all flockbinkers are treadknicious… and other salient observations

Forays into Logic, Whimsy, Meaning, Hilarity, and Nonsense.

Tag: Nonsense

Your Fourth Pop Quiz. Let’s Hope You Studied. Oh, Wait.

 

Abstract:  We’re scaling the Pop Quizzes down from ten questions to six questions, so as to accommodate the declining intellectual powers of the internet-dwelling audience. No! Wait. What i meant to say was, it’s just easier to manage a pop quiz when there’s not a sprawling mess of nonsense stretched out in every direction. Wait! No! Doggone it, i’m having a bit of trouble getting my thoughts onto paper here. Anyway, here’s your most recent pop quiz. Enjoy!


 

1. Nonsense and its vicissitudes. Which of the following statements is true of sense and non-sense?

a. Sense is the sort of thing that makes sense, and nonsense doesn’t.

b. Sense is sensible. And nonsense is…non-sensible.

c. Well, jeepers, thus far we don’t really seem to have established anything.

d. Hey, dude, tautological statements are better than no statements at all.

e. The difference between sense and nonsense is kind of similar to the difference between peanut butter and almond butter.

f. Okay, now THAT did not make any sense.

g. Sure, well, maybe it’s YOUR MOM that doesn’t make any sense.

h. Sense is that which can be sensed, whereas nonsense is that which can non be sensed.

i. Sense and nonsense is the name of a popular novel by Jane Austen.

j. I am surrounded by insane people.

 

2. Absurdity is to nonsense as reason is to ___________________ .

a. Nonreason

b. Reasonlessness

c. Treason

d. Rationality

e. Good sense

f. Someone else’s Mom

g. A fork and a knife

h. Six heaping teaspoons of castor oil

i. Dude, you can’t have a heaping teaspoon of castor oil

j. Six heaping teaspoons of castor oil that has been dried into a powder

 

3. The four levels of nonsense delineated in the post “Nonsense and Its Vicissitudes” are:

a. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

b. Maggie and Milly and Molly and May

c. Groucho, Harpo, Zeppo and Chico

d. Height, width, depth, and time

e. What in the WORLD are these people talking about.

f. Pigs are the coolest animals, when you really stop to think about it.

g. Chaos and abaddon, with darkness upon the face of the deep

h. That wasn’t four things, it was three.

i. Your Mom is four things, how about that?

j. [sinks head into hands and heaves a sigh that evokes levels of despair previously undreamed of except in villages that have been saturation-bombed with old issues of Mad magazine for weeks and weeks on end]

 

4. When it comes right down to it, do flockbinkers really have any place in a discussion of philosophy?

a. Yes, indeed.

b. No sirree.

c. Well, yes and no.

d. Neither yes nor no.

e. “Neither yes nor no” isn’t a valid answer to this question.

f. Look here, bozo, how about i set down my answers, and you set down yours, okay?

g. Yes, but without the “indeed” following it.

h. Maybe. You show me what’s in your hand, and i’ll show you what’s in mine, heh heh.

i. These people are disgusting and filthy, and that’s just the site administrators.

j. To err is human, and on top of that, if you can’t be with the one you love, honey, love the one you’re with, love the one you’re with, love the one you’re with.

 

5. Which of the following statements may be accurately made regarding nonsense?

a. ‘Nonsense’ may be understood as the opposite of ‘sense’.

b. ‘Nonsense’ may be defined as “that which is contrary to the laws of logic.”

c. Nonsense don’t make much sense, now, do it. Heh heh, heh heh.

d. ‘Nonsense’ my be defined as, “that which… is… Your Mom.”

e. Pee-Wee Herman attempted to have a meaningful conversation with Mr. Bean. What resulted was utter nonsense.

f. Nonsense can be delightful and lovely, tra la la, tra la la, tra la la.

g. Nonsense is what you get when you enroll in Mrs. Vickers’ Gender Studies class.

h. Hey, don’t be trashing Mrs. Vickers now, she puts together a mean zucchini casserole.

i. Do you realize you just complimented a feminist academic on the strength of her cooking.

j. Nonsense is what you’ve got when you ain’t got nothin’ else.

