all flockbinkers are treadknicious… and other salient observations

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

Tag: the buddha

Confucius, the Buddha, Aristotle, and Mr. T Return to Chili’s

 

Abstract:  In which our four redoubtable philosophers–one of whom is none other than Mr. T (!) (oh my)–continue their sometimes witty… sometimes, um, er, not-witty… and sometimes inexplicable… and sometimes… anyway… conversation about the Higher and Deeper Things at Chili’s Restaurant.


 

Waiter:  Have we, like, at long last, decided what we want to order?

Confucius:  I believe we have, yes. I’ll have the Southwestern Eggrolls.  [he leans in confidentially, whispering]  It’s hard to beat those Southwestern Eggrolls.

Waiter:  They sure do tend to be a favorite with our customers. And you, sir?

Mr. T:  Yeah, well when i was growing up, my family was so poor we couldn’t afford to pay attention.

Waiter:  Hey! This guy’s kinda witty, sort of.

Confucius:  Might want to be careful about encouraging him.

Waiter:  Aww, i think he’s harmless.

Mr. T:  [screws his face up into a horribly threatening scowl]  My prediction: Pain.

Confucius:  Tell you what, he’ll have the Caesar Salad and a Coke.

Waiter:  [visibly nervous, turning quickly toward Aristotle]  A…and you, sir?

Aristotle:  I’ll have the braised goat with milk curds and olives.

Confucius:  Hoo boy! Um, waiter, this gentleman will have the Carnitas Fajitas.

Aristotle:  Are you sure?

Confucius:  You’ll love it.

Waiter:  Um… okay… and you, sir?

The Buddha:  I’ll have what they’re having.

Waiter:  All of it?

The Buddha:  The man of understanding takes in the entirety of his world, and in the end finds it to be: emptiness.

Confucius:  I am so sorry. We’re rather a group of oddballs, aren’t we. He’ll have the cheese quesadillas.

[waiter scurries off, trembling just a little bit]

Aristotle:  So, shall we resume our discussion of the Higher Things?

Mr. T:  I believe in the Golden Rule. The man with the gold, rules.

Aristotle:  [taking a deep breath]  That’s a commonly held belief. So, do you think it’s best that those with the wealth should also be the ones with the power?

Confucius:  [stage whisper]  Are you really wanting to encourage him?

Aristotle:  [stage whisper]  I’m directing his random outbursts into patterned discussion.

Confucius:  [stage whisper]  I don’t feel like that’s going to yield much fruit.

Aristotle:  [stage whisper]  I dunno. We’ll see. Worth a try.

Confucius:  [stage whisper]  Okay, man. Go for it. You do you.

Mr. T:  I, uh, pity the fool.

Confucius:  [to Aristotle]  Here’s the problem, i think. If you ask our redoubtable Mr. T a question for which he doesn’t have one of his pre-prepared answers, you put him off his game and he doesn’t know what to say.

Aristotle:  Is that so!  [gets a devilish look in his eye, like that of someone who has just learned that you’re carrying gold nuggets in your pocket and is trying to figure out how to lift them without your noticing]

Aristotle:  [returning his attention to Mr. T]  So, which fool, exactly, is it that you pity?

Mr. T:  Um… uh… all of ’em?

Aristotle:  Ah! But you cannot pity all of them. For one fool may be at odds with another, and you must choose sides. Which fool are you betting on?

Mr. T:  I… I…  [he begins to tremble]

The Buddha:  Pain.

Aristotle:  Not now, Bud. I’m on a roll with this other guy.

Confucius:  How many kinds of fools are there?

Aristotle:  Dude! Don’t ruin my setup. I think i’ve got him against the ropes.

Mr. T:  Um… uh… uh….

Aristotle:  Imagine a poker table, and four fools sitting around it playing poker. One of those fools will have to win the game. How can a fool win the game?

Mr. T:  [recovering, seeing his opportunity]  There’s two kinds of people: the winners, and the losers. Which one are you?

Aristotle:  Dammit.

Confucius:  Oohh, and it seemed as if you were doing so well, for a while there.

The Buddha:  Pain. Huh huh huh.

Aristotle:  Oh my word, is the little Buddha fellow turning into Mr. T now? I have to deal with a whole table of Mr. T’s?

Mr. T:  Are the Mr. T’s at the table, or is the table full of Mr. T’s?

Confucius:  Dude, that was sort of a tautology.

Aristotle:  [losing patience]  Okay. Fine! You win, i lose! I still fail to understand what this man is doing at our table!

Confucius:  [leaning in toward Aristotle in a confidential manner]  Okay, i suppose i need to come clean with you. I told his mom i’d take him for the afternoon–she’s showing their house to a prospective buyer, and she thought it might be a good idea to show it without him inside.

