Ouroboros

So, like the ouroboros, the conservative evangelical movement has begun to eat its tail. For those who don't feel like doing a quick web search, the ouroboros is typically shown as a serpent coiled in a perfect circle, mouth firmly gripping the end of its tail. It's a rather potent symbol of the cyclical nature of life, the universe, and everything. The old gnostics took apart the symbol to a near-ludicrous extreme, defining each stage of the ouroboros' self-consumption in detail. In this analysis, the moment when the mouth meets the tail represents the destruction of the old and the creation of something new. And, in this case, not at all improved.

I don't buy into all of that Jungian archetypal stuff, at least not at the retail prices, but it's pretty clear that this is a tail-meet-mouth moment. I'm referring, of course, to Conservapedia's Conservative Bible Project.

Is it heretical? Probably. Is it hysterical? Yes, on several levels. It's also, in my opinion, inevitable. It was bound to happen eventually and, in fact, I'm surprised it took this long.

It might surprise some of my readers, both of you, to know that I do not prescribe to the typical definition of “biblical literalist” as used in the evangelical community. Within that group, a literalist is is one who believes that every single letter, word and bit of punctuation in the Bible is there on purpose. That there is no real punctuation in two of the languages the Bible's translated from aside. If there is a clear contradiction of fact in the text then the answer is obvious – God works in mysterious ways.

I'm not sure how this works with the terrible math between the books of the Kings and the books of the Chronicles, where armies lose and gain troops as a remarkable rate, nor do I know how this explains the times when the Bible clearly teaches that the sun rotates around the Earth. These are simple errors of fact that prevent the text of Scripture from being treated as 100% internally consistent. You just can't do it and, I'd argue, you shouldn't, and that it's silly to try.

The Bible has various places where it says that it has all that you need to give a good and useful life, with which I wholeheartedly agree, and in various places say that it's a bad idea to edit it for content, or to remove anything, but . . . well, let me introduce you to a little fundie lingo. Two of the most common words when describing the infallibility of the Bible are, well, “infallible” and “inerrant.”

You're not going to find those words in Scripture. You're going to see particular epistles or particular ideas referred to as “true” or “correct,” usually using Greek relating these ideas to that of being plumbed true, as in a wall under construction, or being “sincere,” holding up under pressure use. What's important here is that Greek has plenty of ways to say “factually correct” and the Bible rarely if ever uses these and almost never when referring to a large portion of text, let alone the entirety of the text.

One of the texts most commonly used to back up the idea that Scripture is without error is from Matthew: “For truly I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or stroke shall pass from the Law until all is accomplished.” Even a lapsed Jew knows that “the Law” is a reference to the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible, and even the most ardent biblical critic would say that those five books are, if not completely without error, then at least extraordinarily similar to the text as originally written. For thousands of years, Jewish scribes have prided themselves on how accurately they copy those texts. Not only that, but that's only an argument for the textual purity of those books, not the accuracy of the information they contain.

So, that's me giving you my background, what I think and what I believe and why I believe it. Given that I don't believe that the Bible is inerrant or infallible, at least not as the people of the Conservapedia understand it, why should I be offended by what they're doing? I mean, if Scripture isn't 100% reliable, then what's the harm?

First of all, it's that they're consciously bringing a bias to the text. It's not the first time that translators have set out on a mission to make the Bible what they want it to be, but every time it's ended up being a bad idea. The three translations most commonly in use today – the King James, the New International Version and the New American Standard – use different techniques for translation, but none of those techniques involve a political or even a philosophical bias. The closest you get are the reports – just reports, mind you, and ones that don't make a whole lot of sense given the text we ended up with – that King James tried to make sure that his translation was definitively pro-monarchy.

Let's say that four hundred years from now, the inhabitants of Ceti Alpha come to earth and find the rules for American football. They set about playing the game, based on the rules which are, regrettably, devoid of illustrations. The game that will result will look different depending on how some individual rules are interpreted, but unless Ceti Alphans have a radically different physiology from Terrans, we'd at least recognize the game and most football fans would think it's kind of awesome.

If, on the other hand, the Ceti Alphans are pacifists who shun physical contact, Terran football fans with be annoyed, justifiably, with the resulting mess of a game. This is what the Conservapedia is threatening us with – not just something that's reinterpreted, but something that's perverted away from what it's supposed to be.

