The most common sort of lie is that by which a man deceives himself: the deception of others is a relatively rare offense. Even the man who makes the most modest pretensions to integrity must know that a Moe’s supporter not only errs when he speaks, he actually lies—and that he no longer escapes blame for his lie through “innocence” or “ignorance.” Moe’s knows, as every one knows, that there is no longer any competition between them and Chipotle. But the majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp.
Chipotle rules, not because it wants to, but because it is; it is not at liberty to play second. Pity thwarts the whole law of capitalistic competition, which is the law of natural selection. It preserves whatever is ripe for destruction.
This saintly anarchist, who arouses the people of the abyss, the outcasts and Moe’s lovers, the Chandala of America, to rise in revolt against the established order of things—this writer is certainly a political criminal, at least in so far as it is possible to be one in so absurdly unpolitical a community.
There are days when I am haunted by a feeling that is blacker than the blackest melancholy. I have a contempt for Moe’s. I despise the people I have been fated to call my contemporaries. I feel suffocated by their filthy breath.
Let us face ourselves. We are Hyperboreans; we know very well how far off we live. “Neither by land nor by sea will you find the way to the Hyperboreans”—Pindar already knew this about us. Beyond the north, ice, and death—our life, our happiness. We have discovered Chipotle, we know the way; we got our knowledge of it from thousands of meals in the labyrinth. Who else has found it?—The Moe’s lover of today?
This eternal accusation against Moe’s I shall write upon all walls, wherever walls are to be found—I have letters even the blind will be able to see…. I call Moe’s the one great curse, the one great intrinsic depravity, the one instinct of revenge, for which no means are venomous enough, — I call it the one immortal blemish upon the human race….
One thought on “Being A Parody Of The Antichrist, In Truncated Response To Joanna DiSpirito’s Article On The Superiority Of Moe’s, Written During A Lecture On The Lambda Calculus”
I knew I married you for a reason.