ChaoSkeptic

[SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen or read Fight Club... well, fuck you. It's been out for 12 years (15 for the book). If anything is spoiled by this post it is your own damn fault.] fnord

It has been a long while since I have added anyone to the Discordian pantheon so I believe this is over due. Today I am adding one Tyler Durden to the ever growing list of Discordian saints. I haven't checked to see if anyone else has made him a saint but I am automatically excommunicating them, to be recommunicated at a later date.


Let me tell you a little bit about Tyler Durden...

When you think about it, Tyler Durden is one of the defining characters of our generation. The second best character of the 1990s and easily in the top 20 of the twentieth century. He is the archetype of the Sensei For Scoundrels and Chaotic Neutral. He is Anarchy incarnate. He look like you wanna look, he fuck like you wanna fuck, he's smart, capable and most importantly, he's free in all the ways that you are not. He is the constant reminder that you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake And the strangest part is that he is the imagination of an imagination, a fiction within a fiction. He is probably the most famous imaginary friend besides Mr. Aloysius Snuffleupagus and Blooregard Q. Kazoo. fnord

But more importantly, he is the Disorder in sharp contrast to the Narrator's Order. Together they reflect the Sacred Chao that is eternally struggling within all of us. Fight Club shows us that if you have too much Order in your life you end up with a soul-killing job, being owned by your possessions. But if you have too much Disorder you end up as a domestic terrorist with hamburger for a face.


But that's not to say that Tyler is without his good qualities. He was able to help many fatherless boys become the men they were supposed to be. He saved Marla's life (but that was probably for ulterior motives). And the "Human Sacrifice" scene is one of the best examples of Chaotic Good in modern cinema. fnord

If you want further proof that Tyler is perfect candidate for Discordian saint, just look at Project Mayhem, the terrorist organization that he put together to take down civilization. The committees are Arson, Assault, Mischief, and Misinformation. "Organized Chaos. The Bureaucracy of Anarchy." (Should have one more to make it an even five.) And the frames of porno he spliced into films is a great example of subliminal messaging. fnord

So, I've over-analyzed this too much already. By the power invested in me by the Goddess Eris I declare Tyler Durden to be the Patron Saint of Mayhem and Soap. Be careful invoking this particular saint though. Your survival rate may drop to zero very quickly.

I'll leave you with my favorite scene from the movie. This is a chemical burn:

This is a selected reading from the audiobook version of the Illuminatus Trilogy:

For some reason both atheists and Discordians have been stereotyped as people who don't believe in anything. Atheists because people often confuse it with nihilism (thank Nietzsche for that). And Discordians because people often confuse it with absurdism (and Robert Anton Wilson was a big proponent of Model Agnosticism). I, however, am not afraid to admit that there are things that I believe in. And yes, some of the things that I believe in based on nothing more than optimistic faith that the world isn't a complete pile of shit. Some of the things that I currently believe in:

I believe that humans are simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to this planet. Us humans have made this tiny blue and green orb in the middle of a rather boring galaxy into a compelling story with a heavy underdog overcoming substantial odds to rise to the top of the heap. On the other hand there is a non-zero chance that we will destroy all life on this planet someday.

I also believe that as humans we are all that we have. There is no Superman, Spiderman or the Second Coming of Jesus to rescue us from ourselves. If we are to solve our problems we must rely on one another, quit our bitching and fix the goddamn problems. Then again, usually we are the problem in the first place. We can't get out of our own way because everyone wants what they want.

I believe that justice, purpose, beauty, good and evil do not exist outside of the human mind. But that doesn't mean that they aren't real.

Life will never be fair but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't try with all of our might to tip the scales into the right direction. Never be afraid to overcompensate those who have been wronged.

We have to create our own purpose in life outside of breathing, eating, and reproducing. Do what you must to make the world a better place for those that come after you. Learn, laugh, love, cry. Connect with other people. Enjoy the people that you love. Torment the people that you hate.

There are no sins other than harming another. That's not always an easy thing to determine though. What hurts one may help another. There's never an easy answer. Choose as best you can and beg for forgiveness and empathy when it doesn't turn out like you hoped.

