A Comment Thread from Hamlet's Blog

Confused said ...
I don’t really get what you’re asking here. To be WHAT? Or not to be WHAT?

Englishteacher said ...
I hate to be a punctuation nazi, Hamlet, but if you’re asking a question, it should end in a question mark.

Sirsleepsalot said ...
Are you saying that dying and sleeping are THE SAME THING???? Sheesh!

Hamlet said ...
@sleepsy:
No, I’m just saying that in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffel’d off this mortal coil must give us pause. Dying and sleeping are alike, but clearly they’re not the same. You wake up from sleeping but you don’t wake up from dying.

Sirsleepsalot said ...
Unless you die IN YOUR SLEEP!!!! LOL.

happy dane said ...
i do’nt think you shoud worry so much about being nobel in the mind. you sound like a graet princ. just go with what feels rite :)

Scienceprude said ...
We don’t sleep or dream when we’re dead. Learn some biology, jerkoff.

Horatio said ...
IMHO, this whole “to be or not to be” thing sounds like a big whine. Are you crazy, or are you just making believe?

Hamlet said ...
What ho, Horatio! LTNS! Listen, how strange or odd I bear myself — as I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on — don’t ask me about it, OK?

Rich3 said ...
I know this is a little off-topic, but does anybody have a horse for sale?

Grumble Bunny said ...
Great post! You’re soooo right! Fortune IS outrageous! The guy up the street won the lottery twice and I never won it at all! How is that fair?!!!!!

Zeen0f0Be said ...
Anybody who goes to an undiscovered country doesn’t deserve to return from its “bourn,” as you put it. I’m willing to bet that you haven’t even seen all of Denmark, but you’re in a big hurry to go elsewhere and spend good kroner in other places. How about supporting our workers here?

Hamlet said ...
@ Zee:
A friend of mine thinks that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. I don’t necessarily agree with him, but I also don’t mind picking up decent products from foreign manufacturers once in a while.

Wide Awake said ...
I have read your blog and find it both entertaining and informative. If you have problems waking up with that fresh and rested feeling, click the link below to learn about the personal benefits of YawnAway™.

Zeen0f0be said ...
@ Hammy:
Yeah, try buying some of that poisoned toothpaste in Sweden.

Hamlet said ...
@ Zee:
Well, the Swedes say the same thing about stuff made here. They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase soil our addition.

Englishteacher said ...
Sorry to nitpick again, H, but, honestly, who says “clepe” any more? What are you, like 50 years old?

Grumble Bunny said ...
Hamlet, I’m reading more of your fantastic post and you’re soooo right again! How’s this for the proud man’s contumely?! My brother is a English teacher and he keeps correcting my grammer! Between you and I, I could care less!!!!!!

Trollonius said ...
Can you provide any evidence whatsoever that conscience makes cowards of us all? I’ve got a conscience, and I’m not afraid of anything. I think you’re just talking out of your behind.

Zeen0f0be said ...
@Hammy, you said: Well, the Swedes say the same thing about stuff made here.
Is that why they keep crossing our borders illegally to look for better toothpaste? Get your facts straight.

Hamlet said ...
@Zee:
Well, I do have my facts straight. You can read any magazine and find out how corrupt Denmark is. This three years I have took note of it: the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.

Englishteacher said ...
I don’t mean to be a pain, H, but it’s not “I have took note of it.” It’s “I have taken note of it.” When using the present perfect tense, “have” should always be followed by the past participle. Also, did you realize that the antecendents are unclear for both “he” and “his”?

Grumble Bunny said ...
Hamlet, this is the best post you’ve ever written! And you’re soooo right about the insolence of offices! Yesterday, I made a simple mistake and filed an email from Rosencrantz in the Guildenstern folder! My boss called me a rogue and peasant &#^%*! Now that’s insolent!!!!!

happy dane said ...
did you decide what to do yet? i know its nun of my busness but heres my too sense. i think you shoud “be” :)

Hamlet said ...
I’m cutting off all comments on this post. Sorry, you guys, but the rest is silence.

Carnival of Gaggy Songs

OK, I’ve been so involved thinking about religion and/or politics lately, that I’ve forgotten about the music that always sings in my heart. (Mrs. Ex might say that it sings in a different body part, especially after I’ve eaten beans.) Anyway, I’ve decided to share with my friends some songs that always make me gag. For your reading, listening, and viewing pleasure, they’re organized by category, and I’ve included short commentaries to explain my choices. I hope you don't lose your lunch when you click on the links.

Gaggiest Woo Song
Oh, there are so many songs in this category, where do I begin? Hardly anything can beat "Onward, Christian Soldiers" for militant Christian disgustingness or "Rock of Ages" for that old time self-righteous glow. When it comes to mixing patriotism and woo, it's impossible to top "God Bless America." But my all-time gaggiest Woo Song has to be When You Wish Upon a Star, for its crypto-religious message. In the version linked here, the "crypto" is elevated to "quasi." Or "Quazy," depending on your worldview.

Gaggiest Commercial Jingle
I first heard this tune in the 1950s, but it still goes through my head every time I’m ambivalent in the cereal aisle. So many crunchable treats, so few earworms. By the way, I blame The Betty Crocker Pick-a-Pack Package Song for my lifelong love of lousy alliteration. Bonus: If you listen closely to the commercial, you'll find out which cereal is gay.

Gaggiest Love Song by a Sperm Donor
I'm not convinced that every woman would find it endearing to know that some man interpreted her pregnancy as a sign of love for him. Having My Baby is clearly anti-abortion propaganda, but most people don't know that the voice of the person singing along with Paul Anka is a young Antonin Scalia. If you watch the linked video, you can see the result of a wild night the two guys had after recording the tune.

