Discordian Research Technology

Of course I’m not in favor of gun control, at least not as it currently exists, and the conditions under which I would support it are also conditions in which it wouldn’t come up. But I do oppose murdering people. As one of the DRT philosophers, Brooke Shields, noted “If you’re killed, you’ve lost a very important part of your life.” How true! So, how do we deal with murders in which guns are used? Very simple, and I’m surprised it took me this long to figure it out. The murderer has to eat what he kills. All of it. I know this might trouble the families of the victims. However as deterrence goes this is pretty hard to top. Civic-minded people could take special care to make themselves inedible. People who are majestically proportioned would have fewer concerns than they do at present. It’s possible that we might see a slight rise in cannibalism, but no legislation is perfect and I suspect the decline in the murder rate would make it tolerable.

Nancy Grace Pellagra wanted to play with the Big Kids. She thought it would make her so übercool that the nerdy, kinda spastic, feckless poindexter weasel kids would make her their queen. So when she got a call from Chaney Dick Queeg and Baby Doc Butsch she couldn’t say no. Silly Nancy. She got to be queen of feckless poindexter weasel kids, but Chaney Dick and Baby Doc played her for a fool.

They gave her just enough of their mojo-related program activity juice to make sure she felt übercool.
When she was in deep enough, she realized she was too compromised to ever say no.
She hoped it would all go away.

Rats and sinking ships being what they are, the word got out anyway and soon everyone knew that she had been made a patsy. This is worse than being a crook. No one can respect a patsy. Even the feckless poindexter weasel kids, when they’re not pitching their nerdy spastic fits, can’t respect a patsy. However, being what they are, and she being who she is, that is to say vicious when she’s cornered, they’re stuck with her as their queen. One could say it serves them all right. They’re a thoroughly contemptible gaggle that should twist in the winds of shame and self-loathing. But regrettably, they’re not going to do the right thing. They can’t understand why they’re contemptible and the rest of us are stuck with them, right where they are.

Chaney Dick is now a sniper who visits popular undisclosed locations, where he has to be admitted lest he shoot his playmates in the face. Baby Doc is a spent piece of used jetset trash whom no one pays attention to anymore.

So it goes.

[I]t’s simply incontrovertible that the most intensive organic techniques produce far more per acre than conventional agribusiness. For example, John Jeavons’ raised bed technique can feed one person on a minimum of 4000 sq. ft. That’s one tenth of an acre. And it’s done, by the way, without cattle manure or additional land for foraging them. Of course, it’s a relatively spare diet—about 80% legumes, cereal grains and starchy tubers, and only 20% green vegetables and fruits—but that only demonstrates the theoretical limit. We’re not, in fact, limited to anything near as low as a tenth acre of arable land per capita. And where there are genuine constraints on access to land, they’re generally political: e.g., the more than half of arable land enclosed in Latin American haciendas and latifundia that are held out of development, while surrounding peasants hire themselves out as day laborers to the patron because they can’t support themselves on their inadequate family plots.

Kevin Carson, writing at the Center for a Stateless Society. I reckon that’s a must read for gardeners and self-sufficiency enthusiasts. But I repeat myself.

I can vouch for his facts. Among other techniques listed there, I use a modified version of Jeavon’s raised bed method. My planting is focused on supplemental harvests, rather than full subsistence. The return is excellent and a wonderful thing to share with friends and family. I’ve gotten to be, possibly, a little militant about gardening. I’m not at the point where I do night patrols, but in the last few years I’ve put more into self-education and self-discipline for gardening than I have for anything else.

As explained by a Japanese bar rat.

It’s a compelling story. As I understand it, the sempiternally graduating class of the MLA (the Maybe Logic Association) made a field trip to a bar, in Japan, where a kindly rat helped them understand… something. I’m not really sure, but he’s a very good rat and that has to count for something.

Philosophers have long pondered the Great Question. They’ve pondered it, erm, ponderously and deeply, as only philosophers can, bless their hearts. But for some reason, they routinely sneer at exegeses provided by the Sage Carlin, they smile with fatheaded indulgence when implored to keep the lasagna flying and they quack learnedly about returning agency to the inanimate. Fools! The inanimate has no need for agency. By grace of Eris, it has perversity:

Flagle’s Law of the Perversity of Inanimate Objects

Any inanimate object may be expected at any time to behave in a manner that is entirely unexpected and totally unpredictable for reasons which are completely unknown or thoroughly obscure.

Anyway, it’s tempting to despair of ever banging sense in their thick yet egg-fragile heads. Let their obduracy be their punishment, wash our hands of them and wish them the very best, with the digitus impudicus raised as a token of respectful farewell. But one last effort can’t hurt. And so, a song to help them.

This is a very large video, about 180 megabytes per file. There are three versions. Real video .rmvb, H264 .mp4 and QuickTime .mov. The .mov file is larger than the others, about 213 megabytes. If you are prone to seizures from wildly extravagant visual stimulation, I recommend against viewing this. If that’s your thing, however, by all means go ahead.

I’m a newcomer to the Culture Wars. I used to think the only culture worth having was the culture of minding your own business, live and let live, grow your garden and try to leave a small footprint wherever you go. My hero, to the extent I had any such thing as a hero, and could remember where I lived, was Mr. Bill Kauffman, the Sage of Batavia. But then I found out that there were people whose existence was an implicit negation of mine, even if I had never met them, never would and they were completely unaware of me. Worse, these people didn’t actually exist as people per se, but as conceptually negating entities existence-wise. So I took lessons on hating them, with special tutorials on disclaiming any animus in order to preserve plausible deniability. This probably sounds like the start of an argumentum ad flatulum, the so-called “gaseous fallacy”, but I’m completely sincere! Really! And as it happens, I have a visualized mathematical proof of the non-existing personal-existence-negation people’s hostility to me, whom they do not know (and cannot know, because they don’t exist). You may want to make one of your own, BTW, and as it happens people who do exist have made something you can use to do that. It’s right here, in cross platform and available uncrippled, for free. Anyway, here…

Clearly the argument inherent in the graphic is self-evident. And now I have get back to my classes. They’re giving out cookies to the good students (who exist, I think).