 

6. If you were to line up five Bertrand Russells along the top of a fence, which of the following would obtain?

a. The possibility of five Bertrand Russells existing elsewhere at the same time would be eliminated.

b. The statement “There are not five Bertrand Russells on the fence” would be rendered nonsensical.

c. There couldn’t be five Bertrand Russells, ‘Bertrand Russell’ being an entity of an essentially unitary status.

d. Please tell me i’m having a nightmare.

e. Five Bertrand Russells, each of them immersed in nightmare, cannot at one and the same time be awake or immersed in pleasant dreams.

f. When you’ve got five Bertrand Russells on the top of a fence, now, and here’s the part i’m needing you to pay attention to–it’s the important aspect of the discussion–um—

g. Wut.

h. Okay, now these questions are really getting kind of ridiculous.

i. Maybe it’s Your Mom that’s getting kind of ridiculous.

j. Q.E.D.

 

 

All Flibertysquibs Are Treacleandjam: Or, Just a Different Batch of Nonsense

 

Abstract:  In which the Blogger is confronted with a taste of his own linguistic medicine, and the Good Reader teams up with a mysterious “Anti-Blogger” and two anonymous young ladies you may recall from days of yore, to dismantle a long-established literary tradition.


 

The Anti-Blogger is an archetypal sort of fella. He’s sort of like, “The Blogger,” only different. He’s like, you know, the opposite. When The Blogger says “left,” the Anti-Blogger says “right.” When The Blogger says “plain,” the Anti-Blogger says, “peanut.” When The Blogger says “capitalism,” the Anti-Blogger says “the dictatorship of the proletariat.” When The Blogger says “Which way to the Men’s room?” the Anti-Blogger says, “Dang, that was one very excellent burrito.” When The Blogger says, “Girl / I want / To be with you / All of the time / All day / And all of the night,” the Anti-Blogger says, “My little China girl / You shouldn’t mess with me / I’ll ruin everything you are.”

You get the idea.

In this post, we get a rare glimpse into the thinking of this extraordinary fellow, as he suddenly appears from nowhere and takes on The Blogger at a fundamentally philosophical level. And as dessert? We get to revisit the razor’s-edge thinking of Females #1 and #2, and as the cherry on top, even The Good Reader shows up! It’s a party, man.

 

The Blogger:  All flockbinkers are treadknicious.

The Anti-Blogger:  All flibertysquibs are treacleandjam.

The Blogger:  Wait. What?

The Anti-Blogger:  I said, “All flibertysquibs are treacl….”

The Blogger:  Right, right. But that doesn’t mean anything!

The Anti-Blogger:  It means as much as “all flockbinkers are treadknicious,” or whatever it is that you’ve been saying.

The Blogger:  It most certainly does not! “Flockbinker” is a real word, and “liberty-squabs” absolutely isn’t!

The Anti-Blogger:  Flibertysquibs is as real a word as flockbinkers. They’re both nonsense.

The Blogger:  Are not!

The Anti-Blogger:  Are so.

The Blogger:  Are not!

The Anti-Blogger:  Are so!

The Blogger:  Look, there’s a solid literary tradition undergirding my use of the term “flockbinkers.” And you just now made up the word “flaherty-drabs.”

The Anti-Blogger:  Flibertysquibs. And a few random blog posts by a single eccentric sitting in front of the computer in his jammies does not constitute an established literary tradition.

The Blogger:  It does! Oh, wait.

The Anti-Blogger:  [smiling]  See here, you’ve got a real problem. You just can’t make claims for one set of nonsensical words, and then try to block those very same claims from being made of other nonsensical words. It’s as if you’re tying to establish a hierarchy of nonsense.

The Blogger:  If there’s never been a record album with that name, someone better snatch it up soon.

The Anti-Blogger:  Hmmm?

The Blogger:  “A Hierarchy of Nonsense.” Shoot man, i’d buy it. I don’t care what the music sounds like.

The Anti-Blogger:  Very cool. But now, back to our topic. What is it about the word “wamwam” that makes you want to treat it seriously as a philosophical term, while at the same time rejecting “treacleandjam”?

The Blogger:  Why, because it IS a legitimate philosophical term! And the other one’s just a succession of sounds that you made up to make my position look ridiculous.

The Anti-Blogger:  I don’t think your position needs much help to look ridiculous, but i’m delighted to do what i can.

The Blogger:  Mmmmmm.

