quinn esq's picture

    Let's Celebrate!!! It's The 1st Annual "Shut The Fuck Up About Yourself Day."

    I hereby declare today as - The 1st Annual STFU About Yourself Day.

    Please pass on this exciting and urgent news. Like me, I'm sure you have memorized the words of Margaret Mead, and found them never to be more appropriate:

    "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. And also, never doubt that huge numbers of people charging about blindly as a herd can do pretty much whatever the fuck they want. To whomsoever they want. For as long as they want. Savvy?"

    Today, the fightback begins.
    Today, we reclaim our country.
    Today, we launch a movement to rid our land of... the scourge. The scourge of the endlessly-talking, unstoppably-self-promoting, demi-tassetted twerps that have taken over the coffee houses and public places of this great land with their overly-loud banging of personal gongs.

    So post this notice up wherever you can. Interrupt everybody else's posts & put it in the comments, because - after all - how important can their crap be compared to what we fight?

    The 1st Annual Shut The Fuck Up About Yourself Day.

    At this point, I believe we all feel the need, the pressing need, to have one day - just. one. fucking. day. - where we can enter a coffee shop or other public place, without fear. Fear that we end up cowering, trying our best to shield ourselves against the onslaught of stories pouring in from neighbouring tables, stories being told maybe just-a-whisper too loud, or more likely 10, 15, sometimes even 45 decibels too fucking loud, stories of... 

    my incredible/unusual/unique but unrecognized skills/talents/creativity... and the inner torment this creates for extremely sensitive people, especially those of us cursed both with strength and sensitivity, it's hard to explain but apparently it's a sensitivity which flows - my therapist says - from a deep, inner, deepness... which my boss/the board/Derek/my wife/the others/that fucking Derek don't understand... but you can see it in my ideas/selection of powerpoint backgrounds/drapes, it's the same thing all artists have, all great artists that is,kandinsky - you know kandinsky? - i used to draw you know, still do, just little charcoal and watercolour things... and ok, i admit, being so sensitive creates an almost overwhelming attractiveness to the other/same sex - well, that and my tendency to fuck the living-the-dead-and-the-undead-without-discernment, but (let-me-tell-you-how-in-detail-because-i-know-you-don't get-out-much since the operation/twins/prison/paraplegia), i prefer to begin with the power-tools/bed-of-broken-ceramics/diamond-tipped leather strings to slash the flesh and then we oil up my abs/pecs/achilles/scrotum and did i mention the power tools? obviously, we use cameras so we can go back over the tapes and work out any mistakes after, but all in all, it's a family-friendly-setting... and you know, sometimes i doubt myself, i really shouldn't, but... after all... you can have too much of a good thing, right? - or at least, jung seemed to think so... same as with money... hahahahahahahahah oh god i'm hilarious and have such a sense of humour which is so rare these days, ahhh yes, good one, i'm pleased you got that one... and yet, can-you-believe-it, in the face of all i have to offer, my boyfriend/girlfriend/mom has such a lack of understanding/liquidity/closet space/implants/ethics/pedicurial awareness... speaking of which, i just tossed this on, don't you love it? it's from my wide/deep/high but-always-sexy selection of branded evening-gym-lingerie-mountaineering apparel, which i think really highlights my cheekbones/taste/huge cock/soulfulness/gym-time... and have i mentioned the idiots/dolts/morons/frenchasianoldwhitepeople that i work with, and their failure to recognize my genius, mememememe mymymymy genius, when i'm the only one keeping the place afloat/with any creativity/who thinks for themself/who makes coffee/who is under 200 pounds... they're just so jealous/fat/unadventurous/married/arrogant/skinny/smug/entitled/pensioned... and all this, all of this this these... burdens, which are so so... doubly hard to deal... sorry, i'm sorry, sometimes it just... hurts... which comes from my extremely high levels of sensitivity, creativity, generosity and compassion towards others... i mean, can you believe it?
    P.S. - Should today's event fail to stop this plague, I pre-emptively declare next Sunday, March 27th to be the "They Had Their Chance, And If They Show Up For Coffee And Start Bleating On Again, Then We Kill The Self-Absorbed Fuckers" Day.
    P.P.S. - And yes, I'm bitter. They're eating into my air-time.

