““If I be waspish, best beware my sting.” ”
There is nothing (well, almost nothing) I enjoy more than a good old argy-bargy. I know I should call it a debate for the sake of political correctness, but as there is nothing correct about politics at the moment, I feel down and dirty verbal fisticuffs just about covers it.
The issue I have though is this. If you want to step into the ring, then be prepared for the following; I will go the full number of rounds for a World Title (and I don't discriminate between the sexes - it's 12 or nuthin') - and secondly:
Get your facts straight.
I don't purport to be Oz The Great and Powerful. I don't think I am of over-average intelligence. But if I enter into Fight Club about a topic, I make damn sure I know what I am talking about, and I expect the person I am talking to - and I do mean talking to, not at - to have done their research too.
This happened the other night. I was having a yarp to someone about Topic X (no, NOT the Royal Baby - and by the way, International Man of Mystery, you owe me a bottle of Lagavulin on the name), and they said something so bewilderingly ignorant that I wanted to do the Looney Tunes cartoon thingy and 'boiiiiing' a frypan on their skull.
If it had been a case of 'this is what I have read and seen on the topic and these are the conclusions I have drawn as a result' - even if I thought they were the worst conclusions since Chamberlain said 'there will be peace in our time', then that's one thing. Opinions are opinions. As long as someone has put time and thought into what passes between brain and mouth, then much as I may want to call 'foul' - and I will try to rebut them - I have to respect them. But when it is just 'well, that's what blah blah says, and they are important/famous/on a reality cooking show so it must be right' - then frypans ahoy.
For anyone interested in romancing the Stone (intellectually speaking - ahem), and it's quite possible that nobody on earth is that insane, it's a pretty straightforward proposition. Engage my brain. Make me think. In fact, rile me up and give me a chance to get out my favourite piece of furniture - my soapbox. And when I am standing on it, floor me with a well constructed argument which makes sense, has logic and merit and makes me shut my fat trap for at least 30 seconds before I come back yelling.
I will be, if not putty in your hands, then at least a bit more malleable than my usual Galatea-like state of statuosity.
I may even agree with you. May being the operative word.
But it will have to be a very, very persuasive argument.
Oh, and by the way... the things I enjoy more than talking loudly about stuff and more stuff? Shoes. Champagne. Smooching. Serious, serious amounts of time to read as much as I want. SkarsGod. Single Malt.
Some of those things may be combined.
Let's discuss it, shall we?