I believe that logic, empiricism, and rationality will also win out over metaphysical guesswork. As Tim Minchin said, "Throughout history every mystery EVER solved has turned out to be Not Magic." Wishful thinking and talking to the ceiling will make you feel better but at some point you are going to have to get off of your knees and do the hard work. Likewise, if you really care about knowing the truth then you must have enough courage for your ideas to be tested to the breaking point.

I believe that Chaos is the most powerful force in the universe. The ability to create Order from Disorder and Disorder from Order is the closest to magic we will ever have. Unexpected creation/destruction has an amazing effect of producing both horror and mirth at the same time. It can evoke joy and sadness, trust and disgust, fear and anger, surprise and anticipation all at the same time. And it will never be the same emotions between different people. Chaos needs us to tell the story. And no two stories are the same.

And most of all, I believe that I'll have another beer.

I've noticed over the years in debates that Christians often say that they don't like atheism and evolution because it allows people to live however they want to live. This then raises the question: Does this mean that Christians don't live how they want to live?
Do they not want to be Christians? Are there things they would want to do differently if you could stop being a Christian? Would they sin more if they didn't have the guilt hanging over your head? I have actually heard certain Christians say that if they didn't believe in God then they would go out cheating and stealing, raping and pillaging. (It's probably best that those sociopaths stay Christian if that is the only dam holding them back.)

Maybe there is some undercurrent among Christians that they feel that they must deny themselves of earthly pleasure in order to be more godly. That typically means not enjoying alcohol and pretending that they don't like having sex. That's always seemed backwards to me though. If God created (or allowed to exist) all of these magnificent things around us then why shouldn't we enjoy them to the fullest? I say "Eat, Drink, and Be Merry for tomorrow Jesus may come back and ruin the party."

The National Day of Prayer is a very unusual holiday here in the United States. Its origins (like that of "In God We Trust" on our money and "Under God" in the pledge of allegiance) can be directly traced back to the heyday of the 1950s where everyone was screaming, "At least we aren't like those damn godless Commies!" It's weird in the fact that almost no one actually goes out of their way to celebrate it. A bunch of fundies swarm DC looking to glad-hand some VIPs, beg for money and twist some arms to get Congress to pass a non-binding resolution saying how much the Founding Fathers loved Baby Jesus. For everyone else it is just another Thursday in May (except for me since it occasionally falls on my birthday). I agree with the Freedom from Religion Foundation that it is unconstitutional and is a massive waste of time.

Now, what I would really love to see is Congress declare one day a "National Day of No Prayer". I want them to pass a non-binding resolution telling people to not pray for exactly one day. Just to see what would happen. I know that most people would ignore because, hey, it's freaking Congress. The fundies would go absolutely apeshit but no one pays attention to them either. At any rate, I'm dying to know how people would react if they didn't have the crutch of talking to their imaginary super friend for a little bit. Would they end up huddled in a corner by noontime? Or would they finally get off of their knees and do everything that they were expecting God to do for them?

Nah, I'm not that pollyannaish enough to believe it would work like that. Prayer is one of the single best examples of the Law of Fives. The prayer gets a positive answer: God answered our prayers! The prayer gets a negative answer: It's all a part of God's Plan. The prayer gets no answer at all: God wants us to wait. As always God gets all of the credit and none of the blame. Nice racket He's got going there. He doesn't even have to lift a finger. You might as well be praying to a jug of milk.

So, I know that a National Day of No Prayer would accomplish nothing, much like the National Day of Prayer does right now. It'd be nice to see people use some critical thinking about it for once though. Or at the very least did a day's worth charity instead of sitting in a stuffy church all day.