Aristotle:  Ah. (Grrr.) It is all becoming clear to me now.

Confucius:  The man of genuine strength maintain his place even in rapidly flowing river.

Aristotle:  Please, not just now, bud. There’s a time and a place.

Confucius:  I get it, man. Just trying to be useful.

Mr. T:  My Prediction?

The Buddha:  Pain. Heh heh.

Aristotle:  Okay, look, i don’t think we can have a serious discussion with that man present.

Mr. T:  Yeah, fool.

Aristotle:  I was referring to YOU.

Mr. T:  Oh. Okay. Got it.

The Buddha:  My prediction: Pain.

Aristotle:  And i don’t even want to know what his deal is. It’s like he’s absorbing the ‘T’ person’s personality just by sitting next to him.

The Buddha:  I pity the fool.

Aristotle:  [throwing up his hands]  I cannot EVEN.

Confucius:  I’ll admit, he doesn’t seem to be in rare form tonight. His material is usually MUCH better.

Aristotle:  Which one?

Aristotle:  Mmmm, wow. Good point.

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Go Through a Whole Post Without Once Mentioning Flockbinkers

 

Abstract:  In which our cast of characters–in a decided departure from common practice–attempt to go for an entire blog post without once saying the word… well, you know, THAT word. The word. The word floc… ooohh, you know. The word. THAT one.


 

The Blogger:  [addressing a small group of people gathered in his living room]

So hey there, fellas. Thanks for coming! I wonder if each of you would mind glancing down at the piece of paper that you’ve been handed. It explains the one big, basic ground rule for this particular post. Note that your attention is being called to one word in particular: the one word that none of us is going to use in this here blog post.

Jennifer Smith:  Blog post? What blog post? Biffy, what does he mean by ‘blog post’? He’s making strange remarks again. I’m already feeling disoriented.

Little Biffy:  Just roll with it. Pretend he’s talking about a “log post” that you tie your boat off to, right when you’ve returned from a satisfying morning of fishing.

Jennifer Smith:  You just made things ten times worse. NOW i seriously do not EVEN.

Little Biffy:  Oops.

Jennifer Smith:  No, come on. Log post? I’m feeling disoriented.

Little Biffy:  Heh heh. Forget i said anything. Post? Where’s the post? I don’t see a post. Nobody said anything about a post. There’s no post. Not a post in sight.

Jennifer Smith:  [begins breathing heavily; her eyes start to roll back in her head]

The Good Reader:  It’s okay, Jennifer. Here, come sit next to me. We can be sensible together in the midst of a whirlwind of chaos and nonsense.

Jennifer Smith:  Thanks, sort of. Um.

Elvis Wu:  [gazing intently at the note he’s been handed]  Ahh! So we are to conduct ourselves normally, except that there is one word, one particular word, that we may not, under any circumstances, allow ourselves to say.

The Blogger:  Precisely.

Elvis Wu:  And that word is Flo–

The Blogger:  [with hands over ears]  Aaaahhh aahhhhhhhhhhh aaaaaaaaaaaahh aaahhh aaaaaaaahhhhhh aahh aaaaahhhh…

Elvis Wu:  Just kidding, my good man. I just wanted to see what you would do. That reaction was actually a bit more interesting than whatever i was expecting.

Aristotle:  Hmmm. Interesting. I can’t help thinking… hmmm.

The Blogger:  [consumed with curiosity–after all, this is ARISTOTLE we’re talking about]

Um, yes? What’s on your mind? Something profound and philosophically spiffy, i’ll bet!

Aristotle:  Well, it’s just that, if we were to think of all human behavior, or perhaps all human tendencies of personality…

The Blogger:  Yes, yes, hmmm?

Aristotle:  …as being laid out on a kind of grid, with one sort of extreme at one end, and the opposite extreme on the other end, and a satisfying, happy medium in the middle…

The Blogger:  Uh-huh, yes?

Aristotle:  Well then, we… hmmm. I’ll need to put a bit more thought into this one.

Confucius:  Sounded like you were on a roll there, o most eminent among Greeks. Don’t let that one drop. I think it’s going to lead somewhere.

The Buddha:  First we go through the fire, then we go through the water, and then we go through the, um, the wasteland of ice, and then we go through, uh, umm, the place where, uh, earwigs come from, and then, then, uuhhh… that bottom dresser drawer that we rarely open and there’s no telling what’s in there.

Confucius:  The wise man know when to remain silent; the fool go on and on about ridiculous fire and earwigs and other nonsense.

The Buddha:  Bearded Greek is allowed to make no sense, but not the Lord Buddha?

Confucius:  Sometimes we must take one for the team.