Gaggiest Hymnlike TV Theme Song
Whenever anybody asks me "Why," I'm always tempted to respond: "Why? Because we like you!" The Mickey Mouse Club Closing Theme is so simple-mindedly contagious that it's been elbowing far more important stuff out of my brain ever since I was a little boy. Why? Because I'm a fucking idiot.

Gaggiest "Everything’ll Be All Right, You’ll See" Song
Every song in this particular category is nauseating, but there's only one with a tune so sappy-catchy that it keeps ringing and ringing and ringing in my ears until I want to move into a cave just so I'll never have to see any sunlight again: Tomorrow.

Gaggiest "Well, That Really Fucked Up My Life" Song
Teenagers and young adults don't seem to melodize about personal tragedies any more the way my generation did. We had quite a few hit tunes about dying young lovers: in a plane crash, a motorcycle wreck, a drowning, and even from leukemia. Where do I begin to tell the story of how sick these ditties make me? But how can you beat a car crash during a stock car race for pathos? If it were up to me, Tell Laura I Love Her would be played before every NASCAR event. The cartoonist who created the linked video must have no soul. Hey, he's just like me!

Gaggiest Song That Mentions Both Kittens and Strudel
I don't know if there are any other songs in this category, but this number is definitely one of the most stomach-turning music-and-lyrics combos ever written. As most of my regular readers know, I don't tend to go gaga over kittens. However, I've never revealed before that crisp apple strudel is also not one of My Favorite Things. As far as I know, the linked version is the only performance featuring a woman who was found guilty of negligent homicide, and not just for killing the song.

Gaggiest Non-Children’s Song in Which a Word Is Spelled Out
I have very little R-E-S-P-E-C-T for any lyricist, even if she's a W-O-M-A-N named G-L-O-R-I-A or L-O-L-A, who thinks it's clever to resort to spelling; it’s really just a cheap trick for creating doggerel. Nine letters (no prizes for identifying them) rhyme with "me," "knee," and "chimpanzee." The worst of these songs, though, is the treacly D-I-V-O-R-C-E, even if it's used — as it is in the linked version — to help people learn English.

Gaggiest Song About Something Appetizing to Eat
You might think that I would love any song about food, perhaps with the exception of The French-Cut Canned Stringbeans Polka. But you may have forgotten this saccharine sweet ditty that my wife and I sing whenever we’re trying to resist dessert (which, to be honest, is rarely to never). This may be the only version of The Candy Man that doesn't put me into insulin shock.

Gaggiest Song Ever
Let's face it. Kumbaya is the sine qua non of gaggiosity. Someone's retching, my Lord.

Who Cares If the Parallel Bars Are Uneven?

The Olympics haven’t even started yet, but I’m already tired of them.

I’m tired of being told that wrestlers, weight-lifters, and synchronized swimmers are among our nation’s best and brightest and I’m tired of hearing how proud we should be of our young athletes. Why should we be proud of them? What does their skill prove? What about the rare young person who can actually read a book with comprehension and insight, or write an email that successfully communicates an original idea, or speak articulately about science or literature or history? That’s who I’m proud of.

I’m tired of cute news segments about what a wonderful accomplishment it was for a repressive country like China to build a world-class sporting venue. And I’m tired of watching poor, deluded Chinese citizens airing their justifiable grievances to American news media under the impression that our inept and indifferent reporters will make the world take notice. That won’t happen unless the entire populace of an oppressed province fucks Paris Hilton and it’s captured on video.

I’m tired of mawkish “background” stories about young people with a “dream.” I don’t see why anyone should be celebrated for spending his or her youth working toward being the world’s best at putting the shot or running hurdles or going back and forth in a pool.

I’m tired of the assumption that I give a shit if an American kid can spike a volleyball better than a Brazilian kid can.

I’m tired of George W. Bush’s preparations to go to China, and I’m tired of seeing old footage promo-ing how he waves goodbye as he boards a plane, and I’m really tired of him spending my hard-earned money on a grand-scale photo op.

I’m tired of jokes about eating dog meat. Just once I’d like to hear a joke about eating some good old-fashioned American fare like squirrel or possum or, in a pinch, other humans.

I’m tired of schedules being rammed down my throat by the media so I won’t miss any of the action. I’ve got a newsflash for a really enterprising reporter: I’ll probably miss all of the action. Voluntarily. I can’t think of anything duller than watching people row or ride a bicycle or jump for distance and/or height. Oh, wait a minute. I’m wrong. There is something duller: watching the president wave.

I’m tired of seeing interviews with former Olympic athletes. Unless they’ve recently opened a restaurant within driving distance from my house.

I’m tired of hearing “spokespersons” complain about sports that are recognized by the International Olympics Committee but not part of the competition schedule. There’s no fucking way that bridge and chess are sports, OK? And, really: Underwater orienteering? Roller-skating? Dance sport? I think that running with an egg balanced on a spoon in the athlete’s mouth might be fun to watch, and I’d probably tune in for boxing with kangaroos. But, frankly, as far as I’m concerned, TV already has far too many sports and far too little Jeopardy.

I’m tired of speculation about which competitors are cheating. Nobody says or does anything about the lying, thieving, murdering governments that the athletes represent, so why should anyone be bothered when the zeitgeist manifests itself in a musclebound teenager who merely uses steroids?

And, lastly, I’m already tired of complaining about how tired I am of the Olympics. I guess I’ll just go back to being tired of the endless presidential election.

If It's Adultery, Of Course It's Not Marriage

Ah, the Ten Commandments. Christians and Jews would have us believe that they're universal, so I decided to test that hypothesis.

I had a little difficulty at the very beginning, because actually there are Twelve Commandments. Different religious traditions organize them in various ways. But in the simple English version of Wik-sodus, these Twelve Commandments are:

1. I am the Lord your God.
2. You shall have no other gods before me.
3. You shall not make for yourself an idol.
4. You shall not make wrongful use of the name of your God.
5. Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.
6. Honor your father and mother.
7. You shall not murder.
8. You shall not commit adultery.
9. You shall not steal.
10. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
11. You shall not covet your neighbor's house.
12. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife.

