Discordian Player

[An online conversation with Nuke, after I’d posted some Discordian stuff on Facebook.]

Nuke: “So what is Discordianism? I’ve heard about a lot of things in passing but never that one.”

Me: “Discordianism was founded in the late 50s by two guys who had a spiritual experience in a bowling alley and decided to start worshiping Eris, the Greek Goddess of Discord. It’s basically a parody religion for conspiracy theorists.”

Nuke: “Well that sounds delightful.”

Me: “It has its moments. It attracts a lot of really fun, hysterical people, along with a bunch of right-wing nutjobs.”

Nuke: “Sounds about right, from what I imagined.”

Me: “There used to be a Discordian commune in Houston, but it disbanded right before I got sober. The Universe was most likely saving me from myself.”

Nuke: “Fun fact — my entire knowledge of Eris stems from The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, where they featured her constantly at odds with the Grim Reaper. All she really ever did was show up, scream ‘Chaos,’ and bikinis ensued.”

Nuke: “Hijinks ensued. Not bikinis.”

Nuke: “However, she did wear a bikini-styled yoga, so I’m not entirely wrong.”

Nuke: “Yoga.”

Nuke: “Toga.”

Nuke: “FUCK YOU, SIRI. I SAID WHAT I SAID.”

Me: “I love how your AutoCorrect went splooey as soon as we started talking about Eris.”

Nuke: “SHE KNOWS.”

Another successful conversion. I am going to win a toaster oven.

Speaking of, I recently started reading Chasing Eris (which is awesome and basically the Discordian version of Drawing Down the Moon), so Eris has been on my brain a lot. As of late Friday night, I caved and made the formal decision to write a Discordian book of my own.

On Saturday, I stopped at a convenience store to grab some mouthwash before heading into work. There were a couple of options to choose from, but one bottle in particular jumped out at me (click to embiggen):

Minty apple breath for the fairest.

I’ve never been much of a believer in omens, but the random appearance of Greek Listerine in the midst of me going through a Discordian author phase can only be interpreted as divine encouragement. I’ll be sure to save the bottle and fill it with a custom incense blend created in Eris’ honor. Or possibly Sea-Monkeys. I feel like either would be pleasing to Her.

The Forgotten Lyrics of “Sweet Caroline”

[My friend Mike and I are leaning against the counter and catching up on each other’s lives, when a drunk, maudlin customer slowly wanders in and stares forlornly at the selection of hankies.]

Customer: “Which… one… is… penis?”

Me: “There is not a color that specifically means ‘penis.'”

Customer: “Penis…”

Me: “It’s more about what you’d like to do with the penis.”

Customer: “Penis… touching… penis.”

Mike: “…”

Me: [to Mike] “I know. But we’ll get through this.” [then, to the customer] “A white hanky means you’re looking for masturbation, but there’s not a hanky color that only represents frottage.”

Customer: [visibly disappointed] “… Oh.”

[long pause]

Customer: “I’ll… come… back.”

Mike and I took to the Internet after he left and went through the full list, but yeah, there were no colors for frottage (or docking, or sword-fighting, or friendly fire) to be found. I did come across another site that categorized frottage as a form of safer sex to be filed under black-and-white checkerboard, but we don’t have that design in stock, so I guess it’s a moot point.

I think I’m going to order a bunch of random camouflage patterns and just assign significance as the need arises. Like, “So you want to have an anonymous, bisexual encounter in the bayou while your boyfriend watches? Frog skin. Follow me!” This feels like a good way to reinforce my role as an authority on the subject while contributing to the evolution of my subculture.

PS: Belgian Jigsaw means “sexually aroused by subcultural authorities.” I read that in a book.

Symbiotes, My Lord. Kumbaya.

[Despite the signs all over the damn place that state we can only have two customers in the store at any given time, a group of four people — including a straight woman wearing a purple unicorn horn — try to squeeze in at once.]

Me: “Hey, guys, I can only have two customers in here.”

Straight Woman: [pointing to the man next to her] “Oh, it’s fine. We’re married, so we count as one.”

Me: “That is not how this works.”

Straight Woman: [winning smile]

Me: “Two of you need to get out. Now.”

She huffed a bit at that, but realizing I would not be swayed, the group had a brief conference in the doorway (right next to the sign that says, “Please Don’t Block the Doorway”) and decided to take their business elsewhere.

I probably could’ve been a little nicer to them, but frankly, her unicorn horn was pissing me off ferociously.

That and, y’know, her attempt to use heterosexual privilege to override the rules in a gay bar, because her marriage is ever so much more authoritative than our piddling little sodomite health guidelines.

But mainly just that fucking horn.

I told Ben this story, and he was like, “You should’ve said, ‘You may be one in the eyes of God, but He doesn’t work here.” This is why Ben has a career in Hollywood, while I have a desk job.

Alice Doesn’t Sling Here Anymore

Customer: “I thought Black Hawk Leather closed, but someone just told me it reopened?”

Me: “The owner of Black Hawk retired four years ago. After that store closed, the Montrose Forge opened up in the same space.”

Customer: “So Black Hawk reopened.”

Me: “Black Hawk closed, but a new store opened in the same location. That new store is called the Montrose Forge. This is the Forge’s bar store. Our main store is in the building where Black Hawk used to be.”

Customer: “Let me put it this way. Around the corner from this bar, there is a house. If I were to walk into that [air quotes] ‘house,’ would I find a shop similar to this one?”

Me: “… Yes.”

Customer: “Okay, so like a sex store or something.”

Me: “Sure. Just like that.”

Customer: “Great! I’m going to go check it out.”

And he zipped away before I could give him the main store’s hours of operation.

I am 100% looking forward to his angry online review about the Black Hawk employee who misled him.