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Hating Knowing Chuckles

March 23, 2014

Hating knowing chuckles is one of things we do here at the Institute. Which is to say, hating those chuckles that are knowing, rather than hating the knowing of chuckles. Not that there is much to be said for non-knowing chuckles. But hate should be reserved for the knowing rather than, say, the cluelessly good-natured among chuckles. And, of course, we must always follow the rule of “hate the chuckle, not the chuckler” — though that rule can be awfully hard to follow in a room full of knowingly chuckling chucklers. Such rooms are to be avoided when possible, but sometimes chucklers and their chuckles will catch you by surprise; either by a sudden inpouring or by metamorphosis a room previously thought to be chuckle-free and chuckle-safe will turn out to be otherwise, with terrible knowingness. As always, life is just the straight man to catastrophe.

Knowing knowingly knowing chuckling chucklers as we do, knowing chucklers chuckling so knowingly, knowing as only the hater knows, we sometimes lose ourselves in the hating and the knowing and the chuckling, and find ourselves asking, “How can we know the chuckler from the chuckle? How can we know the hater from the hate?”

At this point someone inevitably brings up Yeats, someone else fires up a bowl, lively discussion ensues, and that’s another wasted evening right there.

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