Comment

Comment by Tabitha Ellaine Smile on May 10, 2010 at 10:42pm

if it portrays me in a negative light, it was taken out of context

Comment by Jay Pea on April 8, 2010 at 7:01pm

I've never used the term "absurdist" to describe myself, but digging a little bit into it I realized that, yes, I probably am an absurdist. My question is this: why does there even need to be an inherent, universal meaning to life? Can't we just enjoy life without needing to find a meaning?

Comment by Sean T. on August 22, 2009 at 10:27pm

Nice.

Comment by Copropnuma on August 18, 2009 at 11:40pm

I thought Abusurd, I can do that... So I write something...

Due to the prime growth conditions for lawns and my lack of both sufficient time ( I’ve been one busy mofo ) and motivation ( I hear that with 50 empty cases of Pabst plus a SASE, you can get the entire set of Franklin Mint commemorative plates featuring the swimsuit girls of Milwaukee. I know that I can’t draw breath unless I have flatware emblazoned with chunky upper Midwest girls in spandex. ) what this means in a more simplistic non-beating around the bush way is that my lawn needs some serious mowing. It has moved well past the “savannah” stage and is gearing itself up to push out the other side of Primeval Rainforest.
In addition to its exponential, and some may say freakish growth ( I have heard the neighbors talking in hushed tones about secret military testing, alien plant growth rays and strange jugs containing chemical X, but I have yet to be convinced…. Even by that cute girl named Scully and her creepy friend.) my yard has become one of the last known breeding grounds of the ultra rare great lakes short necked giraffe. Out of a total world population ( including those in captivity ) of 42, I have 4 breeding couples, 9 adolescents and one slightly retarded, apparently gay one who keeps trying to mate with my 15 foot tall Coke can and driftwood sculpture of Lionel Ritchie ( the pride of my found object sculptures of people who don’t deserve to be celebrities). This whole fiasco is not really all that bad in and of itself (‘cept for the rutting with Lionel Ritchie ) The problem I am having is that because of all of this going on just behind my domicile, the backyard type bash I was planning on having in a few days has a couple of built in flaws. The most serious of which is that a trip from the fire pit to my downstairs bathroom requires the use of several heavy, and very sharp machetes, a howdah and a small tribe of pygmies. I am worried that instead of going through the hassle of placing the howdah on the back of a large ill tempered animal that is not indigenous to my home continent, or learning to speak pygmy , my drunken guest will just pee behind the garage, thus adding to the general foul odor all ready emanating from my yard because of the wildlife fornicating and flinging poo at all hours.
The only solution to this was for me to go to my local rental center and procure a Dole Fruit De-Foresting Weed Whacker. This ingenious little machine has been used to clear large tracks of useless and stinky south American rain forests for use in growing massive amounts of bananas for the god loving and bread making red blooded American grandmother. Another little factoid about this machine is that it is also what Madonna use when she needs a brazilian, but I digress. I rent this massive weed whacker for about 20 bucks, and figure that I am in for a good time clear cutting the backyard. Random destruction with HUGE power tools always puts me in a good mood. So after rinsing the Material Girls last pube off the whacker, I done my safety goggles, hit the start button and walk around the corner to be confronted by a bunch of hippies from Greenpeace babbling about animal refuge and endangered species. These patchouli doused geeks have chained themselves to the first row of trees and start sing “We Shall Over Come” slightly off key at me. This sapped all the joy I had for weed whacking mayhem, and I wandered inside to watch Cops and wait for a brilliant plan to reveal it self to me.
While watching the boys in blue lay the smack down on another homeless drunk, a few thoughts crossed my mind. First if we could solve the homeless drunk problem, cops would have to go off the air due to lack of film footage freeing me up to watch other forms of embarrassing television programming; second (and in the grand scope of life one of the lest important thoughts, but acorns do give rise to oaks…) that inbred mulleted old boy, burbling away about “jus’ goian hum, I’s dida have na drink…” if given 18 teeth (thus bringing his total number of teeth up to 30), a flea dip followed by a mild scrub with a Selsen Blue encrusted welding brush and then rinsed at 240 PSI, could look like Ted Nuggent, if Ted Nuggent was not wear the normal varmint skin hat and live chicken loin cloth that he usually does … AND if sweaty uncle Teddy, not the drunk look-a-like-ish douche nozzle on T.V. but the real live, animal stompin’, guitar playin’, ring tailed buck-a-roo, that is The Nugg can not kick a bunch of tofu munching tree huggers out of my back yard and hunt, dress and eat 17 healthy Great Lakes Short Necked Giraffes and deal with one slightly fucked up and possibly gay Great Lakes Short Necked Giraffe, then he has no business sportin’ squirrel skin testicular cozies and calling himself the Motor City Mad Man.
So I carved a message into a large venison sausage and tied it the necks of several migrating Detroit Homing Possums that had been attempting like hell to colonize my backyard and dropped their prehensile tailed asses off at the nearest interstate highway exit. For those of you unaware, a large venison sausage lashed to the neck of North America’s only native marsupial is like the bat signal but instead of Batman you get Ted Nuggent. I went back to my living room to wait for further developments and to do some more work towards those commemorative plates. About 20 minuets after sitting down the phone rings and The Nugg growls through the receiver at me, “tell me about these hippies.” I catch Ted up on the Crazy Grass growth, big game, Madonna pube hacker, stinky hippies and what could be his long lost, toothless brother on cops. The Nugg expressed his admiration of any one who can turn Kentucky Bluegrass into a primeval rainforest and offered me future employment as his grounds keeper, which I had to turn down due to prior engagements as a host to the little shindig that started this whole thing off, upset as he was about losing such a gifted grounds keeper, the prospect of chasing hippies off seemed to excite him in a way that I am not all that comfortable with. With a shout of “TO THE NUGGENT CAVE!”, he hung up the phone and went to don spandex or what ever it is that Teddy wears for hippie hunting, I on the other hand had been seriously slacking in the PBR department, so back to work…

Comment by Sean T. on March 5, 2009 at 9:08pm

No, it's not strictly Camus. All aspects of Absurdism can be discussed here. It's just that since this is a website for atheists and agnostics, his take on Absurdism is the most relevant.

Comment by dusk on March 4, 2009 at 2:59pm

hello!
just wondering if this group is strictly for the Camus or is it for all types of existentialists or absurdists? it's cool either way for me.

Comment by éminence grise on March 1, 2009 at 5:03pm

I had no idea there was such a thing as Absurdism, but now that I think about it it's what I practiced all along. I just wasn't aware there was a term for it.

Hell, I wrote an essay about it... If I can find it I may post it.

Comment by Shlarg on February 14, 2009 at 9:23am

I'm not really very deep into the philosophy of absurdism but I do use absudity quite often in rl. As a private music teacher, one of my favorite things to say to a student when we're working on an etude that is somewhat difficult for them is "Many people have died playing this!"
Nose run? Feet smell? Uh oh! You're built upside down !