The Buddha:  Um, okay. Not fair.

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies over the ocean.

The Good Reader:  Wait. What?

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies over the sea.

The Good Reader:  No. Stop.

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies a couple of blocks past 57th street, but you gotta jog left when you get to that stop sign where it looks like the road comes to an end, but it really doesn’t.

The Good Reader:  He can’t even hear me. Hello! Hello!

Scotsman #2:  Oh bring back a couple of ham loaves, some ginger and cinnamon and clove, a box of cigars, two earwigs…

Confucius:  Again with the earwigs! What is this, National Earwig Day?

Scotsman #2:  …and maybe one of those oversized lollipops with all the colors in them.

The Good Reader:  Of course.

Scotsman #2:  [triumphantly]  …to ME.

Your Mom:  [enters]  Hi, i hope i’m not late! It was really sweet of y’all to invite me.

[The Blogger hands her one of the explanatory cards, which she glances at for half a sec and then stuffs into her purse]

The Blogger:  Welcome, Someone’s Mom–perhaps yours! Well, i mean, not YOURS [glancing at Your Mom] but probably someone else’s. As long as you’re prepared to observe our one simple rule, come on in and join the party!

The Good Reader:  The joint’s rockin’. You got here just in time.

Jennifer Smith:  I still don’t understand what he meant by the word ‘post.’ Isn’t this bothering anyone else?

Little Biffy:  Think of a ‘post office.’

Jennifer Smith:  Is there a word that means “the opposite of a helpful comment”…? Cause that’s the word i’m looking for right now. [Gazes menacingly at Little Biffy]

Elvis Wu:  Biffy’s a good fella. He means well. Perhaps we ought to be thinking of ‘post’ as meaning, in the present context, something like, “that bounded range of trans-rational yet rule-bound [within a subjectively established set of expectations] experience, in which The Blogger is able to enact any one of a potentially infinite number….”

[Jennifer, bless her heart, has summarily yet placidly passed out cold by this time]

Your Mom:  So, okay–[glancing again, oh so briefly, at the card she was handed]–sorry, i’m just curious–what ARE flockbinkers, anyway?

The Blogger:  Dammit! Oops. Sorry.

The Good Reader:  Okay, calm down. It’s not an emergency that someone said the word “flockbinker.”

The Blogger:  Oooff! Stop that!

The Good Reader:  It just means we can start taking ourselves a bit less seriously about this admittedly stupid blog post.

The Blogger:  Doggone it!

Your Mom:  Did i say the wrong thing? I just wanted to know a little bit more about these, what did you call them? FLOCKBINKERS.

The Blogger:  [hacking, gagging, hopping about on one foot]

The Good Reader:  Oh, come on. You know i’m right. Setting yourself the goal of having a blog post in which no one says the word “flockbinker”–

The Blogger:  Owww! No! Cut it out!

The Good Reader:  –ranks waay down on the list of significant things for you to be concerned about.

Your Mom:  Am i pronouncing it right? Flok – bing – ker?

The Blogger:  [the agonized eruption of a thousand dying suns upon his face]

The Good Reader:  Now now. Be nice. She’s your guest.

The Blogger:  But doggone it, The Good Reader, it’s MY blog–i should be the one determining what people do or don’t say on it!

The Good Reader:  You just go on believing that. We all need something comforting to hold on to in the darkest days of winter.

Jennifer Smith:  But it’s summertime. Well, okay, as of a few days ago, it’s fall. As if you could tell that from these temperatures.

Little Biffy:  Which leads us, if you think about it, to this ultimately arbitrary (and really, somewhat unhelpful) cultural habit of ending ‘summer’ and beginning ‘fall’ on the same day–well, you know, basically–every year, as if the annual shifts in temperature and seasonal dynamics…

The Blogger:  [to everyone’s consternation, he begins to expand, turn green, sort of roar–sort of–kind of loudly, and transform into The Incredible Hulk]

Elvis Wu:  Now there’s something you don’t see every day. Great party, guys!

 

 

Epilogue

[A few hours later. The room has pretty much cleared out.]

The Good Reader:  You’ve thrown another winner, buddy!

The Blogger:  [sniffling]  It was awful.

The Good Reader:  Oh, come off of yourself. You have the worst attitude. I think they all liked it. It was fun!

The Blogger:  It was an unmitigated disaster. I throw the worst parties.

The Good Reader:  What! You’re a weenie. Buck up. Everyone had a great time. [a glint in her eye]  Especially Your Mom. My goodness, i don’t think i’ve ever heard anyone say the word ‘flockbinker’ that many times in a single setting! She was great.

The Blogger:  [gazes, glumly, a man bereft of hope, off into deepest space]

 

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