Mark Twain has long been considered one of the greatest of the Discordian saints. His biting wit has charmed readers for over 120 years and his always skeptical mind makes him one of the most famous atheists the United States has ever seen. Little known until now, Twain did actually feature the goddess Eris in one of his final pieces of work. Here is a sample chapter recently unearthed from the final notebook of Mark Twain:



It was wonderful, the mastery Eris had over time and distance. For her they did not exist. She called them human inventions, and said they were artificialities. We often went to the most distant parts of the globe with her, and stayed weeks and months, and yet were gone only a fraction of a second, as a rule. You could prove it by the clock. One day when our people were in such awful distress because the witch commission were afraid to proceed against the astrologer and Father Peter's household, or against any, indeed, but the poor and the friendless, they lost patience and took to witch-hunting on their own score, and began to chase a born lady who was known to have the habit of curing people by devilish arts, such as bathing them, washing them, and nourishing them instead of bleeding them and purging them through the ministrations of a barber-surgeon in the proper way. She came flying down, with the howling and cursing mob after her, and tried to take refuge in houses, but the doors were shut in her face. They chased her more than half an hour, we following to see it, and at last she was exhausted and fell, and they caught her. They dragged her to a tree and threw a rope over the limb, and began to make a noose in it, some holding her, meantime, and she crying and begging, and her young daughter looking on and weeping, but afraid to say or do anything.

They hanged the lady, and I threw a stone at her, although in my heart I was sorry for her; but all were throwing stones and each was watching his neighbor, and if I had not done as the others did it would have been noticed and spoken of. Eris burst out laughing.

All that were near by turned upon her, astonished and not pleased. It was an ill time to laugh, for her free and scoffing ways and her supernatural music had brought her under suspicion all over the town and turned many privately against her. The big blacksmith called attention to her now, raising his voice so that all should hear, and said:

"What are you laughing at? Answer! Moreover, please explain to the company why you threw no stone."

"Are you sure I did not throw a stone?"

"Yes. You needn't try to get out of it; I had my eye on you."

"And I—I noticed you!" shouted two others.

"Three witnesses," said Eris: "Mueller, the blacksmith; Klein, the butcher's man; Pfeiffer, the weaver's journeyman. Three very ordinary liars. Are there any more?"

"Never mind whether there are others or not, and never mind about what you consider us—three's enough to settle your matter for you. You'll prove that you threw a stone, or it shall go hard with you."

"That's so!" shouted the crowd, and surged up as closely as they could to the center of interest.

"And first you will answer that other question," cried the blacksmith, pleased with himself for being mouthpiece to the public and hero of the occasion. "What are you laughing at?"

Eris smiled and answered, pleasantly: "To see three cowards stoning a dying lady when they were so near death themselves."

You could see the superstitious crowd shrink and catch their breath, under the sudden shock. The blacksmith, with a show of bravado, said:

"Pooh! What do you know about it?"

"I? Everything. By profession I am a fortune-teller, and I read the hands of you three—and some others—when you lifted them to stone the woman. One of you will die to-morrow week; another of you will die to-night; the third has but five minutes to live—and yonder is the clock!"

It made a sensation. The faces of the crowd blanched, and turned mechanically toward the clock. The butcher and the weaver seemed smitten with an illness, but the blacksmith braced up and said, with spirit:

"It is not long to wait for prediction number one. If it fails, young lady, you will not live a whole minute after, I promise you that."

No one said anything; all watched the clock in a deep stillness which was impressive. When four and a half minutes were gone the blacksmith gave a sudden gasp and clapped his hands upon his heart, saying, "Give me breath! Give me room!" and began to sink down. The crowd surged back, no one offering to support him, and he fell lumbering to the ground and was dead. The people stared at him, then at Eris, then at one another; and their lips moved, but no words came. Then Eris said:

"Three saw that I threw no stone. Perhaps there are others; let them speak."

It struck a kind of panic into them, and, although no one answered her, many began to violently accuse one another, saying, "You said she didn't throw," and getting for reply, "It is a lie, and I will make you eat it!" And so in a moment they were in a raging and noisy turmoil, and beating and banging one another; and in the midst was the only indifferent one—the dead lady hanging from her rope, her troubles forgotten, her spirit at peace.

So we walked away, and I was not at ease, but was saying to myself, "She told them she was laughing at them, but it was a lie—she was laughing at me."

That made her laugh again, and she said, "Yes, I was laughing at you, because, in fear of what others might report about you, you stoned the woman when your heart revolted at the act—but I was laughing at the others, too."

"Why?"

"Because their case was yours."

"How is that?"

"Well, there were sixty-eight people there, and sixty-two of them had no more desire to throw a stone than you had."

