Good evening. The last scene was interesting from the point of view of a professional logician because it contained a number of logical fallacies, that is, invalid propositional constructions and syllogistic forms, of the type so often committed by my wife.
"All wood burns," states Sir Bedivere, therefore he concludes all that burns is wood. This is, of course, pure BOOLSHIT. Universal affirmatives can only be partially converted, all of Elmer Cogan is dead, but only some of the class of dead people are Elmer Cogan. Obvious, one would think.
However, my wife does not understand this necessary limitation of conversion of apropositions. Consequently, she does not understand me; for, how can a woman expect to appreciate a professor of logic if the simplest cloth-eared syllogism causes her to flounder.
For example, given the premise all fish live underwater, and all mackerel are fish, my wife will conclude not that all mackerel live underwater, but if she buys kippers it will not rain, or that trout live in trees, or even that I do not love her anymore. This she calls using her intuition. I call it crap, and it gets me very irritated, because it is not logical.
"There will be no supper tonight," she will sometimes cry, upon my return home. "Why not," I will ask. "Because I have been screwing the milkman all day," she will say, quite oblivious to the howling error she has made. "But," I will wearily point out, "even given that the activities of screwing the milkman and getting supper are mutually exclusive now that the screwing is over, surely, then, supper may now logically be got.
"You don't love me anymore," she will now often postulate. "If you did, you would give me one now and again, so that I would not have to rely on that rancid Pakistani for my orgasms."
"I will give you one, after you have got me my supper," I now usually scream, "but not before," as you understand, making her bang contingent on the arrival of my supper. "God, you turn me on when you're angry, you ancient brute," she now mysteriously deduces, forcing her sweetly throbbing tongue down my throat.
"Fuck supper," I now invariably conclude, throwing logic somewhat joyously to the four winds. And so, we thrash about on our milk-stained floor, transported by animal passion, until we sink back, exhausted, onto the cartons of yogurt.
I'm afraid I seemed to have strayed somewhat from my original brief, but in a nutshell, sex is more fun than logic. One cannot prove this, but it is, in the same sense that Mount Everest is, or that Elmer Cogan isn't.
I have copied the complete text of the skit as:
1) I think it deserves it -(PBUT)
2) It may engender a smile by MP-lovers and fans (and those that love nostalgia) –(PBUT as well)
3) A tribute to some very clever, very funny guys (who are doing some concerts again) –PBUT
4) I believe there may even a lesson to be learnt.
5) Proof that members of the ruling party and Nkandla apologists are not the only ones who can come up with the most amazing and convoluted arguments, and
6) A warning not to wear high heels, nor swim at Nkandla.
One does not have to believe in the Bible, be a Christian or even have any religious inclinations to acknowledge that, let’s call it by cherry picking if you want; some bits and pieces do have applicable parallels in living a good life, in law and good citizenry. (Examples such as stern and dire warnings about stealing and murdering come to mind).
The SA electorate is well informed that the ANC followers are the children of Israel, that feelings of anger with the ANC is actually similar emotions against God, and that the indefinitely postponed arrival of Jesus is at the behest of the ruling party, as a result of them not having fulfilled their earthly calling.
In that vein one would then like to use the life of Christ as the parallel. Especially those bits where he was invited to the houses of fraudsters, crooks, nepotistic characters and plain baddies, and had a good and merry old wassail while consorting with women of rather loose morals.
The Good Book does not tell that he became like them or that he condoned their actions. In fact he condemned their actions and lifestyles. And ever so subtly the distinction was that he did not join their gangs, their societies, their political affiliations to the Romans and/or the Sanhedrin, nor did he speak propaganda for their cause. He did not defend their wrongs, nor did he endeavour to lead the hoi polloi to their raison d'être or even their, (let’s call it), mini raison d'État. The moral high ground was at that time definitely on the side of the Nazarene. It may have shifted later during the Crusades and certainly the kilter was in need of maintenance when choir boys became objects of affection.
Espousal for the ANC by pro-party line postings puts one solidly on the side of those that are somewhat tainted by bad deeds, and definitely portray one as condoning and supporting said iniquities mentioned supra (sic). One cannot consort with and show support for an organization of which the members are not 100% kosher, or who do not very actively participate in stable cleaning.
Logic tells me that the lesser evil currently is the DA, and should be supported and voted for, rather than the ANC. One cannot prove this, but it is, in the same sense that Mount Everest is, or that Elmer Cogan isn't.
* FROM: -The album of the soundtrack of the trailer of the film of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
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