The Anti-Blogger:  Tell ya what. Why don’t you explain, right now, what it is about the term “wamwam”–which, if i’m not mistaken, can’t be found in the dictionary–that makes it a legitimate philosophical term.

The Blogger:  Delighted to! Well, first off–  [pauses, deeply immersed in thought]

The Anti-Blogger:  Mmmmm?

The Blogger:  Sorry. Just assembling my case.

The Anti-Blogger:  Fine. Carry on, my good man.

The Blogger:  Okay. So, the question is, how is the word ‘wamwam’ a real term, whereas the stupid nonsense you’ve been saying isn’t?

The Anti-Blogger:  Something like that.

The Blogger:  Why, it’s simple. It’s because you just now made those terms up in order to make me look like a buffoon.

The Anti-Blogger:  Well, once again, i’m glad to help nature take its course, if any help is necessary. But my having made those terms up just now is no different from your having made your terms up a few years ago.

[The Good Reader walks up, interested in the discussion.]

The Blogger:  [To the Anti-Blogger]  Look. Flockbinkers are not the same thing as flibertysquibs, and the state of being ‘treadknicious’ is not the same as being ‘treacleandjam’.

The Good Reader:  Why not? None of it means anything.

The Blogger:  [infinitely patient sigh]  Saying that these are ‘undefined terms’ is not the same thing as saying that they don’t mean anything.

The Good Reader:  Sure it is. It’s all a bunch of nonsense. You just like making funny sounds — and building a blog around it. If 2-year-olds had a blog, they would be doing the same thing.

The Blogger:  They would not!

The Good Reader:  Would so.

The Blogger:  Would not!

The Good Reader:  Would so.

The Blogger:  [sigh]  Look here. It seems to me that we’re dancing around the main issue, which is….

[It is at this point that the little gathering is joined by two young ladies who were, um, anonymously featured in an earlier post to this blog a couple of years back]

Female #2:  Howdy!

Female #1:  How’s it going.

The Blogger:  Um, howdy there. I haven’t seen you two in a long while!

Female #2:  No indeed! We have been otherwise occupied.

Female #1:  Developing categories by which to better understand horses.

Female #2:  So. Okay. I have a question. Is it possible to misspell “frockdrinkers”? After all, it’s not in the dictionary.

Female #1:  And does it matter how you pronounce it? I’d kind of like to pronounce it “flockber,” which is shorter and easier to say.

The Blogger:  But that’s not how it’s pronounced….

Female #1:  Ah ah ah, but it’s not in the dictionary, so how is it that i can’t pronounce it however i want to?

Female #2:  And i’d like to spell it “fwump,” which is considerably shorter and much less trouble than “frodpickers.”

The Good Reader:  Oooohh. Such good points they seem to be making!

The Blogger:  Oh, stop. Look guys, you can’t just randomly make up spellings and pronunciations for words! The universe would descend into utter chaos!

Female #2:  Chaos and abaddon, with darkness upon the face of the deep, and spiritual wickedness in the heavenly places!

Female #1:  And all kinds of terrible stuff going on.

The Blogger:  Um, uh, yes, precisely. So no. No: you can’t just randomly make up spellings and pronunciations for words, just sorta out of your noggin.

Female #2:  Words… that you’ve randomly made up.

Female #1:  Right out of your noggin.

The Blogger:  Well, no, um. I mean…um. Oh, poo.

The Anti-Blogger:  I’m afraid they’ve scored one on you.

The Good Reader:  As in: Ga-ZING. Pow. Whack.

Female #1:  I feel like we’ve maybe gotten him back for that “horse people” thing a couple of years back?

Female #2:  Hey! I thought he made some very good points in the horse people discussion.

Female #1:  What? He just kept including random stuff and confusing the issue. But what am i saying? You were just as bad!

Female #2:  Hrmmff. You only think that because you’re a horse people yourself. I thought he performed brilliantly.

[Females #1 and #2 withdraw, still arguing the merits of the various horse-people models. The Anti-Blogger has, meanwhile, somehow dissolved into the aether, leaving The Good Reader standing alone with The Blogger.]

The Good Reader:  Ahh! This sort of conflict is good sometimes, y’know? It sort of clears the nasal passages and whatnot.

The Blogger:  If you say so.

 

 

Now, Boys and Girls, Let’s Look at Some Syllogisms

Is it just me, or has it been entirely too long since we’ve explored the exciting world of how to construct a sound logical syllogism?

