Breaking news! The beautiful, charming, and resilient Tifanie (please view her story of terror and woe filming someone's asinine tv pilot at Zaca Lake) has posted a comment to this site! A momentous occasion! None of you are in a position to appreciate this, but I have broken out a second bottle of Glenlivet in honor of the occasion. The comment was actually posted some hours ago, but as I was too busy dealing with the zombies, it slipped my notice momentarily.
Zombies are a strange and wondrous conundrum. On the one hand, yes, they are animated corpses, gnawing living human flesh with complete disregard for the pain and suffering they cause, and spreading their foul illness to all who cross their path; but on the other hand, they're people too, aren't they? Actually no, they're just animated corpses. Sorry, any allegory vaguely related to philosophy majors can be ignored at this point.
And why, you may ask, does the Editor have it in for philosophy majors? Well, really, I don't. They're just such easy targets. Ask one to defend him or herself with reason, and suddenly, one hears more about dead people than one wants to know. Once again, we come to zombies. I rest my point.
In other news: Cheez-Its remain a favorite with Editors everywhere; penguins really are fucking cool, despite their popularity among an entirely irrelevant assortment of international bloggers; and zombies and philosophy majors have absolutely nothing in common, no matter how many similarities there may superficially appear to be. Granted they both mumble unintelligible nonsense; they both chew on body parts, without reference to whom they might belong; they are both, as groups, incapable of reasoning which doesn't go around and around and around in a circle, wheeeee! But they are different. Never forget it.
And having completely vindicated the honor of philosophers everywhere, I leave you with a thought from Monty Python, as I hie myself to much needed bed:
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
who was very rarely stable;
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
who could drink you under the table;
David Hume could outconsume
Schopenhauer and Hegel;
and Wittgenstein was a beery swine
who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nieztsche couldn't teach about the raising of the wrist . . .
Socrates himself was permanently pissed - - -
(second verse, etc.)
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