    Really, my last P.S. - Q blogs periodically at http://quinntheeskimo.posterous.com/    
    Go subscribe. It works a lot better than potassium iodide tablets. 


    Hey Seaton! I'm clicking wildly here, refreshing my page each 5 seconds or so!

    It works! I'm getting readers like crazy! Or crazy readers! Whatever, it's eyeballs! 

    You gotta try it! 

    Funny, I was just thinking today you should shut the fuck up so I could talk about myself for a change.

    Now that I have the floor, I forgot exactly what I wanted to say, but I can rehash a story about my glandular condition or tell you my favorite recipe (yes, involves snarks and pure grain alcohol - almost Canadian in intent).

    Frankly I've decided that most of the world's problems are caused by talking about them. If we'd just talk about ourselves, the rest would take care of itself.

    I'm wishing for those quaint days when the "Mideast" was a college basketball conference and "outsourcing" was a fancy name for "don't hog the ball". See, I have March Madness and I don't even have a TV. Tell the Moondog, tell the Marchhare - we have heaven.

    Your comments would be more interesting if they were about me. 

    For instance, let's discuss my storied basketball career, as M's famed "8th man." I may only have been 5' 11&3/4" but I EXPLODED off the bench. Or more accurately, I exploded ON the bench, then ON the floor, then OFF the floor, then ON MY WAY to the locker-room, then IN the locker-room, then later, ON the bus.

    Anger management off-the-dribble I had not. 

    But that's enough about my sports career. How about the rest of me?

    Thought you were referring to your glandular condition - reminded me of the guy's politely named "valve" in "A Confederacy of Dunces".

    Once I was a nuclear cloud and you talk about "explosive".

    You can talk about yourself until the cows come home. Oops, they're here, time to hang up.

    You gonna take that from some Desiderfeltifish?

    I'm a little sensitive about the gland condition. 

    It's not much fun having to decant a gallon and a half of testosterone and remove it every night.

    Honey; they were lyin' to you: it was your green blood they were drainin' off!  Obey chose this instead of his Dagblog Roast alternate future (Shakira Groupie); you might er...like it...She's hot, and you can dance to it; I give it a 9.4.


    Look. Hot chicks with bad songs do not equal hot music. No matter how many tweenagers and dirty old men buy it. And before Des interrupts, hot chicks with great pipes singing bad songs still does not equal hot music. 

    This message will not be repeated. 

    Which means the next Shakira video will be marked on your permanent record.

    You old Curmudgeon.  Obey said he's a dead ringer for Shakira...er...maybe I was; I forget.  Well, wish I hasd some time to put up 'Waka-waka'.  Don't.  My old man just came home after driving 60 miles roundtrip to a Peace Walk.  30 people showed up; though he got the irony today of all days.  War is Peace, or something.

    And I will take Shakira on my permanent record, and that Gaga one if I have to.  And the dudes with the big heads.  Came from a funny sharing I did with a fifteen-year-old visitor this week, finding a Common Language.  Pretty nice.

    Like the old song said,

    "Yakkity yak
     Don't talk back

    Or was it,

     "Clickety clack
     Don't talk back"?

     Whatever. I could have written that siong. I could have done it better. I could have sung it too. With feeling. I could have made it deep. That's cuzz I've been there. So, what exactly is your point?


    Yeah, yeah; but Meade also said, "If one cannot state a matter clearly enough so that even an intelligent twelve-year-old can understand it, one should remain within the cloistered walls of the university and laboratory until one gets a better grasp of one's subject matter."  Soooo......

    And while we are STFU about ourselves, somebody blogs at http://wendyedavis.posterous.com/

    (no asshats invited; leave $3.99 at the checkout counter.  And man; you need some better tunes, bro.)

    p.s. who's your wife?

    Better tunes? NFW. The Stone Roses - if nothing else, my dear friend - did more for drug consumption than anyone since Owsley. Srsly. 


