23 March 2012
Dear Dr. Bones,
One really ought to have seen this humanoid event coming: despite all wombschoolin’ an’ freedumbin’-down by Foxcuckooland’s Finest, some wingnutette (or, as the case may be, wingnut) recounts one of our Ms. Clio’s anecdotes more or less accurately: say the Immaculation (© ® ™ & Pat. Pend.)) of St. Rutherfraud. To make up for her deviation, however, to propitiate the ghost of Their Ford for takin’ pains over mere bunk, Freedame Quelequechose tacks on a sort of diclaimer, a chunk of pious viennasausage about "the typical history book" getting it not quiht whight. Maybe not whight at all.
Her freeladyship’s preferred account, though, turns out to be indistinguishable, _primâ facie_, from what Paddy McTammany remembers being taught fifty years ago and has been occasionally reminded of subsequently.
’Twere bootless to worry whether one improbably happens oneself to have learned everything out of atypical textbooks--¡take that, Samuel Eliot Morrison!
No, one must pick up this shtyk by the other end, using the handle afforded by that fatuous self-complacency that is _de rigeur_ at Hooverville an’ Rio Limbaugh. ¡Move over, Lake Woebegone!--no freedame or freegent, not even cute little Master Narcissus Dexter bawlin’ in its crib over there behind the potatoe couch, can have had anythin’ to do with any product no Classier than ‘typical’.
As you know, few things are more alien, not to say ‘repulsive’, to the Daughters of Virtue & Sons of Wisdom (L.L.C.) than that silly obsolete nonsense about geese and ganders. ¿Hath not Buckley Minor thundered out the refutation ¡Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi¡? ¡Of course he hath!
So, then: whenever it looks superficially as if the DV&SW (LLC) are doin’ the same thing as lesser breeds without do, the neocomradologist can almost certainly dismiss the possibility that it actually *is* the same thing. Maybe with breathin’ that is the case, but advance even slightly from the strictly zoölogical, and the student will find that Narky Dexter supposes the most commonplace performances are utterly different when *he* (or, up to a point, a Party neocomrade[ss]) performs ’em. Take bleedin’ when pricked: obviously it can be no ordinary or ‘typical’ blood that Freevolks shed. Naturally, though, you won’t find a word about the difference in any lame-stream medical textbook.
As with bleedin’ blood, so with knowin’ knowledge, whether it be knowledge of Rutherford XIX or of anythin’ else whatever: I would exaggerate a little, maybe, were I to claim that (true) propositions simply ain’t knowledge at all when Freevolks know ’em, but ¡For sure, they ain’t none of your no-’count trailer-trash *typical* knowledge!
"Richard loves Richard; that is," ¡Nothin' EYE do is ‘typical’!
 Outside the confines of Foxcuckooland, not manyvolks are aware that Freeblood contains a host of clean-cut, up-standin’ redstate corpuscles entirely lackin’ in your merely typical citizen or subject. Because Purity of Heart, limpieza del corazón, is the _sine quâ non _ for observation, they have thus far successfully eluded all the reductionist microscopes of Nat Sigh and St. Charles of Darwin. Presumably they always will.