As with last time, the observations of the good doctor are his and his alone. However, in the hopes of bringing light to the dark corners of his mind's eye, I have employed a dozen high-tech translator-bots. Each is more powerful and sophisticated than the one next to it, which has unfortunately created quite a battle of egos. Frustratingly, instead of helping me with this project, they have spent the last four hours techno-insulting each other. Did you know robots tell "yo mamma" jokes? I do, now.
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| Science proof! Well, Mystery Science Theater proof, anyway |
My Self is Always Someone Else, chapter two
by Delirious, Dr (additional content provided by an Ouija board hooked to my old Electronic Football game)
"You have to recognize life, or simply the creation of, being the nothing short of insanity. When I was around four years old, I saw a werewolf. I was looking out the front door of my grandma’s house because I heard something. It was neither fast nor slow, it just was. He was driving a Ford pickup truck, and he turned his head slowly at me and smiled. And I thought to myself…that’s what a werewolf is."
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If you understand the obligations and limitations of the undue responsibility we have as lifeforms, then you are undoubtedly nodding in agreement with our house doctor. He, and we, is and are forced to assign titles and roles and rules to things, despite a fractional comprehension of the true nature of what we are observing. The chaos puzzle that exists around us is filled with a maelstrom of illogical ideology. It is a cornucopia of nonsense.
And yet, we must dig our hands into the metaphysical
equivalent of a bathtub-sized jello shot and emerge with something firm and solid
with which to hold up to society. But we
don’t want to hold something solid. We
just want the jello. Why can’t that be
enough?
If you look around, you can see the signs.
- The game of life
- A cereal named life
- An awful band from the 90’s named Live
Is this the world telling us to identify the werewolf as a
werewolf? Or, can we use our best
judgement, which often only is enabled during our early childhood, to ascertain
the reality of what we’re seeing.
Perhaps it really was a werewolf driving a Ford truck. And, perhaps life really is a game, or a breakfast
food. We can know things only if we
accept it as knowledge. If it is
unaccepted, it is unknowable.
Our path can logically move forward in three of four
directions; if we are certain of certainty, certain of uncertainty, or uncertain
of certainty.
However, being uncertain of uncertainty is an illogical
fourth option that will bring about an eon of existential flexibility. You’re recognition of vehicles and beasts and
grandmothers will forever be unfocused. A
fog will exist before your eyes that will not allow you to make out the shapes
of absolute-ism. And, as we know from drive-thru experience, that is a place to aspire to.
You should be sure of nothing. Except for how bad Live was. We are all certain of that.

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