    And also.




    Psychedelic?  Who cares?  Ya can't dance to any o' that shit!  And ya can't say much for them dudes' HEADS!

    WTFO ?

    Okay I've given you two page clicks now, is that enough? Are you saying it is Quinn Day at Dag?

    Umm Okay..I guess everyone gets their 15 minutes.

    I'll hit refresh several times on my way outta this place.


    I'm still 1175 "readers" behind Seaton. Maybe there's more to this blogging business than I thought. 

    Lend me a coupla clicks? I'll gladly repay you on Tuesday.

    This is a paid gig... well then, I am in. Remember you have to pay me in American dollars, not funny Canadian money. Or you can pay me in flour. Please don't try to pay in the 10 pound bags, it's 25 pound bags or money. If you refuse my barter offer, I have a set fee for page hits, please check with the Koch Brothers as they set the going rate.

    I think you just  need to get better at starting flame wars though. Seriously, you are much too mild a personality for this Quinn, much too mild.


    Hey!!! See this everyone?? I'm "much too mild" a personality. MUCH TOO MILD! 

    Could someone send this to my Mom?

    P.S. The U.S. $ is only worth 98 cents Canadian these days. Tough times to be a Yank.

    Pfft, no one has to tell your mom, you can just yell up at her from the basement.

    Umm Tron is on now, I really can't stay around here chatting with someone WHO (obligatory all  caps) might kill baby polar bears to make coats for tourists.

    Who knew Quinn was the role model for "King of Comedy"

    Why do I feel like you guys are the wrong crowd?

    Damn, even the music you pick is just plain awful. Here is some real music... listen and be amazed.

    Oh and shut up about the commercial.. how else can we bring the dollar back up to where it should be.. above the Canadian dollar.


    When does the commercial end?

    Black Keys finally gave up on differentiating, and made the song into an ad.

    I liked the public access TV one (above) a lot better.

    Okay so I am watching Prophecy again and attempting to keep track of Four Brothers but my remote is kind of fricked up and the damn keyboard is all screwed up again and....

    Does this sound like you on Sundays?

    Well you probably have SPD, Severe Personality Disorder. But do not give up hope because medical science thru ExxonMobile  has come up with a cure for this disorder that you must not pass up.

    It comes in kind of a steel frame otherwise known as a Colt-45, you fill the chamber with pellets, close the chamber, point the tube at your cranium, and pull the trigger!

    Always consult your physician first.

    Caution: may cause dizziness, impotence, delerium, diarhea and even death!

    Last time I had that, I turned into someone else for a week's (free) trial.

    They sucked, so I came back to myself.

    Now, I just haunt my own head.

    P.S. And in Canada, we look down on shooting oneself in the head. Stabbing is much more civil.


    p.s. Q, this blog sounds suspiciously like you just spend a weekend in NYC. Or France. One of those two...

    Oddly enough, I DID just spend a weekend in NYC. Great city.

    Now if we can just dump the people that haunt the coffee shops. 

    Ahhhh, it's the same all over. I don't blame any particular city or any particular type of eating establishment, it's just the young people today. ;-)

    Aha. As Colonel Landa would say - That's a bingo!!


    I get so confused.

    I mean does this mean when the earth and the sun reach some sort of equilibrium?

    I mean like right now the sun's light is the same as the sun's darkness.

    I mean there are like twelve hours of sun right now and twelve hours of darkness.

    Before, it was like more darkness than sunlight.

    I don't know.  I mean there must be some significance to all of this?

    the end

    It means we've both spent too long on the Northern Plains, Dick.

    And like the prairie dogs and ice weasels, we've gone completely insane. 

    Now that I'm used to it, it's actually not that bad.

    Certainly better than whatever Des and Obey have.

    Those fuckers are sick.

