Wednesday, September 14, 2005

The Philosophers' Song

My readings this week covered modern philosophy, staring with Descartes. This is more familiar territory for me, but it's interesting to recover it now that I've gone from being an agnostic deconstructive idealist to a very theistic realist.

All this rereading of Descartes, Hume, and Locke rang my bell a bit and got me thinking of those times as an adolescent when I would listen to my copy of Matching Tie and Handkerchief. On the second side, there were two separate tracks, so you essentially had a three-sided LP.

Anyhoo, the Philosophers' Song is a classic, although undoubtedly untrue.

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
Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,

And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as

There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the
raising of the wrist.

Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.

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 whisky every day.

Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the
Hobbes was fond of his dram,

And René 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.

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