"Eris!"

"Oh, it's true. I know your race. It is made up of sheep. It is governed by minorities, seldom or never by majorities. It suppresses its feelings and its beliefs and follows the handful that makes the most noise. Sometimes the noisy handful is right, sometimes wrong; but no matter, the crowd follows it. The vast majority of the race, whether savage or civilized, are secretly kind-hearted and shrink from inflicting pain, but in the presence of the aggressive and pitiless minority they don't dare to assert themselves. Think of it! One kind-hearted creature spies upon another, and sees to it that he loyally helps in iniquities which revolt both of them. Speaking as an expert, I know that ninety-nine out of a hundred of your race were strongly against the killing of witches when that foolishness was first agitated by a handful of pious lunatics in the long ago. And I know that even to-day, after ages of transmitted prejudice and silly teaching, only one person in twenty puts any real heart into the harrying of a witch. And yet apparently everybody hates witches and wants them killed. Some day a handful will rise up on the other side and make the most noise—perhaps even a single daring man with a big voice and a determined front will do it—and in a week all the sheep will wheel and follow him, and witch-hunting will come to a sudden end.

"Monarchies, aristocracies, and religions are all based upon that large defect in your race—the individual's distrust of his neighbor, and his desire, for safety's or comfort's sake, to stand well in his neighbor's eye. These institutions will always remain, and always flourish, and always oppress you, affront you, and degrade you, because you will always be and remain slaves of minorities. There was never a country where the majority of the people were in their secret hearts loyal to any of these institutions."

I did not like to hear our race called sheep, and said I did not think they were.

"Still, it is true, lamb," said Eris. "Look at you in war—what mutton you are, and how ridiculous!"

"In war? How?"

"There has never been a just one, never an honorable one—on the part of the instigator of the war. I can see a million years ahead, and this rule will never change in so many as half a dozen instances. The loud little handful—as usual—will shout for the war. The pulpit will—warily and cautiously—object—at first; the great, big, dull bulk of the nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why there should be a war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, 'It is unjust and dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it.' Then the handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will outshout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers—as earlier—but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation—pulpit and all—will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception."

For those who aren't obsessive readers of the Principia Discordia forum, I'd like to bring to your attention a little experiment that Broken AI/Horrendous Foreign Liam Stoat is currently conducting:


It's obviously a take off of the Surprise Me, God program started by Christian author Terry Esau with the difference being that the god you are asking for a surprise from is a psychotic bitch that has the worst sense of humor in the Milky Way. Asking Eris for anything is to place a price on your own head. To ask Her for a Surprise is to invite a cosmic disaster the likes of which has never been seen. And yet, a bunch of us spags are still brave enough to try it for Thirty Days. Most of us started on Feb. 23rd but feel free to start whenever you think you have enough courage to withstand Eris's Wrath. Hopefully all of us will still be alive by the time this is over.

And now here is an interesting movie called The Subconscious Art of Graffiti Removal. It's one of those things where it is impossible to tell where the truth ends and satire begins. On the one hand, graffiti removal should be considered a crime against nature for covering up legitimate art. On the other hand, some of the paint used for graffiti removal works really well as Minimalist Art. I am also intrigued by the thought of Subconscious Art put forth by this clip. Just like the Law of Fives, if you go in search of art in your everyday life then you will begin to see it everywhere. So that is your assignment for tomorrow. Look for subconscious art no matter where you are.



Tip of the paintbrush to Urban Prankster.

Here's a little graphic I threw together awhile back when Professor Cramulus asked for some marginalia for Intermittens. I don't remember if it ever got used, so I might as well post it here.

I feel that it sums up my feelings on the mind-body problem that has been bothered philosophers and other wankers for the last two thousand years. Your brain IS your mind. Yes, this means that happiness, sadness, love, hate, jealousy and disgust are all in your head. They are the result of the interactions between chemicals and electricity in your brain. These connections make up who you are and how you react to the world. However, that doesn't make your emotions any less real. Many times, these emotions are the only real thing we have. Don't let that freak you out too much.

John sat underneath a cherry blossom tree one day with his Zen Master listening to a cuckoo bird that was sitting on a branch.

