invest time in watching their stories.  It’s uncool to leave the fans hanging.  We were told Max and Caroline would be super, ridiculously successful one day.  We should find out if that happens.

Hollywood, if you can’t make this happen, at least put Kat Dennings and Beth Behrs in something else.  Kat, and her copious bazongas are a delight.  Beth is fabulous too though she lacks Kat’s bazongas.  (As far as I know it’s cool to joke about this as it is a running joke in the show.)

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Daily Discussion with BQB – Supreme Court Rules in Favor of Rock Band “The Slants”

Hey 3.5 readers.  BQB here.

Interesting story on FOX news today – there’s an all Asian-American rock band calling themselves “The Slants.”  They attempted to trademark their name but were denied by the government on a claim that the term was offensive, racially insensitive etc.

They took their case to the Supreme Court and won.  SCOTUS struck down “the disparagement clause” which keeps offensive terms from being trademarked.

(Sidenote: I’m not here to debate whether or not the term “slant” when used in reference to an Asian is offensive.  A) it is but B) the issue isn’t whether or not the term is or isn’t but whether or not the government can tell a band they aren’t allowed to name themselves that.)

I’m a free speech purist, so I side with “The Slants” on this.  In theory, it may sound great to give the government the power to censor “offensive speech” but offense is in the eye of the offended and once you give the government an inch of power they’ll take a mile of it. Today they’re censoring inappropriate rock band names, tomorrow they will censor political speech as offensive – i.e. “I think Candidate X is wrong on such and such issue” might be deemed offensive and you’d be tossed in the hoosegow for voicing your political beliefs.

Thus, when it comes to free speech purism, you have to rely on the “marketplace of ideas” to sort things out.  “The Slants” may have come up with a clever marketing gimmick to get themselves some play in the short term.  Hell, even I’m not really a fan of using the term “slant” – maybe I’ll have to start calling them “That Asian-American Rock Band” or something.  At any rate, if they want any long lasting staying power, they will have to churn out some super catchy tunes or else the people will vote with their ears.

That’s how this all works, people.  That dude on the street corner wearing a sandwich board that reads “Hitler is My BFF” and ringing a bell gets to do that under the law and that’s the price we all pay to be able to speak our own minds.

Don’t worry about that hypothetical guy with the sandwich board.  The free marketplace of ideas will be regulate him.  He won’t be invited to any fancy dinner parties or getting any positions of power anytime soon.  Let the people decide what speech gets you where, but don’t let the government start picking and choosing who gets to say what.  In the short term, it may spare your ears from having to hear things you don’t want to hear but in the long run, it will eventually lead to you not being able to say what you want to say.

Sidenote – I’d be curious if “NWA” ever had any trademark issues or did they solve the issue by just calling themselves “NWA” and leaving it to the public to figure out what that stood for?  (FYI millenials, I’m not telling you what it stands for.)

Discuss.

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Mark Twain on Zombies – Part 5

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The Mississippi Rive will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise.  Zombies are equally stubborn and foolhardy.  Only a ball peen hammer applied liberally to their rotting craniums can persuade them to do anything else but eat your brain.

In the beginning of a change the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned.  When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot.  In like fashion, few men are made of the stern stuff necessary to attack a marauding zombie head on.  Instead, they cower in corners, concerned only with their personal safety.  Once a man of great bravery steps up and murders all impending zombies in the vicinity, then, and only then, will a sniveling reprobate remove himself from his corner of cowardice and boldly declare, “I supported zombie killing this entire time!”

None of us can have as many virtues as the fountain-pen, or half its cussedness; but we can try.  A fountain-pen can help a man translate his thoughts onto the page and also, it works well when plunged into the brain of a zombie.

Zeal and sincerity can carry a new religion further than any other missionary except fire and sword.  Fire and swords are also good weapons against filthy zombies.  I’ve always found that if a zombie won’t burn, it’s best to chop its vile head off with a sword.  Don’t forget to plunge the sword in the beast’s brain for good measure.

 

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Mark Twain on Zombies – Part 4

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Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.  Whenever you find yourself on the side of a zombie, it is time to jam a sharp object into its ear canal, as that is the quickest way to destroy its brain before it eats yours.

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything…except to stay away from zombies.  Always remember to stay away from zombies.  Write a note that says, “STAY AWAY FROM ZOMBIES!” and pin it to your shirt collar if need be, but in any event, dear reader, do stay away from zombies.

I have never let my schooling about zombie anatomy interfere with my education of zombie slaying tactics.

Total abstinence is so excellent a thing that it cannot be carried to too great an extent.  In my passion for it I even carry it so far as to totally abstain from total abstinence itself.  Hell, sometimes the only way a man can come down off a high after spending a night’s worth of vigorous zombie fighting is to get all up in some Mississippi boo-tay.

What ought to be done to the man who invented the celebrating of anniversaries? Mere killing would be too light. It is doubtful that would even be effective as most likely this man would revert to the undead state of a wretched zombie.  Anniversaries are very well up to a certain point, while one’s babies are in the process of growing up: they are joy-flags that make gay the road and prove progress; and one looks down the fluttering rank with pride. Then presently one notices that the flagstaffs are in process of a mysterious change of some sort–change of shape. Yes, they are turning into milestones. They are marking something lost now, not gained. From that time on it were best to suppress taking notice of anniversaries, especially the anniversary of the first time you ever witnessed a close friend getting his brains devoured by a zombie.  No one needs to remember that shit.

To ask a doctor or builder or sculptor for his autograph would be in no way rude. To ask one of those for a specimen of his work, however, is quite another thing, and the request might be justifiably refused. It would never be fair to ask a doctor for one of his corpses to remember him by, seeing as how that corpse is likely to turn into a zombie, leaving you with no choice but to make an utter shambles of the doctor’s office when you bash the zombies brains in using little more than the closest blunt objects in your general vicinity.

I don’t like this thing of being stripped naked & washed. I like to be stripped & warmed at the stove–that is real bully–but I do despise this washing business. I believe it to be a gratuitous & unnecessary piece of meanness. I never see them wash the cat.  However, I wash myself anyway, for many medical doctors in good standing with the board of medicine have assured me that regular baths are the only way to rid one’s self of the various germs that can infect a man with a zombifying virus.  Wash your bum or become an abomination, as my old spinster aunt used to say, and she wasn’t kidding.

There’s nobody for me to attack in this matter even with soft and gentle ridicule–and I shouldn’t ever think of using a grown up weapon in this kind of a nursery. Above all, I couldn’t venture to attack the clergymen whom you mention, for I have their habits and live in the same glass house which they are occupying. I am always reading immoral books on the sly, and then selfishly trying to prevent other people from having the same wicked good time.  In summation, good readers, I can only assume that my most revered book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, has been banned from your local lending library as it contains a wealth of information vis a vis anti-zombie warfare.  Also, it features use of the “N” word like 9,454 times.

Among human beings jealousy ranks distinctly as a weakness; a trademark of small minds; a property of all small minds, yet a property which even the smallest is ashamed of; and when accused of its possession will lyingly deny it and resent the accusation as an insult.  Jealousy can even be found among dirty disgusting zombies.  Why, I have seen many a zombie pick a fight with an associate zombie over the size of a pilfered brain,

 

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