Just Portending!

This evening the Associated Press released a news article under the following headline: Huge Wildfire Portends Bad Calif. Fire Season. I couldn't help being drawn off-sides. Portend? In a real life newspaper? Since MTV? I credit Obama.





Rating: 50%: Both elated and depressed

Psychoanalysis: Like Psychology, but Creepy and Obscure

Let's reduce the full range of human motivation to greasy, sexualized energy metaphors and do a bunch of coke. Then when people inevitably tell us our ideas are stupid and wrong, we'll respond that they either want to have sex with their mothers or they're secretly in love with us. Finally, just when the world thinks it's rid of us, we'll all get tenured jobs in university English departments and make our students read how Lear's relationship with his daughters displays "all the characteristics of pseudo-incest."

Psychoanalysis, I want you to die.

RATING: 1% only because 0% looks too much like anyone's vag but my mom's.

(Image from www.andreixuereb.com.)

Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism

This big, blue bastard isn't much fun to read, but at 2621 pages, it's heavy enough to kill rats in the basement apartment where you'll scour newspapers and the Internet in vain for an employer who thinks the ability to talk convoluted, academic nonsense about pop-cultural phenomena is a "skill" worth paying for. You can also burn it to stay warm. There you go, college boy.

RATING: 28%--Virginia Woolf is a genius, and John Crowe Ransom is awfully polite.

(Image from www.ebooknetworking.com.)

Jacques Lacan Wants to Poop on Your Chest, but He's Dead

According to Lacan (pronounced "LAKE-in"), as well as Freud, all little boys want to fuck their mommies. Fortunately, your dad jams his dick up between you and your ma, poking you out of the "mirror stage" and into the "symbolic order" with his veiny, throbbing paternal prohibition, and it's a good thing too because your mom's cooter is like a giant crocodile and your dad's phallus is a stick wedged between her "jaws," keeping them from clamping down and destroying you like how that crazy governess kills the kid at the end of The Turn of the Screw (SPOILER). And that's also (somehow) why we have letters and words, and the "true" subject is unconscious which means that none of us really "thinks," and the unconscious is structured like a language. Watch out for jouissance, which is a bit like a creepy, intellectualized orgasm, and the Real, which is the traumatic, impossible keystone of the whole anti-structure. Whatever the Christing fuck any of that's supposed to mean. The End.

RATING: Take my money, UTD%

(Lacan and Mirror Lacan from http://www.campfreudiano.es. Don't ever send your kids to Camp Freudiano.)