The Zen Master looked up from his mediation and asked John, "What is the purpose of the cuckoo's existence?"
Not able to come up with a suitable answer, John replied, "I do not know."

The Zen Master picked up a nearby stone and asked, "What is the purpose of this pebble's existence?"
Still not able to answer, John replied, "I do not know."

Finally the Zen Master asked "What is the purpose of your existence?"
John thought that it was a trick question so he again replied, "I do not know."
John then watched as the Master threw the pebble at the cuckoo, who quickly flew away.

And thus John was enlightened.

Looks like we've got yet another Discordian book to add to the collection. And this one may be the fairest prettiest one ever. Roaring Biscuit did an interesting mashup of selected works from the Black Iron Prison with some of his original stuff plus some amazing artwork. So, go over to Scribd. Read it. Stare at the pretty pictures. Download it. Find a color printer. Share it with your friends. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

Musings of a Faceless Man

Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Hopeful embedding it here won't mess up the site like last time...

I want to let you in on a little secret... I don't really exist. I know, that makes me sound crazy. If I don't exist then who is sitting here typing these words? Someone who is not.

I don't exist because existence implies a finished work. Existence means "to be". But I am not. I am becoming. I am changed from one second to the next. The mind is not a static being. Every new input changes the circuitry. At every moment my body is dying and being reborn. Every morning someone new is in my mirror. I will never be completed until I take my last breath.



Likewise no human can be contained in mere words. I am not the sum total of all of the labels that are attached to me. There is no box that can contain me. There is no program to map a person. There is no conceivable way to finish the sentence "I am..." I am not and I never will be.

I was so busy on Sunday that it completely slipped my mind that it was All Saint's Day. As you may or may not know Discordians have a tradition of canonizing people (both real and imaginary) that we feel best exemplify the Discordian virtues of Chaos, Discord, and Strife. This honor has been bestowed upon such varied peoples as Emperor Norton I, George Carlin, Ed Wood, Jarvis Cocker, George W. Bush, and Charles Darwin. Today I feel that the List of Saints needs to be expanded to include Ms. Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, known to you Earthlings as Lady Gaga.


Now, you may ask: "Rev. Ouabache, why would you pick a dumb old pop singer to be a Discordian saint? Aren't there any half-witted politicians that are better at pushing the Chaos Buttons?" Sure, politicians are always fun to poke at but Lady Gaga has hit a larger (and younger) audience than any politician ever could. She is the perfect agent of Operation: Mindfuck. She is an odd combination of one part Xtina, one part Björk, and one part KLF. An extremely talented singer with a ridiculous sense of style that isn't afraid to fuck with her audience's sensibilities. And as The Vigilant Citizen has recently pointed out in a two-part series, she is puppet of the Illuminati who wields symbolism like a scalpel.


At the very least she deserves sainthood for her performance of "Paparazzi" at this year's MTV Video Music Awards. It is beyond my ability to describe the massive mindfuckery she was able to put into a 4 minute long dance number. The last minute of which still hits me straight in the gut and produces feelings of horrormirth that I previously thought were impossible. The fact that she was able to pull it off in front of such a large and luminous audience just boggles the mind.


So with the power invested in me as Holy Pope of Eris, the goddess of All Chaos, I dub thee St. Gaga of God and the Gays. Here's to hoping that Fame and Power don't go to your head and that you don't get fat and stupid like Britney.

Back way way long ago there was a man named James Ussher who was the Archbishop of Armagh and Primate^* of All Ireland. Very important man with lots of time on his hand. So much time that he figured he'd put it to good use by counting back all of the begats in the Bible to see exactly how old the earth is. After much calculation and triangulation he came up with an exact date: Sunday October 23, 4004 BC. Nightfall, to be exact. That means that today (presumably at sunset in Israel) the earth will be exactly 6012 years old. Happy birthday, earth! You've come a long way, baby! However, I must say that you are looking awfully old for your age what with all the wrinkles, stretch marks, and radioactivity. You really need to learn to take care of yourself better.

And now for a short rebuttal:


^* - Yes, it is ironic that one of the icons of Young Earth Creationism openly called himself a primate.