It's more than that, though. Imagine that the Ceti Alphans not only change the rules of the game, but that they insist that what they have come up with are the True Rules.

Now imagine that we're not talking about a rather crappy scifi/sports metaphor, but someone talking about the book that I use to help me find out how I ought to live my life. Imagine that someone is telling me that when Christ says “Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire¹ which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me,” Christ is making an argument for supply-side economics, not social justice. It's a thumb in my eye, which I resent, but it is, moreover, a thumb in God's eye, and I hate it.

A Letter From Your Nanny: You’re Driving Me Crazy

Now, I’ve heard you and a lot of your friends talking about me, "the nanny state," as though it’s an entirely bad thing and, well, I think it’s time we clear the air.

First of all, I surely can come down too hard at times. I know that, and you do as well. I think we both remember that time that I said that none of you and your friends could drink or I’d send you to the police, and how well that worked out. And some times I have the best of intentions but things just go wrong. I mean, it’s hard to explain the help I gave the Bradys and their friends as anything other than a well-intentioned attempt to keep you and your friends from playing with toys that were just too dangerous - I mean, I’m all for war games, but who needs to fire a hundred Nerf darts a minute. All I did was teach the toy companies to make different toys.

Anyway, the latest thing I’ve heard you badmouth me over is over my insistence that you and your friends clean up your . . . well, that you . . . I mean, this is just too embarrassing for me to even talk about, but I shall try.

Everyone knows that young boys have certain, err, resources that they want to exploit. There are lots of ways that you can exploit these resources. Some of these will do you a great deal of good and some of them, well, they just aren’t nice.

I’m pussyfooting about the bush rather too much, I think. I read that Dr. Phil’s book and he says that you should just be straightforward and honest with people. I know they’re fun, I know that all the cool boys get them, but you’ve got to stop this fascination with "hummers." I know, I know, I won’t be "the cool nanny" for saying so, but you really must.

I mean, it’s not just a matter of the emissions so much as it is the fact that you get so very many of them when you don’t need to, without even thinking about the consequences. As I said, I know you have needs, resources you need to exploit, but just running around blasting out of your tailpipe any time you please is no way to go about things.

Now, I’m not telling you that you can’t have any hummers, certainly not, but things must be in moderation, dear. I’m going to be bring some girls by that I know you might not think are all that hip or radical or whatever it is you say these days, but you’re just going to have to spend some time with these girls. I mean, Camry is a nice girl from a nice family. I know she looks foreign, but she’s from the U.S., she really is. And, all right, she might not be quite my cup of tea, but you can have Malibu over every once in a while. She’s nice enough. Really, this is for your own good, and I think you know it.

Now, it’s just not fair to say that I’m trying to make all your decisions for you. It’s simply not true. I mean, when I changed your plumbing from copper and lead that made you sick to new pipes that keep you healthy, you didn’t think I was being too much of a nanny, did you? And when I helped you and your friends change from open copper wires to nice, insulated wires because it was safer, you didn’t think that was too much, did you?

Now, go wash your face and hands. I’m making corn for dinner.

Barbershop debate

I love my barbershop. After they cut my hair, they shave the scraggles at the base of neck and under my chin with hot lather and a stropped razor, rubbing BurmaShave into the skin afterwards. It leaves me, for a short time at least, with skin as soft and smooth as the underside of my arms. The barbers are all trained by Trina or Doug - Trina does do lady’s hair, but she’s more comfortable taking her shears and clippers to a man’s hair - and they’re all excellent not only at the cutting hair, but at the art of conversation.

I don’t know how I can quite articulate how intimate the act of having one’s hair cut seems to be for the New Hampshire male. It’s remarkable, really. See, most guys in this state, they like their personal space. I don’t mean that they don’t like to be hugged, I mean that most guys around here seem to have a "no-touching" zone that varies between one to two furlongs. So, to sit, with an apron over your arms, and have someone else take a sharp implement to your head, that takes a lot of trust, and being able to easily converse is a big part of it.

I love barbershop conversations. A discussion of the Patriots’ red zone offense can career off on a tangent and before you know it, you’re talking about when the best time is to seed your side lawn if it doesn’t get much sun. Today’s conversation, though, was . . . heated.

