The View From Scranton

23 Skedaddle

I couldn't let the date go by. After all, it was once upon a time my surname. 23. Yep. 23. Those who know me longest know I was known as Johnny 23. After Burroughs of course. The Godfather of all.

The name, and the story, comes from The Exterminator. This cat Johnny can't cotton the kinda idiosyncrasies in people that don't add up. It's not the quirks he so dislikes -- we are talking Bad Bill here -- it's humdrum oddities that aren't at all odd. The bothersome. The things that make people stupid, or dull, or clumsy, or rude. This irks him, so he does something about it.

He creates a virus -- B23 -- that when administered makes everyone well-mannered, well-disciplined, of a higher intellect. Just like him.

It's a wonderful story, mostly 'cause it does what many of us would like to do: fix what ails us in others. That the fix comes from the penultimate fixer, means the fix is in. Our heads. Our hearts. Our very beings.

I quick Googled my favorite number and found that it's a natural. It is the sacred number of Eris, goddess of dischord, and according to Principia Discordia, the number of the Illuminati. Like 13, my birthdate, it is sometimes considered lucky or otherwise significant. I say it's most times. Much times. All the time. If you look, 23's are everywhere. In events personal and public, in the very order of things. If you don't look, you won't see.

If you don't believe me, go to http://en.wikepsida.org, the site where I copped all this dirt. Then dig.

posted by John Hood. @ 11:15 PM