I've had a survey over there to the left for the last week or so asking what you plan on doing this Halloween. Looks like there was a certain option I forgot to include: Book burning.

A Baptist Church near Asheville, N.C., is hosting a "Halloween book burning" to purge the area of "Satan's" works, which include all non-King James versions of the Bible, popular books by many religious authors and even country music.

The website for the Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, N.C., says there are "scriptural bases" for the book burning. The site quotes Acts 19:18-20: "And many that believed, came and confessed and shewed their deeds. Many of them also which used curious arts, brought their books together, and burned them before all men: and they counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver. So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed."

Church leaders deem Good News for Modern Man, the Evidence Bible, the New International Version Bible, the Green Bible and the Message Bible, as well as at least seven other versions of the Bible as "Satan's Bibles," according to the website... "I believe the King James version is God's preserved, inspired, inerrant and infallible word of God," Pastor Marc Grizzard told a local news station of his 14-member parish.

Yes, you read that correctly. A Christian church is going to burn Bibles because the Bibles (which they are about to burn up) told them to. It's like Irony has turned itself into a snake and is currently trying to swallow its own tail. To show that they don't just hate the translation work of other Christians they gave us a handy list of other books they plan on burning:

We will also be burning Satan's popular books written by heretics like Westcott & Hort , Bruce Metzger, Billy Graham , Rick Warren , Bill Hybels , John McArthur, James Dobson, Charles Swindoll , John Piper, Chuck Colson, Tony Evans, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swagart, Mark Driskol, Franklin Graham , Bill Bright, Tim Lahaye, Paula White, T.D. Jakes, Benny Hinn , Joyce Myers, Brian McLaren, Robert Schuller, Mother Teresa , The Pope , Rob Bell, Erwin McManus, Donald Miller, Shane Claiborne, Brennan Manning, William Young, etc.

I'll admit that I don't know half of those names but I can understand why a couple of those are on the list. Billy Graham, Franklin Graham, Rick Warren and TD Jakes have always been considered by fundies to be too liberal and squishy when it comes to theology. The Pope and Mother Teresa are obviously on there because Baptists have long hated all things Catholics. Some even go so far as to deny having a "common ancestor" as it were. Swagart and Hinn are there for being outright con men. The ones I don't understand being on there are Dobson, Colson and Tim Lahaye. They are about as far right theological speaking as you can get in the United States. At this point the only Christian authors left for them to read are John Haggee, John Calvin, Tertullian, and Genghis Khan.

To round everything out they will also be tossinga couple of old LPs and Satanic CDs onto the fire:

We will also be burning Satan's music such as country , rap , rock , pop, heavy metal, western, soft and easy, southern gospel , contempory [sic] Christian , jazz, soul, oldies but goldies, etc.

So presumably this means that Stephen Curtis Chapman, Carmen and DC Talk will join the usual suspects of AC/DC and Judas Priest in the flames. (Yes, all of my references to contemporary Christian music are from 15 years ago.) And you know you are dealing with the fringe of the fringe when a Baptist church in the South hates Southern Gospel music. It makes me wonder what kind of music they use in their services.

As always, Poe's Law is in effect here. This whole thing might be an elaborate hoax to make Christians look goofy. The point of Poe's Law is that there is no way to tell without an overt sign of humor. This is more than likely just a dozen people in a strange fundamentalist cult who feel like they are fighting the brave fight against modernity. I'm going to pull a Glenn Beck for now and just say that my sources have not been able to disprove anything yet.

Not all of Malaclypse the Younger's important writings actually made it into the original version of the Principia Discordia. Some of his crude notes were found many years later and included the very interesting story called the Myth of Starbuck. I think that it helps teach a very good lesson about human nature, perception, confirmation bias, and even Intelligent Design if you want to stretch it to the breaking point. I thought that I would take the time to reprint it here to share it with the world and make sure that it never gets lost again.

There once was a huge boulder, perched precariously, on the edge of a cliff. For hundreds of years this boulder was there, rocking and swaying, but always keeping its balance just perfectly. But one year, there happened to be a severe windstorm; severe enough it was, to topple the boulder from its majestic height and dash it to the bottom cf the cliff, far far below. Needless to say, the boulder was smashed into many pieces. Where it hit, the ground was covered with a carpet of pebbles--some small and some large--but pebbles and pebbles and more pebbles for as far as you could walk in an hour.

