Brilliant! … but at this point, that’s merely par for the golf course. I suspect – nay, fervently hope – young people will understand intuitively that with the essay under their belts, they’ve saved themselves the trouble and sheer, unmitigated boredom, of idling away their precious computer time in freshman and sophomore philosophy classes. And they’ll be able to go directly to their careers as insurance salesmen, tour guides or soda jerks.

I assume your golfing buddies who, like the rest of us, don’t understand existentialism, were corporate types you met when you were an existentialist ad copy writer.

Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.

There’s nothing Nieizsche couldn’t teach ‘ya ’bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.

John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
“I drink, therefore I am.”

Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he’s pissed

—————————

Sing along here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQycQ8DABvc

And then there was Aquinas
who in highness lost his shyness

And Jacques Maritain, a Cognac-loving man
(One sniff of the cork, he called in to take off work)

And holy St. Augustine — bishop of Hippo?
Who every Sunday morning turned bread and wine to zippo