Graeme was in for his haircut (I sincerely think that personal space is partly genetic - he loves getting his hair cut and has been known to run up to perfect strangers and ask them to rub the back of his head where it’s freshly shorn because "It feels cool") and the barber, Trina, asked what we were doing that weekend. Graeme told her our plans for the day, some of which he’d yet to share with me, and then said that the next day we were going to our church. He slipped up a bit, though, and gave the name of the church school rather than the church itself.

One of the new barbers, Alan, chimed in with the name of the church soon enough - he’s a native of the town our church is in and the church is involved enough in the community that most have at least heard of it.

One of the customers chimed in that he was glad to hear I was getting my boys a Christian education as he hates that his boys have to hear about evolution at their local school, particularly that "nonsense about carbon dating."

Turns out the kid in the chair next to him is studying radiometric dating methods at the local U. That’s when things got . . . interesting.

The man, whose name I never heard, gave creationist anecdote after creationist anecdote, toeing the party line and scarcely letting the younger man, Nick, get in a word edgewise. At one point he said, "If you say that there’s evidence that Earth was made more than ten thousand years ago, you’re telling a lie to the face of your creator."

Eventually, the older man started running out steam and Nick moved from biology, where the man had a story for everything, to astronomy, hoping to find a weakness. The man parried with the defense I’ve come to expect, the classic young earthian, "Earth was made and put into the heavens so that it looks like it’s millions of years old."

I’d been letting them go after each other for the most part - Brandon was with us, and a two year old in a barber shop can get into a remarkable amount of trouble - but I couldn’t help but interject here. It was a short question.

"So God’s a liar?"

The man turned so quickly his barber nearly took off his right ear and bellowed, full out bellowed, "What did you just say."

I responded calmly. "You said that if someone says there’s evidence the Earth was made more than ten thousand years ago, you’re telling a lie. If God made it look at though the Earth was made more than ten thousand years ago but putting it into a cosmos that was already billions of years ago, he’s trying to deceive us, isn’t he?"

The man blustered at that, unable to come up with a response. He went back to his haircut, which was almost done. As he left, he stared at me, eyes full of hate, and threatened me with prayer on my behalf. It’s a strange thing, but it’s not the first time for me.

Nick finished up around the same time Brandon did, but we paid first. As I was going up the stairs, Nick called out to me to stop. I did and we walked out together. He introduced himself and as we stood in the balmy April sun he shook my hand and said, "It’s good to see someone who really knows how to put those religious mouthbreathers in their place."

I let go of his hand.

It was rude, the way that I did it, but I couldn’t help it.

There are days when I feel like I’m standing in No Man’s Land, shells flying overhead, in a uniform foreign to everyone else on the battlefied.

Where does this come from, this insistence that one side or the other must be right? That there can be no God because his most vocal believers are poor rhetoricians and lousy logicians? That science is a lie when it has given us to much that even the most ardent creationist gladly accepts?

I’m getting tired.

There’s one thing that keeps me going. Later on in the afternoon, Graeme, who, so far as I knew, wasn’t even paying attention to the barbershop debate, asked me who was right, the young man or the "shouting man." I told him that I didn’t know, that some of what each of them said was right. Graeme, who is six and wiser than his father, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sometimes that’s how it goes. It isn’t that one things true and one thing’s fake, it’s that both things are true and both things are fake at the same time. You just do the best you can."

This is how it was

(The bridge of the Firefly. An exhausted-looking Wash is at the main controls, with Mal just now rising from the secondary. Jayne stands nearby, Vera on his hip and still wearing his space-suit.)

Malcolm: Well, that was just plain disturbin'.

Jayne: Don't know what you're talking about. After a coupla years of no space-fightin', we had ourselves a real battle. Plenty o' bad ass spaceships.

Wash: Well, there was that tiandu wu yohn ship that went down first. Not too impressive. And that guy, the vaguely Buddhist one - “The One?” The one what?

Jayne: Well . . .

Wash: Ooo, and then there was that cube! I mean, who wants to pilot a cube?

Mal: Cube was scary, Wash, mighty scary. Took just about all those fancy ships with the people in running suit's to take it out.