A Voice from Near the Back of the Auditorium:  Pretty sure it’s just you.

Heh heh. Terrific. Thanks. Ahem. So, why don’t we refresh our memories regarding what a ‘logical syllogism’ is and how they function as components in an argument.

A Voice from Near the Back of the Auditorium:  Let’s not, and say we did.

Mmmmm. Pardon me one moment.

“Ushers? We appear to have a situ — very good. Yes. Thank you.”

Glad that’s taken care of. You can’t always control who ends up in your audience.

So, anyway, for those of us who could use a reminder, or are perhaps new to the blog, a syllogism is like the basic building block of a logical argument. Each syllogism is made up of three statements: the first two are the ‘premises,’ and the third statement is the ‘conclusion.’ The two premises introduce a set of ideas which, if understood correctly, lead necessarily to the conclusion.

Here, let me show you.

1. All flockbinkers are treadknicious.

2. Some wamwams are flockbinkers.

3. Therefore, some wamwams are treadknicious.

As you can clearly see, if the first two statements — the premises — are true, then the conclusion is bang-on. This is how a syllogism is supposed to work. The premises give you all the information you need to start out with, and if everything is set up right, the conclusion should naturally follow.

Here’s another example.

1. All Republicrats are freemish.

2. Some Democricans are Republicrats.

3. Therefore, some Democricans are freemish.

“But wait a second!” you say.  “This is the same exact thing as that ‘All flockbinkers are treadknicious’ syllogism, but with a different set of silly words inserted into it.”

Ah, excellent reader, how good of you to pick up on that!  And, indeed, the two syllogisms might be, sort of, the same thing — if all of the ‘silly words’ (as you have so uncharitably labeled them) are not only functionally but semantically equivalent. But that’s assuming an awful lot, isn’t it! (And you know what happens when we assume.) What makes you so sure, good reader, that a ‘flockbinker’ and a ‘Republicrat’ are the same thing?

The Good Reader:  All meaningless words are the same thing. They all mean, and i quote, ‘diddly-squat.’

The Blogger:  But i disagree. Perhaps different nonsense terms indicate different categories of nonsense?

The Good Reader:  Nonsense is nonsense! How can there be different ‘categories’ of nonsense? It’s all nonsense! Nonsense nonsense nonsense.

The Blogger:  Well, what if the term ‘wamwam’ occupies a certain semantic territory, albeit one that does not correspond to any actual existent thing or category of things, while the term ‘republicrat’ occupies a different semantic territory?

The Good Reader:  That did not EVEN mean anything. You’re stalling.

The Blogger:  Of course it did! Perhaps if i were to use more simple language… in deference to your elementary grasp of philosophy….

The Good Reader:  [mutters something under her breath that does not sound nice]

The Blogger:  Allright. Try this. What if there are modalities of meaning, some of which are attached to existent entities and some of which are attached merely to mental images, or even to nodules of possibility that correspond to no intelligible image or idea?

The Good Reader:  You’re boring me.

Okay, okay, enough. We probably need to cut our losses on that one. Jeepers. Our first examples seem not to have gone over very well.

So here’s a syllogism in which all of the terms are ordinary, recognizable words.

1. If James is a good boy, he will be pelted with frozen waffles by a mob of crazed orangutans.

2. James is not a good boy.

3. Therefore, James need not worry about being pelted with frozen waffles by a mob of crazed orangutans.

Random Reader of the Blog, Who Is Not Specifically ‘The Good Reader’, But Who Is Nevertheless a Good Reader, and Who Raises His hand, Indicating That He Wishes to Volunteer to Analyze This Syllogism:

I’ve got this.

Um, right off the top of my head, i can see three problems with your… oh, what was the word you used? Syllogism? I think that was the word. And here they are.

Problem #1:  Being pelted with frozen waffles by a mob of crazed orangutans is not a real thing. This does not ever happen. It just doesn’t. Literally no one has experienced this. The Blogger is scraping the bottom of a nonexistent barrel.

Problem #2: Even if it were a thing, it is highly unlikely that being pelted with frozen waffles by a mob of crazed orangutans would be the consequence of being a good boy. When you’re a good boy, the teacher gives you an ‘S’ for ‘satisfactory’ in the behavior section of your report card. Orangutans, crazed or sober, are not involved.