OK, I'd gotten my Commandments in a format easy enough for a child to understand, and I wanted to see how they'd make their way around the world. How could I do that?

Only one way: Google Translate.

So I carefully entered the Twelve Commandments in Wikinglish, and then I sent that text flying all over the linguistic globe. Here's the route: English to Arabic to Bulgarian to traditional Chinese to Croatian to Czech to Danish to Dutch to Finnish to French to German to Greek to Hindi to Italian to Japanese to Korean to Norwegian to Polish to Portuguese to Romanian to Russian to Spanish to Swedish. Those are the 23 languages that Google has made available. From Swedish, I made the final translation back to English, since — as any American fundamentalist can tell you — that's the actual language of Jesus.

The final result is the True and Authentic Universal Version of the Twelve Commandments, just as God meant them to be:

1. I am your God weeks.
2. Also from all other sins.
3. "The presence of the image.
4. In order to combat violence in the name of God.
5. Do not forget, Saturday, in order to protect a sacred animal.
6. His father and mother.
7. Sueopseup dead.
8. This is not marriage.
9. If the state.
10. It is perjury and neighbors.
11. This should be away from home sueopseup people.
12. In May a woman was approaching.

Forgive me for not knowing exactly how to pronounce the character " in the Third Commandment; I think it may be a variant of the click sound found in Xhosa, although I have no idea how it made its way into the translation. My guess is: the Bulgarians snuck it in.

I should also point out that we learn, from the final translated version of the Fifth Commandment, the name of the person to whom God was speaking. It was not Moses, as commonly believed; it was Saturday.

I'm sorry that I can't identify exactly who the Sueopseup people are, but I suspect that they may be the Hittites. In any case, they're either dead or away from home, so don't expect them to protect your sacred animal.

Even though I have no evidence, I'd like to believe that the approaching woman was beautiful. But I do wish she had chosen to wear something other than traditional Sueopseup garb.

Unlucky Atheists

Atheists don’t actually believe in luck, but it’s possible that they can, in fact, be unlucky. Today being Friday the 13^th, I thought I’d perform a service and list an appropriate number of ways that atheists could find themselves to be the victims of misfortune.

1. Not voting for George W. Bush but having him be your president anyway and then the party you did vote for doesn’t have enough balls and/or scruples to impeach him.


2. Living next-door to a hard-of-hearing family that enjoys Contemporary Christian music.


3. Having a crush on an attractive coworker and taking months to summon up the courage to ask her out on a date and then the day you finally do feel confident enough to approach her she shows you her new “Jesus Saves” tattoo.


4. Being so dimwitted that even though you can speak intelligently about the dangers to the food supply brought about by a combination of climate change, pollution, and corporate greed you still need Charlton Heston to clue you in that Soylent Green is people.


5. Taking a home-study cartooning course in Holland and having as your first assignment: Draw a picture of Mohammed with a bomb on his head.


6. Hearing your atheist wife telling an old friend of hers that she thinks your marriage has been successful because the two of you are both Capricorns.


7. Tuning into a TV program announced in your local newspaper as “Richard Dawkins hosts a discussion on the evolutionary development of family morality,” but actually the editors didn’t catch a minor typo in a blurb that really should have said, “Richard Dawson hosts Family Feud.”


8. Being awakened early on a Sunday morning by a knock on your door and gearing up for a fun confrontation but it’s just a Jehovah’s Witness who wants to let you know that your car is on fire.


9. Inventing a great atheist game in which the object is to acquire as many areas of knowledge — science, history, math, philosophy, literature, etc — as possible and then build on your knowledge to make it even more effective but somebody points out that the rules are almost exactly the same as Monopoly.


10. Having a priest ask you how atheists can claim to have any morals and then after you get all smug in preparation for a devastating answer it turns out that he’s the only Roman Catholic clergyman in the entire world who goes for grown-up women.


11. Smiling sheepishly when asked to say grace at a family dinner, you finally reveal that you’re an atheist and everybody says, “Really? I’m an atheist, also!” but it’s still tuna casserole.


12. Wearing your A T-shirt to an atheist convention at a big hotel and accidentally wandering into a suite where there’s a meeting of the Assholes Club.


13. Getting into a blog argument with a Christian about the Problem of Evil and scoring dozens of “killer” points that leave him or her totally whipped and then you notice that you’ve been typing “evli” in all your comments.

Anyway, good luck, folks.

The God-Gene: An Evolutionary Reality?

Well, now I’m completely pissed off. And what I’m pissed off at is that no one else seems to be pissed off about this.

I imagine you’ve already seen or heard the story of Fofo the gorilla, since it’s all over the media today. In case you didn’t know, Fofo is the daughter of the famous Koko. Koko, as everyone knows, understands approximately 2,000 English words, can sign more than 1,000 of them, and even invents her own compounds (for instance: “finger” + “bracelet” for “ring”). That’s better than most fundies do with the language.

So Fofo was “lent” — whatever that means — to the Nonoverlapping Magisteria Foundation, the mission of which, according to its literature, is to “reconcile science and religion.” In order to work for the foundation, a researcher must be both a recognized scientist in his or her field and a person who believes in a god.

That requirement alone should set off alarms in your head. But the Fofo project is funded by some mysterious shadow organization called “Answers in Gorillas.” Here’s what the Foundation’s literature has to say about its research: “Through our work with one of humankind’s allegedly closest evolutionary ancestors, we expect to demonstrate conclusively that a God-gene was placed by the Creator into the brains of every living creature on Earth.”

This is from the AP story:

Linguists at the NMF have been working with Fofo for several years, and are now satisfied that she not only understands the concept of God, but believes in Him, as well.