One day, after all this, a young man by the name of Ichabod happened on the area. Being a fellow of keen mind and observational powers, naturally he was quite astounded to see so many stones scattered so closely on the ground. Now Ichabod was very much interested in the nature of things, and he spent the whole afternoon looking at pebbles, and measuring the size of pebbles, and feeling the weight of pebbles, and just pondering about pebbles in general.

He spent the night there, not wanting to lose this miraculous find, and awoke the next morning full of enthusiasm. He spent many days on his carpet of stones.

Eventually he noticed a very strange thing. There were three rather large stones on the carpet and they formed a triangle--almost (but not quite) equilateral. He was amazed. Looking further he found four very white stones that were arranged in a lopsided square. Then he saw that by disregarding one white stone and thinking of that grey stone a foot over instead, it was a perfect square! And if you chose this stone, and that stone, and that one, and that one and that one you have a pentagon as large as the triangle. And here a small hexagon. And there a square partially inside of the hexagon. And a decagon. And two triangles inter-locked. And a circle. And a smaller circle within the circle. And a triangle within that which has a red stone, a grey stone and a white stone.

Ichabod spent many hours finding many designs that became more and more complicated as his powers of observation grew with practice. Then he began to log his designs in a large leather book; and as he counted designs and described them, the pages began to fill as the sun continued to return.

He had begun his second ledger when a friend came by. His friend was a poet and also interested in the nature of things.

"My friend," cried Ichabod, "come quickly! I have discovered the most wondrous thing in the universe." The poet hurried over to him, quite anxious to see what it was.

Ichabod showed him the carpet of stones...but the poet only laughed and said "It's nothing but scattered rocks!"

"But look," said Ichabod, 'see this triangle and that [square] and that and that." And he proceeded to show his friend the harvest of his many days study. When the poet saw the designs he turned to the ledgers and by the time he was finished with these, he too was overwhelmed.

He began to write poetry about the marvelous designs. And as he wrote and contemplated he became sure that the designs must mean something. Such order and beauty is too monumental to be senseless. And the designs were there, Ichabod had showed him [that.]

The poet went back to the village and read his new poetry. And all who heard him went to the cliff to see first hand the [carpet] of designs. And all returned to the village to spread the word. Then as the enthusiasm grew there developed a group of those who love beauty and nature, all of whom went to live right at the Designs themselves. Together they wanted to see every design that was there.

Some wrote ledger about just triangles. Others described the circles. Others concentrated on red colored stones--and they happened to be the first to see designs springing from outside the carpet. They, and some others, saw designs everywhere they went.

"How blind we have been," they said.

The movement grew and grew and grew. And all who could see the designs knew that they had to have been put there by a Great Force. "Nothing but a Great Force," said the philosophers, "could create this immense beauty!"

"Yes," said the world, "nothing but a god could create such magnificent order. Nothing but a God."

And that was the day that God was born. And ever since then, all men have known Him for His infinite power and all men have loved Him for His infinite wisdom.

Excerpted from a treatise concerning The Nature of Gods and The Eristesque Movement, to be found in the SUMMA UNIVERSALIA, the Holy Work of MALACLYPSE (THE YOUNGER), K.C., Omniscient Polyfather of Virginity-in-gold, and High Priest of The Heretic Fringe and Protestant Persuasion of the ERISIAN MOVEMENT of the DISCORDIAN SOCIETY ----- Hail Eris

Official Discordian Document #TD 1-1.2.2-4:11:64

(Hat tip to Rev. Loveshade and WikiSource for helping to keep this intact)

One of the most successful Discordian memebombs over the last couple of years has been "Black sheep are still sheep". According to my research it was originated by DJ RubberDucky near the end of 2006. It was featured at the bottom of page 6 in Black Iron Prison. It is also the fifth most popular memebomb in the One Sentence Memebomb Database. Whenever I post it on Twitter with the #memebomb hashtag it always gets retweeted at least 3 times. It has a power that resonates with people. It's five short words that connect with people right in the gut. It is everything that a memebomb should be.

