Mr. Smartypants’s Inadvertent Guide to Postmodernism, The Beginning


I am about to do something so daring, so ridiculous, I about can’t stand it.  I should just sleep on it and come back to it in the morning, decide then if it’s a good idea, and I may.  But for right now, I’m about to, in good faith, make a post in which I basically claim that Mr. Smartypants and Baudrillard ought to be brought into dialogue, if not for my sake, then for Rachel’s, and for the sake of the Wayward Boy Scout, who I about had to punch in the nose today*.


I know.

I just put Mr. Smartypants and Baudrillard in the same sentence.  Twice now.  And with no intention of poking fun at either of them by the association.

Okay, I am going to bed before I attempt this, but tomorrow, we’re going to sit down and discuss what a man who fought in the Gulf War has in common with a man who write a book about how the Gulf War didn’t really take place.  And all of it will end up showing you how, yes, indeed, a man sticking his thumb in a Miller Lite Bottle is sexist and gross.

It’s going to be awesome.

Or fail spectacularly.

Either way, I can’t wait.




*"Was there a reference to a woman?  If not, you’re taking this jump a bit far.  Almost like you have a chip, and you’re looking for things to be offended by."

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