    I spent years with no one listening to me. hahahahahahaah

    yes, it is soooooooooo very strange in the north. hahahahaha

    Nobody, I mean few bodies even understand what the frrick you are writing about. hahahahaha

    I watch this show based in Miami. They have NO idea what the hell I am thinking about. hahahaa

    I love this blog. hahaha


    I suppose you think that this thinly veiled attempt to re-introduce into the public discourse the long ago discarded epistemology of Aristotelian-Thomism will succeed.  Nay for I have come to “stand and deliver.”

    Now it is well known that Toronto and its university have been a hotbed of Thomism and Neo-Thomism for many years.  Populated by the likes of Jacques Maritan, or as we used to call him Toronto Tom, and Etienne Gilson, this retrograde community has long been  the cushy sofa where sit, if I may say it, many fullsome a-posteriori promoting posteriors.  And so it is understandable that someone from there could utter the utterly redundant “Shut the fuck up about yourself.”  Here it appears is one of the few places left where the notion survives that one can know (and thereby say) anything about the noumena, the world as it is; in other words that one can say anything that is not “about yourself.”  It would seem that Phenomenology is to Canada as the Theory of Evolution is to the U.S, - merely an opinion.  Let us examine this remarkably antiquarian disposition.

    For the author, Quinn, there can be both an STFU without the participation of self - an STFU-in-itself, and an STFU-for itself, or as he crudely puts it “about yourself.” Thus he can say “shut the fuck up about yourself” and cleverly imply, even if erroneously, that there might be another STFU, one that is both universal and present to an entirely passive intellect.  Frankly, it is hard to overstate the danger of this insidious subrogation of the passive intellect of Aristotelian epistemology for our modern understanding of cognition.  Let us try an example.  “Quinn is a loon.”  Hmmm.  Actually this is pretty much self-evident and doesn’t really require any participation on my part.  OK.  Nevermind.

    I blaspheme, therefore I am.

    Against which god?  I mean I might agree with you.  Otherwise god damn you, generically speaking.


    Aquinas would not like you at all!!!

    And neither would Jacques Maritain, who has - as we speak - probably ordered a squad of elite Jesuit Navy Seals to dispatch Larry with all speed. 

    After a rigorous verbal examination, of course.

    Great thinkers fear neither redundancy, nor repeating themselves.


    More Ms. Meade, Larry H:  "If one cannot state a matter clearly enough so that even an intelligent twelve-year-old can understand it, one should remain within the cloistered walls of the university and laboratory until one gets a better grasp of one's subject matter." 

    GET IT????  NOW--STFU; I am an (almost) intelligent twelve-year old who knows YOU don't even know WTF you're talking about!

    This just came on my RealPlayer; wonder why I thought of you boys?

    Don't you have math homework to do or something?  And turn down the stereo.  We are trying to watch Ed Sullivan.

    Can I stay up and watch the Rolling Stones, huh dad?  Ooooooh, that Brian Jones looks just like an angel...  Margaret says she's gonna marry him.  They say he's not s'posed to sing 'Let's spend the night together...oh I hope he does...what's that mean, dad, huh?  Ya think he will?  Ed said the Beatles were really great guys, dad.  Oh, that John Lennon...he's so cool.  Can I go see Yellow Submarine, dad, huh?  I heard Bobby Eagle smoked some marijuana, dad.  Can I smoke some, huh, dad?  Did you ever smoke some?  How  'bout mom?  She looks like she needs some, huh, dad?  Could you buy me the new Marianne Faithful record for my birthday, dad?  Can I get a raise in my allowance, dad?  Loretta gets two-fifty a week, dad, ya know?  Oooh, I think the Rolling Stones are coming on soon, daddy...I hafta go pee first, just in case, dad....

    Marijuana?  What do they teach in school these days?  Is that the scientific name? Back in my day we called it boo, and No you may not.

    I thought I warned you off.

    Mister Maritain's more'n a mite disturbed by your recent comments, son. Took 'em right personal(ist.) 

    Word is that when he comes back... he's gonna have Mounier with him.

    And you know Mounier. Dude always makes sure to put on the foil.


    You all know this, but it bears repeating:

    I'm too sexy for this blog..


    Y'see? Now THIS is talent. 

    The young people today can't touch this.

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