Post by greenbarons on Jul 15, 2012 11:44:06 GMT -5
Day 4 - The Devil’s Brew
... I want you to know that I do not shun controversy. On the contrary, I will take a stand on any issue at any time, regardless of how fraught with controversy it might be. You have asked me how I feel about whiskey. All right, here is how I feel about whiskey:
If when you say whiskey you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.
But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman's step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life's great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.
This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.
-Soggy Sweat, Jr.
If when you say whiskey you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.
But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman's step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life's great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.
This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.
-Soggy Sweat, Jr.
A smaller gathering, but no less fervent, joined The True Scotsman on the day after The Strawman’s demise. “Who did this?” someone demanded.
“Any truly bad argument would demand to know,” the Scotsman replied, looking at sheep.
“We demand to know!” most of them shouted.
“We will find out soon enough,” said the Scotsman, studying the crowd from behind his mask. In truth, he wondered himself. Perhaps tonight someone would slip, and he would know where next to strike.
Arguments flared, but not for long. Insults were levied, accusations denied, statistics invented on the spot. Langly spoke briefly to someone, but accidentally breathed a face full of cigar smoke and stumbled off, gasping and trying to catch his breath.
Standing in a doorway, wheezing and coughing, Langly never heard them turn the knob... eyes streaming from smoke, he never saw the hands reach out. He felt them grab, though. He croaked out a plea for help and struggled briefly as he was gripped by many hands and dragged inside. Appeal to Authority poked his head through the door and glanced around. No one had seen them. He shut it firmly and turned the lock.
Langly was gone.
Back in the square, the Scotsman reviewed the tally. “Figgy, come forward!”
Rough hands shoved figgy to the front of the group.
“These arguments believe you understand good logic from bad. What have you to say for yourself?”
“I do! Of course I do! All of us do!”, Figgy said.
“That’s good enough for me. Finish him, arguments!”
The arguments searched him for facts, and kept searching until nothing was left. Coming up empty handed didn’t seem to deter them at all.
Langly: Lungfull of cuban cigars
Langly: Permanently reasoned with by The Good Arguments
Figgy: Subjected to vigorous fact-finding mission by the vote
Top Five Vote Earners
Figgy: 7
Sheep: 5
LoserForHireX: 4
Kilnaga: 1
Retaba: 1
Assuran: 1
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PMs are out. Day 5 begins now!