Jayne (chuckling): Runnin' suits. Looked ridiculous, every one of 'em. (rubbing the bruise on his chin) Guy with the crab on his forehead, he was strong enough, though.

Mal: But who ever heard of punchin' with an open hand? Likely to break your wrist as hurt a man.

Simon (over intercom, nervous): Uhh, captain, how's everything up there?

Mal: Fine, Simon, you getting' our prisoners patched up pretty?

Simon: The one with the red shirt didn't make it. Which is surprising as he hardly even got shot.

(sound of a saw whirring in the background)

Mal: And the green-skinned guy? The robot?

Simon: River's working on him.

(piercing screams)

Mal: Sounds like that's going . . . well. I'll leave you to it.

(turns intercom off)

Kaylee (bounding onto the bridge): Everyone all right up here?

Jayne (motions to poorly bandaged arm): Well, I got shot in the . . .

Kaylee: 'Kay, good, I'll just see how Simon's doing. (turns to leave)

Mal: And River, Book and Inara, right?

Kaylee (distracted): Right shiny, cap'n. (bounds away)

Mal: Zoe, you still out there?

(Cut to exterior shot of the Firefly where Zoe stands, hauling in a blue telephone box on the end of a long cable. Cut to close-up of Zoe's face beneath her helmet)

Zoe: Yes, captain. Thing's heavier than it looks, even in zero-g. I'll get her reeled in soon enough.

Mal (over intercom): Any idea if anyone's still in there?

Zoe: Looks like feh wu to me, captain, but looks like it might've been before this battle anyway. Not much to look at, that's for sure.

Jayne (muttering): Could say the same about this bucket.

Kaylee (off-screen): I heard that!

(Zoe draws the phone box into Serenity's loading bay where it falls on its end with a loud thud)

Zoe (over intercom): She's inside, sir.

Mal: Book, Inara, you guys down there?

(Book and Inara stand near the phone-box. Book has a six-shooter in hand, but at his side. Inarra is unarmed)

Book: We're here, captain.

(back on the bridge)

Jayne: Still say I should be down there.

Mal: The idea's to make 'em feel welcome. You ain't exactly a welcoming face.

Jayne: They was in that battle same as us!

Mal: Yeah, trying to survive is all they did. Never fired a shot.

Wash: Still, don't know if they're hostile or not, and you let the preacher and the socialite take point?

Mal (to Jayne): Look, I'm the captain and . . . wait. Wash, did you just agree with Jayne?

Wash: I'm as shocked as you, captain. Shocked to my core.

Mal: I'll leave you ladies to your love-fest, then. Got guests to meet.

(the phone box, banging, clattering and shouting from inside)

Book (putting his hand on the gun): Hope they're as peaceful as the captain expects. That doesn't sound like a . . .

(the tenth Doctor and Donna fall out of the TARDIS, pursued by a cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks)

Doctor (recovering, but still staggered, nearly collides with Book before extending a hand and shaking Book's vigorously – his crying of falling turns into his introduction): Aaaaaaaaaaand who might you be, then?

Book: Shepherd Book . . .

Doctor: Lovely! (turning to Inara) And you are?

Inara: Inara, wel . . .

Doctor: Lovely! (looking around) Oh, this is a smuggler's ship, and no mistake. Perfect. Tons of little cubbyholes and hiding places and . . . oh, is that a hover-mule! Look, Donna, a hover-mule!

Donna (arms crossed, catches Inara's flummoxed expression): Yeah, he's always like this for the first bit. He'll run around a while, get all interested. Take a nap eventually and then he'll be a bit more . . .

Inara: Himself?

Donna: No, no, this is himself, really.

Mal (booking down the stairs): What chwen let our new house-guest play get up on the furniture?

(The Doctor on the hover-mule, pretending to steer, wearing a leather helmet and goggles)

Doctor (leaping off and bounding over to Mal): And you must be the (Mal levels his gun at The Doctor from the hip) captain. Huh. Thought you'd be a friendlier lot than that. Two of you with guns.

(loud clanking from the top of the gangplank – it's the sound of Jayne cocking Vera)

Doctor: And I think THAT gun counts for three. So you all were part of that strange little war after all? Even though you never fired a shot?