Problem #3: Even if crazed orangutans throwing frozen waffles were a real thing, and even if this were the sort of thing a good boy might expect to happen to him, there’s no reason to assume that one could not be pelted with frozen waffles (by a mob of crazed orangutans) even if one were not a good boy. Maybe there just happens to be a mob of crazed orangutans roaming the neighborhood, pelting people indiscriminately with frozen waffles. They don’t care whether you’ve been a good boy or not. They don’t know. They can’t even tell the difference. Dude. They are crazed orangutans.

So for those three reasons, and probably some more that i haven’t noticed, this syllogism is a disaster.

Back to you, Blogger.

Darn it. I hate to admit it, but Random Reader of the Blog has scored some decent points there. Hey, fella, toss me an email later on… i may have a job for you on this blog.

So. That syllogism turns out to have been a wash; let’s try one last one.

1. No flockbinkers are unicorns.

2. A unicorn is a small slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger.

3. Therefore, a flockbinker is not a small slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger.

And i’ll just go ahead and start you out with a hint: The syllogism is invalid.

The Good Reader:  Invalid! Duh. Of course it’s not valid. There are so many things wrong with that one, i don’t EVEN know where to begin!”

The Blogger:  I see that The Good Reader has once again made an appearance. Well, Good Reader, lay it on us. What’s the problem here?

The Good Reader:  There are skoozoos of problems. To begin with…

The Blogger:  One moment, please. Did you actually say, “skoozoos of problems”…?

The Good Reader:  I did.

The Blogger:  I’ve never heard that one before. Hmmm. Interesting. Well, okay, carry on.

The Good Reader:  Right. First off, how can we know that no flockbinkers are unicorns?

The Blogger:  Well, i mean, golly, they just aren’t!

The Good Reader:  That’s the best you’ve got…?

The Blogger:  Let’s just say this: say we are positing, for the sake of argument, that ‘flockbinker’ and ‘unicorn’ are mutually exclusive categories.

The Good Reader:  Fine. That’s pretty arbitrary, but whatever. So then let’s go on to the next thing, which is your totally false definition of ‘unicorn’.

The Blogger:  False definition? What? Where?

The Good Reader:  You claim in this syllogism that a unicorn is “a small slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger.”

The Blogger:  Okay. So?

The Good Reader:  That’s not even a good definition of a fish, much less a unicorn! A fish can’t have eight legs. It wouldn’t be a fish. It would be… an arachnid? Or something.

The Blogger:  But unicorns don’t exist, so how can there be a true or a false definition of one? Hah! I’ve got you there.

The Good Reader:  So… Okay. Here’s this. Dumbo the Elephant has a six-cylinder engine, seventeen heads, ginger ale for blood, and he eats postal delivery workers for breakfast.

The Blogger:  What? That’s not right! Dumbo isn’t anything like that!

The Good Reader:  Ah, but he’s a fictional character, he doesn’t exist, so, according to you, i can define him any way i want to.  [makes a highly unattractive ‘neener, neener’ face that her mother would find most frightfully disappointing]

The Blogger:  Well, um, we could discuss at some length the issue of what it means to say that Dumbo ‘does not exist’….

The Good Reader:  …and we could apply the exact same criteria to whether unicorns exist or not. Surely you’re not saying that Dumbo the Ohmigosh Stupid Fictional Elephant is somehow more real than a unicorn…?

The Blogger:  Well…no.

The Good Reader:  I didn’t think so.

The Blogger:  So, for the sake of the argument, a unicorn could STILL be a “small, slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger.” We just define him that way, by fiat. In this syllogism, that’s what a unicorn is.

The Good Reader:  So syllogisms don’t have to have even a remote connection to reality. Logic is for dreamers and drug users and Tim Burton and people in psychiatric hospitals.

The Blogger:  Um, no.

The Good Reader:  And anyway, you yourself said that this particular syllogism is invalid. Right?

The Blogger:  I did. You just haven’t discovered the reason why it’s invalid yet.

The Good Reader:  I’ve pointed out that it’s made up of bizarre garbled incoherent hash. You want more than that?

The Blogger:  Well, to be exact, you haven’t really….

The Good Reader:  So, Mister Blogger, why would you say that it’s invalid, if not for the fact that you haven’t defined a single thing correctly in it?

