![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
strange_aeonsI have a Quixote complex. Generally this manifests in the form of long arguments with people who are too stupid to realize exactly how wrong they are, like Richard Brown. The argument with Brown is very nearly the archetypal windmill-tilt, in fact — ludicrous premise with no backing, long contractionless diatribes, accidental misreadings, deliberate misreadings, the ad hominem attack, scornful reaction and left-handed apology, and finally one principal just gives up on the other. Rage to taste.
I don't go looking for these confrontations. Sometimes someone shows me something (scroll down past the stuff about rugs to Lilairen's post, and then take a gander at Doghouse Reilly's stereotypemongering) so infuriatingly, willfully ignorant, so hypocritically prejudiced that I am unable to restrain myself; sometimes someone posts such a horror in a forum I already read myself, and I am unable ... you know the rest. It's like flicking a rabid wolf on the nose. These people cannot help but provoke me into vicious acts of intellectuality, and even sometimes research.
The mouthbreather linked above is a fine example of his breed. He has a preference for large breasts and broad hips in women, which is fine, but he feels the need to justify this preference by playing the evolution card, a favorite of the functionally retarded and the genocidally sociopathic. Like most of these people, he wouldn't know evolution if it devoured his offspring. Also like most of these people, he doesn't know how to debate above the kindergarten level — faced with a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't, damned-even-if-you-bow-out question, he shows me a booger to make me go away. And it works. I don't want to know that much about virtually anyone's fetishes.
The point of this post is not just to blow off some pent-up contempt, though I did need to do that, but also to voice my awe at Tars Tarkas, who writes in response to my post with the, you know, facts in it:
It is to slap my forehead in wonder. Holy shit. I didn't even know people still used the 'you are arguing over my head, therefore I win' ploy any more. I thought it fell out of fashion when someone pointed out that it makes no fucking sense. I can't even begin to dream of denting that sort of self-assurance. Why don't you tell me my cock is bigger than yours, too? I cede the field.
This has nothing to do with any of the preceding paragraphs:
I don't go looking for these confrontations. Sometimes someone shows me something (scroll down past the stuff about rugs to Lilairen's post, and then take a gander at Doghouse Reilly's stereotypemongering) so infuriatingly, willfully ignorant, so hypocritically prejudiced that I am unable to restrain myself; sometimes someone posts such a horror in a forum I already read myself, and I am unable ... you know the rest. It's like flicking a rabid wolf on the nose. These people cannot help but provoke me into vicious acts of intellectuality, and even sometimes research.
The mouthbreather linked above is a fine example of his breed. He has a preference for large breasts and broad hips in women, which is fine, but he feels the need to justify this preference by playing the evolution card, a favorite of the functionally retarded and the genocidally sociopathic. Like most of these people, he wouldn't know evolution if it devoured his offspring. Also like most of these people, he doesn't know how to debate above the kindergarten level — faced with a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't, damned-even-if-you-bow-out question, he shows me a booger to make me go away. And it works. I don't want to know that much about virtually anyone's fetishes.
The point of this post is not just to blow off some pent-up contempt, though I did need to do that, but also to voice my awe at Tars Tarkas, who writes in response to my post with the, you know, facts in it:
using big words does not an argument win
It is to slap my forehead in wonder. Holy shit. I didn't even know people still used the 'you are arguing over my head, therefore I win' ploy any more. I thought it fell out of fashion when someone pointed out that it makes no fucking sense. I can't even begin to dream of denting that sort of self-assurance. Why don't you tell me my cock is bigger than yours, too? I cede the field.
This has nothing to do with any of the preceding paragraphs:
Tesla realizes the song he has stuck in his head is not, in fact, by Apocalyptica; it's Tubular Bells. That does not explain why it's clearly been arranged for cello quartet.
Whitney says, ". . . having fun yet?"
Tesla says, "I honestly don't know."
[Later:]
Tesla says, "I ... just got spam ... with the subject line, 'Increase Beast size by 2 cups Guaranteed!'"
Whitney says, "That's a high-level druid ability for you."
Tesla says, "I don't know, with most beasts two cups is just pissing in the ocean."
Whitney says, "teinedreugan says 'You have some very strange and amusing friends.'"
Tesla cackles.