Those so-called scientists have taught her a number of signs for “religious” feelings. Get this: when she points upward and smiles “beatifically” [NOTE: AP’s word, not mine], she's saying “god.” And when she scrunches up her face in pain and stretches her arms out from her shoulders, she's saying “Jesus.” She has even, according to Dr. Enrico Bonzoni, who heads the project, invented a sign for “Christian.” Here’s the AP again:

Bonzoni began to notice that Fofo would make the signs for “me,” “love,” and “Jesus.” Through some simple exchanges, Bonzoni made her understand that he, too, loves Jesus. He says, “Then I showed her the gold cross I wear around my neck, and she seemed eager to have it. So I put it on her.”

Other researchers followed suit, each ultimately contributing a cross for Fofo’s collection. She now wears twelve crosses, and refuses to take them off. According to Dr. Bonzoni, Fofo “now sees that she is part of a worldwide community of the saved.”

About a year ago, there was an unfortunate incident with Dr. Chaim Nogoyim, who is of the Jewish faith. He wears a Star of David, rather than a cross, so Fofo offered him one of hers. Trying to make Fofo realize that there are many paths to the same God, Nogoyim signed “God,” then “no” (or “not”), and “Jesus.” Since then, Fofo has refused to “speak” with him any longer.

Great work, NMF. Fofo is now the world’s first anti-Semitic gorilla.

But here’s the part of the story that really got me up in arms. An unidentified researcher has complained that all is not as it appears. Fofo is being threatened whenever she misbehaves.

“If she acts up,” an anonymous researcher on the project claims, “she’s shown the sign for hell, which is a forefinger repeatedly pointed downward, a tortured expression that looks something like the 'Scream' painting, and a little dance as if the signer is walking on hot coals. Fofo has become terrified of that word and will do almost everything to avoid seeing it or signing it herself. However, about two months ago, she started using it whenever Dr. Nogoyim happened to pass in front of her enclosure. And now, she uses it every time she notices one of our interns wearing a mini-skirt.”

It’s clear to me that Fofo is being abused. Atheist organizations should join hands with animal rights groups to put an end to this outrageous exploitation. But it may already be too late to stop the madness from spreading. The last paragraph of the AP report is infuriating:

Under the auspices of yet another clandestine benefactor known as the Parroty Institute, the NMF has already begun research on the existence of the God-gene in African Greys. In the first experiment, three birds have been taught to distinguish linguistically between two similar objects. When asked “Who was responsible for 9/11?” they respond “progressive secularists.” But when asked “Who was responsible for Hurricane Katrina?” they respond “secular progressives.” Lately, the religious scientists, themselves, have been astounded by the parrots’ progress. When the researchers recently added a third question, “Who’s responsible for global warming?,” they tried to teach the test subjects the answer, “What global warming?” Instead one of the birds replied, “Dr. Nogoyim.”

Another What?

I really hate it
when bloggers
shill their own stuff,
don't you?

So believe me,
I have no idea
what this is about.

If anyone
among my readers
happens to listen to it,
please let me know
what the hell it is.

Maybe Pat Robertson Can Explain This

Tuesday night, February 5

1. Mike Huckabee wins Republican primaries in the states of Arkansas, Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia.

2. Killer tornadoes hit the states of Arkansas, Tennessee, and Alabama, and threaten Georgia.



There must be some connection between these events. Don't you think so, Pat?
Where's Jerry Falwell when we need him to clarify things?

If my readers have any ideas, please let me know. I'm so confused.

Evidence of Cedar Waxwings

At our favorite atheist-theist battleground, Matthew said:

It isn't quite true that the burden of proof lies on individually proving something using our individual senses. If a color blind person were to use the same criteria, you would have a real problem proving to some people red is different from green.

I'm going to answer you, Matthew. For now, I'll assume that we're having a dialogue and not a debate. Maybe you'll learn something about the atheist position if you read what I have to say. I'm not attempting to turn you into an atheist, only to get you to understand what one atheist — me — does and doesn't claim. If you're game to listen and ask honest questions, without trying to score points, I'll try to elucidate my position as best I can. Bear in mind that I speak only for myself.

I don't think I said that the burden of proof always depends on our using our individual senses.

However, even assuming I did, a person afflicted with red-green color-blindness can use his or her senses to detect a real, physical difference between the colors, at least in practical situations. He or she just can't use color vision to make the distinction. But there are many other criteria in addition to pure color, depending upon what red-or-green objects you're referring to. Think of red peppers/green peppers; red traffic lights/green traffic lights; red wine/green wine; red strawberries/green strawberries. If you learned that red meat was good and green meat was rancid, you could perceive the color through your sense of smell and, if it came to that, your sense of taste. You would be able to substitute other senses for the deficiency in your color vision. You wouldn't need to rely on faith.

I'll give you a concrete example of a sensory deprivation that I myself suffer, and how I can still require — and get! — proof. Each year, songbirds called cedar waxwings migrate through my area.



These cheery little creatures travel in small- to medium-sized flocks. While flying, they give a very high call, which is way out of my range of hearing. Mrs. Exterminator, however, can hear that call perfectly. If we're outdoors, she might cry, "cedar waxwings!" and I'll look up in the sky, or at a tree across the street, or over at a bush in someone's backyard, or wherever she's pointing. Sometimes she doesn't even have to point because I'll know that there are some berries nearby that cedar waxwings just can't resist. Anyway, I'll look, and there they'll be. I don't have to hear them, but I can prove to myself that they're there.

If, after enough cases, I decide that whenever Mrs. Ex says "cedar waxwings," there are actually cedar waxwings, I may decide to trust her — trust, not have faith, because I'd be relying on actual past empirical experiences. So maybe I could accept that cedar waxwings are somewhere around even if I can't see them. But, to tell the absolute truth, much as I love and trust my wife, I probably wouldn't believe her, because she has been wrong three or four times. In those instances, her cedar waxwings turned out to be other birds that I either saw or could hear. Or not birds at all.