The Blogger:  Well, a flockbinker could still be a small slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger, even if it’s not a unicorn. Maybe there’s more than one kind of animal that’s a small slippery fish with eight legs and a stinger. A unicorn is one kind, and a flockbinker is a different kind.

The Good Reader:  I hereby accuse you of the excessive use of alcohol.

The Blogger:  No, really, it works. Think it through. Draw a diagram if you have to.

The Good Reader:  If you want to represent logic to your readers as being a truckload of absurdity that’s completely useless for actually figuring anything out in the real world, go right ahead.  [*sigh*]

The Blogger:  See, here’s the circle that includes all of the unicorns, and here’s the circle that includes all of the flockbinkers —

The Good Reader:  Someone kill me now.

The Blogger:  And notice that, even though the two circles don’t overlap, they could still both contain different kinds of small slippery fish with —

The Good Reader:  Make it painless, if possible, but i’m ready to go.

 

The Good Reader Registers a Complaint About Flockbinker Pop Quiz #1

Last week — much to the delight of many of you, if the stacks of Reader Mail covering my desk are any indication — we regaled you with your very first Pop Quiz.  Flockbinker Pop Quiz #1.  And oh, it was a thing of beauty.  Ten multiple-choice questions featuring ten options each.  We covered a number of exciting topics, including the various branches of philosophy, the classic flockbinker syllogism, and the ontological status of unicorns.

Well, as they say, into every life a little rain must fall, and too many cooks spoil the broth, and a stitch in time saves nine, and there’s no business like show business, and old age ain’t for sissies. My point is this: No sooner had the ink dried on that Pop Quiz (our first, in case i have neglected to mention it), than the Good Reader contacted me to lodge an objection.  I shall try to reconstruct the conversation as best i can from memory.

The Good Reader:  I’d like to register a complaint about your so-called ‘Pop Quiz’.

The Blogger:  Say it isn’t so!  Why, Good Reader, you’re my number one fan!  What can you possibly have found to object to in so carefully thought-through and fastidiously worded an academic instrument?

The Good Reader:  It was nonsense from beginning to end, that’s what!

The Blogger:  If that’s your objection, you clearly haven’t been paying much attention to this blog for the past three years.

The Good Reader:  Oh no, i have.  And you’re right.  Every single post you foist upon your unsuspecting public is just stuffed with nonsense.  But, oh, i dunno, it usually seems justified somehow.  It’s like, you’re combining philosophy and comedy, while working off the effects of your psychiatric medications. That i can deal with.

The Blogger:  I’m not on any psychiatric medications.

The Good Reader:  No?  Well, that does explain a few things.  Your doctor is falling down on the job.

The Blogger:  Ahem.  We were talking about your objections to the Pop Quiz.

The Good Reader:  I don’t think it was a ‘pop quiz’ at all!  It was a chaotic explosion of seemingly endless silliness and horrible meaningless randomness.

The Blogger:  I take it your impression was a negative one.

The Good Reader:  Look here, blogger-fellow, if you’re going to call something a ‘quiz,’ you’re leading people to believe that there will be educational value attached to it.  Right?  But that one was just, i mean, it was, just, just, a lot of nonsense.

The Blogger:  It had a great deal of educational value!  It was about philosophy.  It was about logic.  It was about existence!

The Good Reader:  It was about ten questions too long.

The Blogger:  You’re being needlessly harsh, o Good Reader.  Surely you must have gained something from taking the quiz.  You… you did take it, didn’t you?

The Good Reader:  I looked at every question and read all of the answers you provided, if that’s what you mean by “taking” the quiz.

The Blogger:  Excellent!  I bet you were considerably smarter after taking it than you had been before.

The Good Reader:  Probably not. In fact, i feel like my I.Q. dropped about 20 points from the time i started to the time i got to the end.  I was barely able to remember how to turn off my computer.

The Blogger:  Were there certain questions that you particularly objected to?

The Good Reader:  The first few weren’t so bad; they actually had something to do with philosophy.  And there were at least a few useful answers provided. But then it got more and more ridiculous.  Really, blogger-person, you should be ashamed of yourself.

