Despite the low ratings on my prior attempts at philosophic discourse, I am committed to raising the level of this blog – especially given the recent kitten photo posts. Once again I’ve invited fellow observer of life and master rhetorician, Forstotle, to join me, Martystophanes, in a Socratic banter. Today’s topic comes from Plato’s The Republic: the question being is the “just” man happier than the “unjust” man? And I have a lot to say on this one! So, hit it Forstotle:
Forstotle (F): The unexamined life is not worth living.
Martystophanes (M): Are you really gonna keep opening with that? That’s not even the proposition!
(F): I don’t like this week’s proposition. It’s just an excuse for you to rant about rich kids again. Poorly I might add. And what’s with all the profanity?
(M): This is my blog. I can fucking do whatever I want!
(F): True, since you’re the only one reading it.
(M): You’re a subscriber, right?
(F): No. I am not one of the eleven. Spam.
(M): I’ll have you know this blog has grown exponentially.
(F): One to the hundredth power is still one.
(M): And you’re an asshole. And you have a big chin.
(F): Classy. How’s that Mimosa tasting right now?
(M): Comfy in your cubicle. The view of the Men’s room must be spectacular.
(F): I’ll have you know, there is nothing wrong with a trust fund! Just because my ancestors worked hard and achieved success – as opposed to being indolent dirt farmers outside Naples, is no reason to get angry at your social betters.
(M): And I’ll have you know they farmed turnips. And I think my Irish kin were low-level bandits.
(F): Shocking that crime is in your blood.
(M): I think it’s kinda awesome.
(F): Did they attack people on trains?
(M): I don’t think Ireland had trains till like a few years ago.
(F): My ancestors owned trains.
(M): Yet you are sitting in a cubicle.
(F): I have my own desk!
(F): Fuck off. I gotta go. My supervisor’s about to come out of the bathroom.
(M): You’re really carrying on the family legacy. At least my failure is a step up in the bloodline.
(F): It’s why I go to therapy.
(M): I thought you went because of that other thing … you know, with the shoes?
(F): That too. Shit, I heard a flush! See ya buddy.
(M): Keep it real, my brutha!