Sometimes, of course, she might say "cedar waxwings" and they actually would be there, even though I couldn't see them. But she wouldn't have proved their existence to me, because, although I trust her cedar-waxwing-spotting ability, I don't trust it blindly.

And that's all an atheist says. Your bird may be there, but you'll have to prove it. Because 99.9% of the time, there are no cedar waxwings around. Sometimes you're gonna say something is a cedar waxwing that isn't. Sometimes, maybe, you will hear a real cedar waxwing. But if you want me to believe there's a cedar waxwing there, you'll have to give me some evidence. Because, as far as I'm concerned, until you show me otherwise, it's probably just a mosquito.

My Friend "Fuck": A Tribute

[NOTE: I’m not gonna lay responsibility for this post on anyone, although some flippant conversations in various comment threads over at Flumadiddle had a lot to do with it.]

OK, let’s start with a kinesthetic exercise. Pull your lower lip up and over your lower teeth. Almost simultaneously, bite down as hard as you can stand it with your top front teeth, trying to get them to crunch against their toothy siblings hiding under that labial covering. Propel your entire skull forward quickly as if you were beginning a head-butt against the world, and at the same time snap your top teeth upward, opening your mouth wide to scream silently; if you hear a slight explosive sound, you’re doing it correctly. As you do this, pretend that you’ve been punched by the entire cosmos hard in the gut, and react with a pained “uhhhhhhhhhh.” After a while, bring the back of your tongue up to the place where your hard palate meets your soft palate, and then force the tongue and the roof of your mouth apart by propelling a compressed, but noisy and disgusted, loogie of air forward.

Isn’t that fun? Try putting it all together, and doing it faster. Short of putting your fist through a wall, can you think of a better way to express anger, or annoyance, or exasperation, or extreme disappointment? It made you laugh, too, didn’t it?

Congratulations. You’ve just said “fuck,” a word allegedly frowned on by polite society. If you like saying it, you can turn it into an adjective: “fucking” or the Noo-Yawky “fucken.” You can follow it with a preposition to express an action: “fuck up” or “fuck off.” You can merge it with other words to make composites: “fuckface” or “fuckwad.” You can use it to emphasize a simple yes-or-no answer: “fuck, no” or “fuck, yeah.” You can throw a pronoun after it to make a complete sentence: “Fuck it!” or “Fuck you!” You can play with it by adding any syllables that sound good to you and/or by repeating it a few times: “fucka-fucka-fucka” or “fuckety-fuck-fuck.” Or you can just bang it out as many times in a row as it takes you to calm down: “fuck fuck fuck fUck fUCK FUCK.”

Technically, of course, the word means “to have sexual intercourse with.” If you look up “fuck” on Wikipedia — and I’ll bet some of you have already done that just for fucking fun, haven’t you? — you’ll find all sorts of bogus derivations, none of which makes a fuck’s worth of difference in the context I’m discussing here.

Some fuckwit blogger who pretends to understand sociology, psychology, culture, and linguistics wrote this:

Americans prefer to think of themselves as a classless society, but in fact there are some pretty clear distinctions along linguistic lines. If you take the number of "fucks" spoken by a person in their daily conversation and divide it by the total number of words they speak, you will come up with a stable fraction that could be called that person's "fuck quotient." Statistically, a high fuck quotient corresponds to low education, economic opportunity and social standing. In some inner-city neighborhoods, "fuck" may be one of the most-used words; in posh suburbs, it is hardly ever heard. Occasionally, people of high social standing will use "fuck" to indicate theatrically that they are street-wise, but a high fuck quotient usually signifies frustration and powerlessness. You wouldn't have to use it if you were respected and getting what you wanted.

Now, I don’t know what “posh suburbs” this jerk has been hanging around in, but I’ve heard “fuck” everywhere. In fact, I’d guess that the use of the word is not class-rooted, but rather, education-based. (By “education,” I ‘m not referring only to classroom stuff; I mean the mental activity we call “learning.”) People with the lowest levels of education use it a lot because of its “magical” properties; “fuck” and its variants help them get their mojo on. People with the highest levels of education use it a lot because it’s so much fucking fun to say; they realize that words, in and of themselves, have no dark, mystical powers; and they have big enough vocabularies and sufficient linguistic awareness to know that English lacks a suitably forceful synonym to express their strongest emotions.

Steven Pinker addresses some of his ideas about “swearing” in his new book, The Stuff of Thought. Usually, my lack of knowledge about a subject doesn’t keep me from spouting off about it, but I have so much respect for Pinker that, since I haven’t read his book yet, I won’t comment on it. I did find a quote from an article (now, alas unavailable for a link) Pinker wrote for “The New Republic.” He said:

When used judiciously, swearing can be hilarious, poignant, and uncannily descriptive. More than any other form of language, it recruits our expressive faculties to the fullest: the combinatorial power of syntax; the evocativeness of metaphor; the pleasure of alliteration, meter, and rhyme; and the emotional charge of our attitudes, both thinkable and unthinkable. It engages the full expanse of the brain: left and right, high and low, ancient and modern. Shakespeare, no stranger to earthy language himself, had Caliban speak for the entire human race when he said, "You taught me language, and my profit on't is, I know how to curse."

(You can also listen to this short excerpt re this subject from a Guardian Unlimited interview with Pinker.)