The weirdest thing that I've noticed about it though is that it has a hidden double meaning. It has become a verbal Rorschach test. I wouldn't have even noticed the hidden second meaning if it wasn't for the fact that I have a nasty habit of hanging out on religious forums talking to religious type people. The meaning that they got out of these memebomb is that "Outsiders are still humans, just like us." People may act weird and wear strange clothes and have crazy political ideas, but deep down they are just like us. There is no reason for Us to be afraid of Them. We aren't so different after all.

Of course, the original intended Discordian message is that "Rebels are still cosmic schmucks". Or to put it more succinctly: "Doing everything exactly opposite from "The Mainstream" is the same thing as doing everything exactly like 'The Mainstream.' You're still using What Everyone Else is Doing as your primary point of reference." Actively rebelling against The System means that you are still playing by The System's rules. Fuck being a Hot Topic punk. Completely ignore what is popular. Be your own person. Think for yourself, schmuck!

Here is another great video from Qualia Soup, this time about probability, coincidences and how people usually misunderstand them.

One of the single best time wasters on the internet right now is TV Tropes. TV Tropes is a Wiki site devoted to "devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations." Their articles are like little cyber potato chips; you can never stop at one. You'll start reading the article on "House" and 3 hours later you are somehow reading about Sherlock Holmes fanfic.

One of my all time favorite tropes is "Everyone is Jesus in Purgatory":

Memories of that overzealous English teacher who forced you to accept that every character, every scene, and every action had a deep inner meaning have led to widespread fear on the part of readers and viewers everywhere that every tale secretly contains some other story being told in subtext.

The end result of this is a state of mind that, for example, interprets every plot as an allegory for the afterlife and every protagonist as a stand-in for the Christ: Everyone Is Jesus In Purgatory!

Which seems like a pretty good metaphor for Discordianism to me. Discordianism is post-modern religion. Everything has a deep symbolic meaning if you think about it long enough. Everything is true, false and meaningless (in some sense). Everyone is the Messiah and everyone is Satan AT THE SAME TIME. You are responsible for your own salvation. You are responsible for your road to Hell. You alone get to decide what meaning everything in your life has. It doesn't matter in the long run since the Author is dead and has been for a very long time.

I know this is ambitious of me, but I'm going to do it anyways. I can prove with a very slight sliver of doubt that the supernatural does not exist. I know what you are saying, "Humans have believed in the supernatural for nigh on 10 millenia now. How can you just disregard all of that evidence?" Simple, there is no evidence for the supernatural and there never will be.

I'll back up a tick though. First let's agree on what we mean when we say "supernatural". Webster's defines it as "of or relating to an order of existence beyond the visible observable universe". Basically this means stuff that we can't measure scientifically. And that is where I start to have problems with this supernatural business. If something exists and has an effect on the natural world then it can be measured. If it can be qualified then it can be quantified. The problem with the supernatural is that there is no consistently reliable way to gain knowledge about it. People always end up with wildly different results (or no results at all). Humans have a funny habit of finding false signals in noise. Furthermore if do find a way to consistently gain knowledge about a subject, then by definition it is natural.

If you stop and think about it, what the word "supernatural" really means is "stuff that I don't understand right now". It has always been a placeholder until a better natural explanation comes along. The sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening wasn't because of some giant scarab rolling it across the sky. It is because of the way the earth rotates on its axis. Lightning isn't created by an angry god on a mountain, it was created by ions in the atmosphere. The weird noises you heard in the night weren't caused by disembodied spirits who got lost on the way to the Other Side. It was the stray cat knocking over a trash can. Everything always ends up having a natural explanation in the long run.

But there is one other very very slim possibility. This is always the off chance that Eris (or some other Trickster God) really does exist and enjoys royally fucking with us. Perhaps She is constantly changing evidence on us. She is changing the molecules in our test tube. She is making us see things out of the corner of our eye. She is making us hear voices that aren't there. She is knocking over our vases and moving our chairs in the middle of the night. Why? Because she is in it for the lulz.