Todo Tiene Su Como-Se-Llama

I hate the smell of stupid in the morning . . .

. . . smells like engineers in a lit class.

We had a debate this morning in American Lit I. I'd rather not talk about it, so I'll make this part short. We were debating, more or less, the War in Iraq . . . with a twist. The class was divided into four groups, and each group had to argue from the standpoint of one of the following: Jonathan Edwards, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin. My group got stuck with Edwards. And I still don't want to talk about it . . . that isn't the point of this post.

A certain bass-ackwards mental cauliflower who was in my group (and who will remain nameless) decided to explain his view on Edwards's view on the war in the following way: "I think that if Edwards were to walk out of his house and see someone beating on someone else with a baseball bat, he wouldn't stand around wondering about purity and morality, he would just take the bat away without even thinking about it."

This was supposed to be conclusive evidence that Edwards would agree with the War in Iraq . . . and evidence that we should agree too.

I was crying on the inside.

Later, at lunch, Gallagher took the analogy and tweaked it for accuracy . . . And then I took it and ran with it some more . . . And we continued to play with it, etc. The result is the following account of what it would look like if Edwards actually agreed with the war.

Jonathan Edwards comes walking out of his house one day and sees the disgruntled circus midget who lives across the street beating a small child with a baseball bat. He also thinks he sees a shotgun tucked into the midget's pant leg (it's a sawed-off).

Side note: This called to mind the obvious "Is that a shotgun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"

Anyway, shotguns are illegal in that area, and Edwards expects the midget to wander into his house with it at the first opportunity and start shooting. (He, fortunately, has a sizable gun case of his own.) So he runs into his house, passes out baseball bats to his family and extended family, and then runs around the neighborhood whipping up support for his cause . . . After all, the midget has a shotgun.

A few people agree, but almost everyone (including the Neighborhood Watch Council) tells him to shut the hell up and go home. Instead, he hands out more baseball bats and everyone goes over and starts beating on the midget. Unfortunately, the little kid takes a few blows . . . alright, several blows . . . to the head. But the midget is really getting wasted.

That's the good news. The bad news is that the "shotgun" was really just a submarine sandwich that the midget was going to eat for lunch. But at least they saved the kid. Edwards leaves his oldest son in the house across the street to take care of the kid until he's old enough to take care of himself . . . but the house is still home to a few stray midgets with bats (in hiding), and the son spends the next several years getting his shins bruised.

Smooth move, "Edwards."

Posted by Jared at October 28, 2004 12:33 PM | TrackBack