The problem I have with Pinker’s take on “fuck,” at least from what I’ve seen and heard so far as representative of his position, is that he lumps that delicious nugget of language in with other so-called “swear-words.” He does say: "Since swearing involves clearly more ancient parts of the brain, it could be a missing link between animal vocalization and human language." But he doesn’t seem to focus on how terrific you feel, physically, when you drop, specifically, the f-bomb. But saying “fuck” is different, somehow, from intoning “shit,” or “hell,” or “goddammit.” Those latter words are all expletives derived from unpleasant associations. But let’s face it: most of us enjoy the act of fucking. It’s not unpleasant at all, unless you’re doing it wrong. Even then, it’s probably better than lots of things you’re doing right. Religions may frown on fucking in many contexts, but that doesn’t keep humans —even devout ones — from taking indescribable glee in jumping on one another’s intelligently designed bones whenever and wherever they can. Yet, none of the other synonyms for “fuck” has been classified in quite the way that “fuck” has. Sure, you might say, “Screw you!” or “Go bugger yourself,” but they’re not the same, are they?

So why this long testimonial to “fuck”? Because I’ve noticed — and you’ve probably picked up on this, as well — that it appears a lot in comments throughout the Atheosphere. We freethinkers really like to say it. What’s more important, though, is that we’re not afraid of saying it, we’re not restrained by a need to make a hypocritical nod to convention, we don’t feel that we’ve demeaned our ideas by seasoning them with some verbal salt and pepper. Not only do we not believe in any gods, we also don’t believe in ridiculous “standards” of speech and behavior that have no moral basis whatsoever.

So we use “fuck” for emphasis, humorous value, expressing irritation, and just plain for the fuck of it. And the simple usage of that word is sometimes sufficient to enliven a piece of writing. You can’t just read “fuck” with your eyes. In order for it to have any effect, you have to hear it in your head, or, better yet, say it out loud. Inserted into a text at the right point, “fuck” adds an intimacy and conversational quality to even the driest argument. At that very moment, the writer is speaking directly to the reader; he or she asks you to listen to that “fuck,” and maybe even sing along.

So should you use “fuck” all the time? No, please don’t. It gets boring after a while, like too many episodes of Seinfeld back-to-back; it starts losing its flavor, like the sixth glass of fancy wine during dinner.

But by all means, use it when it feels right, when your emotions need that kind of bang for their buck (or fang for their fuck). The Atheosphere is about freedom from religion, but it’s also about freedom of speech. Nobody’s gonna call “foul language” on you for saying whatever you want. In fact, I’d guess that many of you, as I do, enjoy reading “fuck,” writing “fuck,” hearing “fuck,” and saying “fuck.” As I noted at the beginning of this post: it’s fun. In fact, it’s the funnest English word there is.

This episode of No More Hornets was brought to you by the word “fuck.”

Jesus Christ and the Goddamned Searchengine

This is not really a post, it's just me bragging. Somebody typed the following into Google:

JESUS CHRIST WHY CAN I NEVER FIND ANYTHING I SEARCH FO ON THIS GODDAMNED SEARCHENGINE

and No More Hornets was the first result.

Oddly enough, if the person had spelled out the word FOR, instead of mistyping FO, this blog would have been only the second result.

However, had the person spelled out the word FOR and also separated SEARCH ENGINE into two words, I would have been first again.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Not Rational

John-Evo has been selling rationality big-time over at Evolutionary Middleman. (I’m not going to link to any particular post except this latest one, because you really ought to be reading everything he has to say. Even if you don’t agree with all of it.)

Now, we atheists pride ourselves on being rational, but what do we mean by that? Is it possible that there can be two, or even more, different versions of rationality? Does a purely scientific rationality always trump the others? What about common sense and practicality? Where do they come in?

I’m not inclined to use this blog as a place to talk about my personal problems, but I do have an example from life that — although trivial in the grand scheme of things — I think illustrates very well the question I’m asking.

Last year, late at night on November 30, one of my cats started struggling to breathe. It looked like it was going to be a losing battle for her. My wife and I felt that if we didn’t get her immediate medical attention, she wouldn’t make it to the morning. We rushed her to our local animal emergency clinic, where she was put into an oxygen tent and given a battery of fancy tests. The doctor came back about an hour later with a dire diagnosis: our pet had lung cancer. The X-rays showed it clearly. The other tests confirmed it. The doctor’s considered advice, based on the scientific evidence and long experience: euthanize her immediately because it would be cruel to stand by and watch her suffer.

But my wife and I were not feeling very rational at the time. We insisted on bringing her home and taking her to our own vet.

Our vet is an old-fashioned, tobacco-chawin’ kind of guy. He’s definitely not someone who would strike you as being on the frontiers of science, although you might want to join him for a beer. His office is filled with all kinds of quasi-religious embroideries spouting “uplifting” nonsense about how your pets will be waiting in heaven for you when you die, how “dog” is “god” spelled backwards, that kind of drivel.

But he’s pretty practical. When I showed him my cat’s X-rays, he agreed that she was probably on death’s door. But he asked me one important question: what was her quality of life like? Then he followed with what passed for diagnostics: Before the episode the previous night, had she been eating and drinking normally? Could she still urinate and defecate without any problems? Was she able to curl up and sleep comfortably? Did she groom herself the way cats are supposed to? Most of all, did she seem to be “enjoying” being alive? Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, but I answered: yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.

So this guy examined the cat, confirmed that her lungs sounded awful, and said that he wasn’t confident that he could do anything for her. Oh, maybe he’d try giving her some steroids to make her feel a little more comfortable for a short while. They might work; they might not. “Well,” I asked, “should we just do the humane thing and put her out of her misery? Does that make the most sense?”

He shook his head. “It depends what you mean by ‘sense.’ I wouldn’t put her to sleep right now if she were my cat. Why not try a steroid? It’s cheap and it can’t hurt.” Frankly, he told me, he didn’t really know whether there was any point; he knew of no scientific tests that dealt specifically with that kind of treatment for my cat’s condition. But, hey, who knew? There was a chance it would work. “We’re not talking about faith-healing here, right?” I had to ask. He howled. No, he assured me, prayer was not going to be a factor on his end. Of course, I was free to pray, he pointed out with a big grin, which made me explode in much-needed laughter.