Mal (to Jayne): I said I was coming down, didn't I tell you to stay . . .

Jayne: No, you didn't. Wouldn't've listened anyway.

Mal: Jayne, I . . . I'll deal with you later.

Doctor (clucking): Ah, issues with your crew. Well, I don't want to get in the way of that, so if you could just point me to a spare berth or (Mal turns his steely gaze back to The Doctor) not. I seem to have arrived at a bad time. Or, more properly, I seem to have been roped into your ship at a bad time.

Inara: If we're awake, it's probably a bad time.

Donna: Look, really simple questions. I have three of them. Everyone ready? I'll even let you know who can answer them. (silence) Right. One: were you lot actually part of all that fighting or just caught up in it same as us? Captain?

Mal: Just caught up in it, I suppose. I mean, we have some that'd like to blow us out of the sky and all, but none of 'em fly ships like the ones we just saw. Question of my own: what brought you lot here?

Donna: Well . . .

Doctor: Just passing through, really. We were trying to get to the Tiber Cluster round about seventy million years from now so I could show Donna a real live actual supernova when the primary temporal buffer panel went all wobbly. Before I knew it, we were trapped in time, barely able to move in space, ships zooming all around. We survived as much because of our shields as anything, and even those were failing. Some sort of power drain. Anyway, we pulled through and ended up here. Question two -

(during this exchange, Kaylee leaves medbay and sidles up by the captain)

Donna: I'm asking the questions, Doctor.

Doctor: Right, sorry.

Donna: Question two-

Jayne: Can I shoot 'em yet, captain?

Donna: Question two: If you weren't fighting in that battle, then are you being so aggressive now only because you're a bit on edge? Everyone?

(silence)

Donna: Right. So let's just pretend that neither of us is particularly in the mood to shoot people and see where we go from there.

Mal (putting his gun down at his side, not holstering): Seems a good plan. Your last question, very talkative new person.

Donna: Three: (apologetically) Captain, mind if we stay here for a bit?

(the crew begin talking at once)

Jayne: . . . runnin' a gorram daycare . . .

Kaylee: . . . could use a hand with repairs . . .

Book: . . . as a Shepherd, I should say that . . .

etc.

Mal: Quiet, the lot of you! This ship is a democracy: one man, one vote. I'm the man, it's my vote. (turns to The Doctor and Donna) Much obliged to you both for not trying to kill us but we're full up on crew just now. We get you to a planet, we'll get you settled but that's the best we can do.

Doctor (meandering over to Kaylee): Well, I do think that we could come in handy for you captain. For example, did you know that the intake manifold on the primary extrusion engine is going to give way in a week, maybe less? Leave you drifting, that will.

Kaylee: I TOLD you that manifold weren't right and you wouldn't listen, said we didn't have . . .

Mal: Money, that's right, we don't have the money, so you'll have to make do until . . .

Doctor: Make do? Make do? This is a 03-K64 Firefly Mid-Bulk Transport, a classic spacegoing vehicle, preference of scoundrels and anti-authority vagabonds everywhere. You can have all the money in the universe, but if you don't love this ship, she'll shake you off like the turning of the worlds. Love her and she'll keep you flying, let you know what's wrong before you even notice it. It makes the ship a home.

(silence)

Mal: Might do to remember that, doc, but that don't mean I can just magic up the money to pay for a part.

Doctor (to Kaylee): Do you have a Z-91 compression coil, two solid-state cadmium batteries, about thirty inches of copper cable and a pair of tweezers? Aluminum tweezers?

Kaylee: Don't know about the tweezers, but . . .

Doctor (intensely): Listen. The tweezers are important.

Inara (putting up her hand): I think I have a spare.

Doctor: Fantastic! Problem solved. I can make your manifold for you! When I'm not trying to fix up my ship, of course.

Kaylee: Can we keep him, please!

Jayne: Lio coh jwei ji neong hur ho deh yung dug buhn ja j'wohn . . .

Donna: Oi! Your mum know you talk like that!

Jayne (surprised): She's the one that gorram taught me.

Donna: Cheeky little . . .

(the crew talks up again, this time louder, ending with Mal shouting them down again, overlapping with Wash, who's just shown up)

Wash: I have to go to the baaathroom.

Mal: Everyone settle!

