Aristotle: No, I don’t know a better city, motherfucker, but that don’t mean fucking Mycinea is fucking perfect. “Perfect” doesn’t mean that there ain’t nothing better, it means perfect.
Socrates: Can you explain that lofty idea in terms a base, wandering street philosopher like myself might be able to understand?
Aristotle: Well, allow me to demonstrate. Let’s say there was an imaginary city, and all the people were divided into three groups. Let’s say I represent the Gold group, I’d be Mr. Gold, you, Socrates would be Mr. Silver, and, you, Alcibiades, Mr. Bronze.
Alcibiades: Why do I have to be Mr. Bronze?
Aristotle: Because it’s only a demonstration. So me, Gold, I’d be the philosopher king —
Alcibiades: But why can’t I be the philosopher king? Look, Socrates, I’ll trade with you.
Aristotle: [Draws a gun, fires a shot into the air, and points it at Alcibiades] Interrupt me again, motherfucker. Interrupt me again. Nobody’s trading with anybody. This is my allegory.
29 October 2005
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