It has now been almost a year. I’ve brought that poor cat in for steroid shots every week-and-a-half or so. Whenever she starts having trouble breathing, I call the vet and ask him if he can see her right away for another “treatment.” No matter how crowded his office is — and it’s often overflowing with patients — he never turns me down. That’s not too rational of him, but I don’t argue. “Hey,” he’ll say, “we still don’t really know what we’re doing here. This isn’t good science. We’re just giving her a shot and holding our breaths.”

It’s certainly much less rational than just reading the X-rays and drawing the most reasonable conclusion would have been. But, although her death may be just around the corner, my cat is still eating, drinking, peeing, shitting, complaining loudly about the lousy cleaning service that takes care of her litter, licking herself into feline fashion, sleeping whenever and wherever she damn well pleases, blackmailing us into giving her treats, scratching the furniture just for the fuck of it, looking for affection at inconvenient times, and, in general hanging on to the only life she’ll ever have. Not rational at all.

Only 299 to Go

OK, it’s intimidating enough that PZ chugs out about 300 posts a day, while we mere mortals write just one or two every decade. But when he allows his students to add to his output, he's really rubbing our noses in it.

Not to be outdone here at the woefully inadequate No More Hornets, I decided to ask my students to help me out, too. Then I remembered: I have no students because I’m not a teacher. But I was still able to augment my pathetic productivity by soliciting the aid of my friend, Ms. Atkins, who teaches fourth grade. Or, at least she used to before she was fired on some trumped-up charge. Anyway, she was kind enough to ask her class to write short compositions on the theme: “What Atheism Means to Me.” She had each student invent an appropriate Internet name for him- or herself to use on this blog, so they wouldn’t be identifiable. This is their post.

What Athism Mean to Me by louisjones.
My teacher ask me to write about athism and I told my mother and she said my teacher was a bad word and she would report her to the princibal but the princibal would not talk to my mother because my mother complain all the time about the bull bad word they are feeding us in our classes but they do not feed us in our classes they feed us in the lunchroom and I like what they give us except when its meat loaf.

What Athiesm Means by stinks
I go to church every Sunday and when I do I believe in God. He is great. But sometimes when the other kids make fun of me because I stink in sports I don’t think God is so great. Why did He make me stink in sports? I wouldn’t make anybody stink in sports if I was God because people who stink in sports have feelings too. So in church I’m a Christian but when the other kids make fun of me because I stink in sports I’m an athiest.

I Am a Atheist by ihatejesus
I am a athiest but my parents are Christains. When I told them I was a athiest they nearly had a heart attack but they did’nt. I’m glad they did’nt but I’m sorry they did’nt get a little bit of a pain some place on their body because they washed my mouth out with soap and that made me throw up. They did it when I told them I was a athiest. They said I did’nt even know what it means, but I do. It means I hate Jesus, that’s what Billy told me. And I do hate Jesus because I got bad presents last Chrismas. My parents said thats not Jesus’s fault its Santa’s fault but I do’nt believe in Santa because it makes no sense.

Athests are Mean by athestsaremean.
I think athests are mean people. They hate God and they hate Jesus and they hate Mary and they hate Matthew and they hate Mark and they hate Luke and they hate John and they hate Adam and they hate Eve and they hate Noah and they hate everybody else in the Bible too except Satan. I think it’s bad to hate people in the Bible. And they don’t believe in hell!!! That’s why I hate athests!!!! I’m glad I believe in hell because that’s where their going!!!!!

What Atheism Is to Me by ilovesam
I wish I was an atheist because I like the way Sam Harris looks. I saw his picture in a book my dad was reading. He is not handsome but he looks like a nice guy. Sam Harris I mean. My dad is not handsome either but he also looks like a nice guy. My mom says he has big ears and a big nose. Sam Harris that is. My dad has small ears and a big nose. I don’t know why my dad is reading a book by Sam Harris but he curses a lot. My dad I’m talking about. I don’t know if Sam Harris curses. My mom says if I was going to fall for an atheist why didn’t I pick someone nice looking at least like Richard Dawkins? I saw him on TV. He’s old. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not an atheist because I love Jesus. He is not handsome either but he also looks like a nice guy. My mom says he’s a very nice guy, nicer even than my dad who is also a nice guy. I wish he’d cut his hair, though. Jesus I mean.

It’s in the Bible Atheists by sixdays
Atheists don’t beleive that God made the world. I would like to ask them who did? I bet they can’t answer that one! Even a forth grader like me knows the answer to that but atheists are too stupid to know how to look it up in the Bible. I know how to look it up in the Bible because it’s write at the begining. It says God made the world in six days. And then he rested on the seventh day. I don’t know why God needed a rest because he can do everything and it’s not hard for Him. Maybe he just wanted to watch TV. I know there was no TV in those days but I bet God was able to see into the future. I wonder if he saw atheists. Why didn’t he kill them if he saw them? Mom says you can’t question God but I would like to. I would like to know why he made atheists who don’t believe that He made them. And I would also like to know why he made brussel sprouts because I think that was a big mistake.

What Atheist and Agnostic Mean by readthisgrandma
My mother is an atheist but I’m not supposed to tell my grandparents. She doesn’t believe in a god. I’m an atheist like my mother and I’m not supposed to tell my grandparents either. But my grandmother knows because I told her and she cried. She is not an atheist. She believes in a god. She cried because now she thinks her god hates us. I told her it didn’t matter because I don’t believe in a god so let him hate me all he wants. My father is an agnostic. He says he’s not sure. He says that about almost everything.

Aythism by fuc
Theres this aythist girl at school Carmen. And she wont say the plej a legience because God is in it. I told her if God wants to be in the plej a legience that’s his busness not hers. And she called me a name that I can’t write because its bad it starts with F U C. And she called God the same name it starts with F U C. I wish I could tell you what the name is but I cant so youl have to guess at it. And maybe Im a bad person because I minded more that she called me it the name that starts with F U C than she called God it the name that starts with F U C. But God can kill her with lighting from the sky and I cant because your not suppose to hit girls. It ends with K.

