Why is a tree?
Is it farther to Brooklyn or by bus?
I drank what?
What is the sound of one clam humping?
Lemon curry?
------------------------------------------------------------------
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am"
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!
------------------------------------------------------------
You're right. There was absolutely no point to this journal whatsoever.
Is it farther to Brooklyn or by bus?
I drank what?
What is the sound of one clam humping?
Lemon curry?
------------------------------------------------------------------
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am"
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!
------------------------------------------------------------
You're right. There was absolutely no point to this journal whatsoever.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
boheme:
Who knew Descartes could be forced to rhyme?
boheme:
Maybe it's simply this: we've lost our sense of awe, our willful suspension of disbelief. There is the feeling of a cloying world, where Suicide Girls can't pull it off for their self-consciousness.