The Blogger:  Ah, i see the difficulty.  You object to the use of humor in making philosophy more palatable to the average reader.  You feel that the quiz ought to have been more serious.  “Too much frivolity!” is your battle-cry.  “What do you offer the seriously committed, sober-minded lover of philosophical study?”  Bypass the lighthearted banter and get straight to the Big Questions: that’s your way of thinking.  You believe in diving right into the deep end of the pool.  I bet you drink your whiskey straight.

The Good Reader:  I only took up drinking whiskey after the traumatic experience of reading through that so-called pop quiz.

The Blogger:  But you say you approved of the first few questions?

The Good Reader:  No, not at all, it’s just that i wasn’t profoundly traumatized by the first few questions.  They at least offered a few real answers, hidden in there among the references to Justin Bieber and the Darwin Awards.  And the graffiti in bathroom stalls.

The Blogger:  But then things got a bit thick, is that what you’re saying?

The Good Reader:  About halfway through, you started putting in “answers” that were supposed to be comments from readers.  Seriously?  How does that make any sense?

The Blogger:  Well, it is a little hard to explain, isn’t it.  Who can understand the complex ways of the internet?

The Good Reader:  And then they started arguing with each other.

The Blogger:  Yes.  That was unfortunate.

The Good Reader:  Right there in the middle of the quiz.  You had your readers arguing with each other in the answer sections.

The Blogger:  I have feisty readers.

The Good Reader:  But it was YOU writing all of that stuff!  Don’t pretend it wasn’t.  You’re not actually wanting me to believe that there were real people getting into fights on your so-called pop quiz?  You wrote the questions, and you wrote the answers.

The Blogger:  Well, it’s complicated.

The Good Reader:  That’s your go-to remark when you don’t feel like explaining yourself.

The Blogger:  Perhaps it should suffice to say that, yes, i wrote the questions and answers… but at another level of discourse, there were actual readers interacting with the questions and grappling with them, and offering their commentary aloud as they did so.

The Good Reader:  Ho hum, yada yada yada.

The Blogger:  Good Reader.  Your tone is unbecoming.

The Good Reader:  You had your readers saying things like, “ontology, shmontology” to each other in the middle of what was supposed to be a test.

The Blogger:  My quizzes are lively community affairs, like a block party.  Everybody wants to show up.  The joint gets to jumpin’.  A typical Flockbinker Quiz is like a really happenin’ social scene with music and laughter and dancing and people drinking too much.

The Good Reader:  The only thing “happenin” was that you made up a bunch of totally fictional readers that you don’t even have, and made it sound like they were arguing about something that Bertrand Russell said, whoever that is.

The Blogger:  Only one of the most important philosophers of the modern period.  He–

The Good Reader:  And to top it all off, you slipped me in there, and you made me sound ridiculous.  You put words into my mouth.

The Blogger:  Unlike what i’m doing right now.

The Good Reader:  Don’t interrupt.  You made it sound like i was fumbling through a really stupid attempt to define a unicorn.  You know what?  I know what your problem is.  You’ve never forgiven me for that time when we were talking about unicorns and i embarrassed you because you couldn’t explain the difference between The Good Reader(1) and The Good Reader(3).

[Editor’s Note: The Good Reader is referring to an incident that occurred in this post from July of 2013. S/he clearly has a long memory and a problem with letting things go. Some people are quite unwilling to let the past be the past.]

The Blogger:  It’s really never helpful to bring up the past.

The Good Reader:  Yes, that’s what you just now said in the sly editorial comment that you slipped in there in those brackets, thinking i wouldn’t see it.

The Blogger:  Oops.

The Good Reader:  So i guess the main thing that bothers me about your so-called pop quiz is that you used it as yet another instrument for making me look stupid.

The Blogger:  O Good Reader, so that’s what this is really all about!  I was incautious in my use of you as an example in one of the answers, and i hurt your feelings!  Golly, i’m sorry.

The Good Reader:  Well, i suppose i can choose to overlook it this one time, so long as you promise never to let it happen again.

The Blogger:  Absolutely.  I’m a changed man.  Gone are the days when i used to feature you as an example of someone with really elementary powers of reasoning, struggling to discuss things that are far beyond her capacities.  From now on, i’ll have you saying things that are easily within your somewhat limited intellectual reach.

The Good Reader:  Oh my word, you just did it again, just now, five seconds after promising you would never do it again!

The Blogger:  What?  What’d i say?

 

 

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