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An Idiot is Never Worth Your Time or More Mythomania for Your Buck An Idiot is Never Worth Your Time or More Mythomania for


by Kog Zadare





"It's a true saying then, that 'it's never worth while speaking
to an idiot,'" answered Smerdyakov firmly, looking significantly
at Myshkin." - Dostoevsky
"Why are you telling everyone that you are going to Tchermashnya, so that you think you're going to Moscow, when you are really going to Petersburg and then on to Golgotha?" - Assuming of guilt between Brothers in Dostoevsky



But one might hovel to the market place and ask "Is anyone here given of so keen an eye as to get at the odd bodkins of the gist?", past the mean human avarage? One might look or rather keep a look-out. Might being the call word, but never and not ever... One never, never looks? One never, never finds, because one made the wrong inquiry? Set the ordinary, not fully formed, question? One is flesh-coloured error? I.e sin?

This is given since it interests us in regards to the cultures that are defined in their oppostion to IndoEuropean culture and the Kurgan hypothesis etc. :

"Children don't submit to a system of "domestic coercion" or "regular discipline" - they "enjoy considerable freedom and independence". The idea of a child being "beaten or otherwise punished in cold blood" by a parent is viewed as unnatural and immoral and when proposed by westerners (like the anthropologist) is "rejected with resentment". Things are asked "as from one equal to another; a simple command, implying the expectation of natural obedience, is never heard from parent to child in the Trobriands". The event of a person getting angry and striking another person "in an outburst of rage" sometimes happens but as often from parent to child as from child to parent.[4]

In further chapters, the parent-child relationship of the Trobrianders is described with details of their complex matrilineal relationship structure in which the biological parentage is ignored."-wikipedia


One posits new cultures with absurdism though it seem a manifistation of "autism" to the properly (culturally)ordered soul(the functioner/device of the order).

The story of Mangy old Wongy as printed on an official document
This document, along with all it's stylistic failings and its imponderable inelegance, is presented before the ire of public with the expectation of out and out derision. It should be said that the paper was taken out of the trash and scribbled on by a solipsistic idiot.
progress and regress
of the dirty number dog wave sequence
"The creepy old dog Wongy was always following me around. he kept begging for chocolate scraps. He didn't know that sweets were bad for dogs."
- Berkeley Citizen
"In reality there are as many religions as there are individuals."
- Wongy on religion

"No one can understand the power of a PhD...once it is planted on a man's face by his master...They shall not dare to speak of it..."
Wongy on the power of the PhD
Wongy was trained to read all his masters writings. Ah yes, but trained precisely by whom!?!?!?!?!? And so forth and why did he go about everywhere following us In Search of Lost Brain?
You see a dog like Wongy has never had the will to exist on it's own but only in the shadow of the Big They.
-Member of the citizens borough
The first question is why should we trouble with this amorphous sodomite Wongy? One may well ask such questions, but answers...who can find good answers now adays? Yes, here before the censor of the present circumstances.

In a novel science experiment the panel of betters decided to offer Wongy the use of a brain, but later they thought better of it (or had they arranged it this way from the start?) Some say Wongy himself never had a brain; this is really the consensus on the matter. There are others who contest this point saying that surely in his infancy before he sold himself to his masters and the symbolic order etc... there are doubts on these points even amongst the Panel of Betters.
During the defrocking ceremony PhD and brain were stripped from the subject. Some say other parts of wongy were also removed but we leave that to the reader, who may finish the story for his or herself.
Wongy was found urinating in public one day and failed to show that he, as a dog well owned by an upstanding member of the community, was fully licenced to urinate on the public street.
There was talk about infinite regress and the Ridiculous Sublime. There was the mention of the Sublime and the Beautiful. There was a standing ovation from the peanut gallery consisting of Wongy's dear mother and several other realities of the Sodomite in question who made out with old Ebeneezer rot face during the thanksgiving holidays. However Popper has shown that all lies re equal and so forth and to this end we must prefer the truth of he truth and there to for the dog Wongy having survived the first staining has crossed the proverbial point of return testing.
Off campus lab space was used extensively during the project/ Outside science we use a dose of whatever may be of use.
Part 2
There was once a crystal palace high up on a hillside blanched by blushing green hillocks. Here lived the lady Ibselwuzexel and her three daughters whose names are however omitted since to include them would be not only in arguably bad taste, but also so extensive and long winded as to challenge those few readers who have not yet killed themselves for the sheer joy of it. In any case we will call the quaterinty lady Ibby and her three daughters for short and it is precisely they who lived in the palace, along with some servants numbering about seventy four or five, some of whom were however long since dead but stilled remain included within this document for census figuring and for the tabulation of taxable property by later historians who should be pleased to receive this document from out of the dank procession of time.
One day Ibby was sitting in her crystal palace all reded out in a red dress and red hair and red freckle spots on the face part and the rest of her when she spotted a precession of Knights approaching the palace.
Latter all those involved died.
Part 3
The Jewel Encrusted Dirt Heap

I think I had been first to spot the stain. The stain on the earth and all it's dear ones. But to be sure there it was.

It was as they say perhaps then, or as one would be tempted to say, given the slight imbalance of brain humours in the average sapient in those err in that hour or as one may put at that time or in any case verily and verily I put it to you or in any case the rummer of it has come to me as if in a dream time or that is to say being interpreted the primal matter was fluctuating just so as to allow it all to be going on and to be as it were but blankly existing in the moment but yes enough...

Who can say when it all happened? When did the dirt heap notice that it was spatially unsound and somehow unsuited for normal existence. Perhaps, some said, it was a sentimentalist...This dirt heap really believed in primal matter.

Some of those present seemed concerned that with the state of the jewels which were stuck to the dirt heaps sides. "They will be melted down into primal dream time anti memory confluence."

The story then ended abruptly and was destroyed utterly and it was after being rent asunder and torn to bits was scrabbled and spit out and pissed on and vomited until in that very moment there was only a mangy confusion of misbegottens and make shifts.

Part 4

The Apparatus Transcendental
Going along the path looking at all the sights and so forth, stopping to eye the petunias and not forgetting to look the Someone was going forth into the land at the edge of which it is said quite mysteriously in the books "there is not more". The poor creature was ostriches up and down and so along his way he saw many peculiar devices and obstacles and treasures... stones, islands... distant forgotten horizons seen by the ancestral primogenitors of the human being and so forth; he saw all that.

This is the stance the so called takes
All twittering along his way
This is the so called long journey
To the palace of the primal dream

And so the being went along to the "palace of the primal dream" but his mittens had fallen out of his belt string and his feet needed shoding and so forth...



part 5

They or whosoever pleases the conscious to lay the blame on like a crystal covered in Cesarean ink burdened by the finality of the forth gone forth into the language game over the peak of the so called lost in the ebbing of the to forth then then

Lost the thread
Lost the ink
Can't build a human out of the cold earth

Inconsistently thwarted in it's measure for lost measure was the fallen of the lost succubus of the forth with in the creation game along with however many clever assertions jamming the forth with in with the anterior and crushed into small odd protuberance called the Great They and what what again in the same manner the grand brutal
Endcap