Clump

I like each of my posts to be about one specific thing, so I’ve resisted the temptation to clump together various random, unrelated thoughts. But today I’ve got a number of little niggling things that are bothering me, plus some bits of unfinished business. None of these items deserves an entire entry to itself; they're just some mentally scribbled notes I wanted to clean out from the inbox of my mind.

1) I subscribe to a few Google alerts. One of my categories is “religion, presidential candidates,” and every day I receive at least twenty pieces of email culled from news sources and blogs. There seems to be a great divergence of opinion about whether the candidates’ pious posturings will matter in the next presidential election. Some of the messages in my mailbox have headlines like: “Religion Not a Major Issue, Polls Say.” But about an hour later I’ll be sent a commentary titled: “Candidates’ Faith Likely to Play Key Role in ’08.” Regardless of which of these summaries you choose to believe (being an atheist, I believe neither), there’s still an awful lot of goddledygook out there. I have never yet received an alert saying either “Brains Not a Major Issue, Polls Say” or “Candidates’ Intelligence Likely to Play Key Role in ’08.” What I object to is that the religion dialogue is going on at all, not the degree to which it will be effective in electing someone.

2) The verdict is in — sort of — on the Nonbelieving Literati format. Among the responses, there seems to be an ever-so-slight preference for each of us posting his or her own essay, so that’s what we'll do this time around.

3) Hillary Clinton is seen by the morons who take part in polls as one of the least religious of the current presidential candidates. Yet, according to Mother Jones she has been a member of a Christian terrorist cell for fifteen years. Read about it here. (All right, maybe “terrorist” is too strong a word for most of those people. But they sure terrify me. And they should similarly affect anyone who believes in separation of Church and State.)

4) A story making the rounds of the newspapers a few days ago told of a group of approximately 300 people — actors, scholars, and various other blowhards among them — who have signed a “declaration of reasonable doubt.” This document has nothing to do with religion; it’s being pushed by the Shakespeare Authorship Coalition. The document names 20 “prominent” doubters of the past, including Sir John Gielgud, Orson Welles, Mark Twain, and that eminent Shakespearean scholar, Charlie Chaplin, all of whom thought it was impossible for an ignorant country bumpkin to have written plays that demonstrated so much knowledge. (And isn’t it a good thing for those guys that they died before an ignorant country bumpkin ... aww, you finish the joke, OK?) Anyway, the signers are the literary equivalent of atheists, and it’s hard not to take some pleasure in their assault on the orthodox position. There’s no news yet whether anyone from the Coalition plans to publish a book called “The Shakespeare Delusion” or “The End of Avon.” In this matter, I, personally, am militantly agnostic. I don’t have all the facts (no one does), so I don’t have an opinion. Nor do I feel I need one. Unlike the bible, the plays are great literature, and I’m not sure it really matters whether Willie or the Flying Spaghetti Bard wrote them.

5) Only two of my readers successfully solved the puzzle at the end of my scavenger hunt through the Atheosphere. They are: Hemant Mehta (no surprise there, eh?) and Martin Engbers. My pal yinyang managed to find all the objects, but so far has not come up with the final answer. I’m not revealing anything, though, so if you’re still thinking about making the effort, go for it.

6) I think it’s time for all atheists and others who believe in the First Amendment to begin seriously challenging the concept of “hate speech.” No, I’m not saying we shouldn’t object vociferously whenever we hear offensive anti-whatever remarks; we should definitely tell our friends, relatives, neighbors, and even casual acquaintances to put a lid on it if they make odious generalizations about any group. But let’s call it hateful speech, without quotation marks, not “hate speech,” as if that were an officially recognized category. For example: The other day, Emmy-winning Kathy Griffin said, when she gleefully accepted her statuette at the unaired Creative Arts ceremony: “A lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for the award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus. So all I can say is, ‘Suck it, Jesus.’ This award is my god now.” Bill Donohue, president of the Catholic League, immediately called this “hate speech.” The league has now successfully lobbied the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences to censor Griffin’s thank-you when the highlights are broadcast. Not only that: Donohue is demanding—demanding!—an apology. But here’s the deal: All speech, except for trivia about the weather or cute kitties, can be labeled, in some way, as “hate speech.” (Even the cat-cooing might be thought of as hate speech by militant dog-lovers.) Fortunately, we live in a country where — so far — anyone is free to say the most hateful things, even “The pope is an asshole” or “Shut the fuck up, Bill Donohue.”

7) Mother Teresa was not an atheist, OK? She spent her life spreading superstition among the world’s poor and helpless. She may have had her occasional doubts, but they sure didn’t keep her from ramming religion down people’s throats. Good Catholic that she was — and funded in large part by the Church — she once said that abortion was “the greatest destroyer of world peace.” Oh, yeah, Mom T. thought it was just peachy to make sure those destitute people didn’t kill their defenseless unborn babies. What a small price for the pitiable masses to pay to ensure peace on Earth.

8) I’ve been getting a lot of traffic from the Jesus in Food Web site. Since his appearance in edibles seems to inspire so much interest, I’m thinking about trademarking the name of a frozen pizza that would feature his picture buried somewhere under the pepperoni and mushrooms: Christ on a Crust. I’ve also got an idea for a new variety of deli sandwich: Him on Rye (made from the ultimate mystery meat.) In the candy department, how about Sermon on the Mounds (“blessed are the coconut makers”)? Of course, each of these products would come with all the wine you can drink—just add water.

9) Why do I keep receiving emails from sexy women who wonder if I’d like to be their “pen pals”? These notes hardly ever come to the address bearing my actual name, but at least five a week are sent to The Exterminator. Where in this blog have I ever depicted myself as someone who needs more writing to do? Obviously, my head is cluttered enough.