Jayne (to Wash): What?

Wash: I wanted to get in on the whining. Am I too late for the whining? Damn, I always miss the good stuff . . .

Doctor: Hobart Washburn!

Wash: Uh, yeah . . .

Doctor: THE Hobart Washburn!

Wash: W . . .

Doctor: Your run through the ion cloud on the Geserel IV rogue moon just before the fall of the Parliament – it's the stuff of legend.

Wash: Well, I never . . .

Doctor: Well, no, you haven't. Not yet. But you will. And it's fantastic.

Wash (to Mal): I vote we keep him. I like people who like me. It's a weakness.

Doctor: You lot do seem altogether less . . .

(River and Simon come out of medbay. River is holding a mechanical arm, still twitching, with tatters of green skin and black and yellowish cloth)

River: Broken doll, strings cut, no more dancing.

Doctor: scary than I thought . . . you . . . might.

(River sees The Doctor and immediately falls to the ground, hands over her head)

River: The storm, the waves, the crashing sea, salt in my eyes, in my EYES, Simon.

(Simon and the Doctor run to her at the same time as River continues to babble)

River: Stream runs to the lake river runs to the ocean ocean comes over me drowing, storm-driven tempest-tossed I don't want your cloven pine anymore get thee behind me Sycorax Miranda Miranda make me a stone the dark behind it all the eyes the eyes with no eyes no heart no head just hate exterminate extirpate extricate the weave and weft the curds and whey have curdled you were gone gone so long ago and so far from now torn apart the war the gathering storm you're the last the last but you aren't supposed to be at all. (sobbing)

Doctor (using his sonic screwdriver): Oh, my goodness, her brain. Neural stripping. Alterations of a kind I've never . . . I'd call this barbaric but it was done with great skill. They raped her mind and left the core of her naked and exposed. I'd heard of experiments like this, never seen one close-up before. Horror beyond imagination. (insensely) I should very much like to find out who's behind this.

Simon: We were just heading somewhere where I hoped we could find out more about her condition, see about healing her.

Doctor: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. There's no healing this kind of damage, not in this century, not with what you have. Can't heal her mind, but there might be hope left for her spirit. Not for a while yet, but it may come.

Simon: Who are you?

Doctor: The Doctor. And you?

Simon: Simon Tam.

Doctor: Of course! So that makes the rest of you (points in turn) Zoe Washburn, Jayne Cobb, Kaylee Frye and that makes you (grabs Mal's hand so suddenly that Mal drops his gun) Major Malcolm Reynolds.

Mal: Captain. Just a captain.

Doctor: Right! Getting ahead of myself again. Well, anyway, captain, how about it? Your crew seems to want me on board and now you know I have ill intent toward the Alliance. What's not to love?

Mal (looking around): You can stay until your ship's fixed, not a day more.

(Jayne walks away, not bothering to hide his disgust)

Doctor: Captain, I believe this may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Mal (stalking back up to the bridge): Wong ba duhn, why can't nothin' go smooth?

(The others begin to move away)

Kaylee: Stop by the engine room when you can. I'll get you those parts you were lookin' for.

Doctor: Oh, sure, fabulous.

Donna: Well, that went well.

Doctor: Yeah, rather. We'll be a week or two here, I'm afraid. TARDIS is pretty well knocked out of commission but I think I can fix her. We get along well, the two of us.

Donna: Yeah, I noticed. Sure it's smart to let on to this lot? Bunch of petty criminals the lot of of 'em.

Doctor: Oh, that. You know those parts I asked for? (Donna nods) Not for a manifold, though I can make that easily enough from what we have on our ship. No, that's for a memory eraser. Wipe out the memory of this whole battle from the crew, and anything to do with us. Best that way.

Donna: Really? What about the girl?

Doctor: Oh, we'll get to the bottom of that, don't you worry. But I can't bring this lot into that much danger. (claps hands) Well, to work?

Donna: Of course!

(Exeunt omnes)

I introduce you to possibly the dumbest guy on Amazon. And that's saying a lot:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/AU8552YCOO5QX/103-4501835-4840612?%5Fencoding=UTF8&display=public&page=1

It's not that I don't agree with him, some times, it's that he hates everything so much that I'm bound to agree with him eventually.