Thursday, March 3, 2011

Freud the Destroyer

Today, I turn my Eye of Sauron against a certain sex addict, born most likely as a mistake of God’s, as a human who wasn’t quite cooked properly before being served. This addict has driven my loving English teacher to kill a once wonderful play in our eyes (which we will be scarred for life, should we ever think of it again), and make people debate a needless topic for hundreds of years.
If you weren’t tipped off by the “mistake of God’s” part, then here’s a hint: He destroyed Hamlet, the way freezing water can break a road apart. Still confused? He thinks you love your mother…if you know what I mean (if you don’t, then you can probably just close this blog and never return), and also conjectures that you want to kill your father because he did your mom, making you.
If you haven’t already hit up Google, then I’ll just save you the ultra-fast search: I speak of Dr. Sigmund Freud. He conjectures of a self-unconscious, deep down inside you that serve the instincts of sex, hunting, gathering, eating, etc. As I said before, he also conjectures that, deep down inside, you want to get deep down inside your mother. Furthermore, he hypothesizes that, since you obviously are addicted to your mother, you want to off your father to get at her.
Now, don’t start throwing your chair through your screen just yet, it gets much better.
The story he bases all of this off of is the fictional story of Oedipus Rex. The shortened and bias version of this story goes as follows: Oedipus is born to the king and queen of city-state A, but his parents are foretold a prophecy that their newborn baby will kill the daddy and make love to the mommy, making horrific monstrosities. In an attempt to avoid the prophecy, they pack the kid up and Fedex him over to a far away land, where he grows up as prince of city-state B, oblivious to his true parents’ identity.
 One day, a much older Oedipus goes to the Oracle, hears the prophecy, freaks out, doesn’t tell anybody, but beats a hasty retreat from city-state B, catching a taxi to city-state A. on the way, he gets in a fight with a stranger who had a large guard. Getting angry, he somehow manages to destroy them all. On arriving in city-state A, he find the kingdom without a king, steps up, marries the widowed queen, and stays in power for a very long time. One day, he learns, with horror and disgust, that the man he killed was NOT ONLY king of city-state A, and the woman he married was NOT ONLY the queen, but they were his PARENTS. Upon realizing this, our Freudian hero then follows exactly to Freud’s letter and gouges his eyes out in agony, swearing to never see another thing in the world.
Sigmund, from this obviously sexual story, rationally conjectures that hey, since this guy killed his dad and married his mom, that means that there has to be something within us all that wants to murder our dads and make children with our moms. But c’mon Oedipus, you’re doing it all wrong. You don’t gouge your eyes out… I mean, you’ve scored what, three kids with her? Naw, that’s nothing! People down south have been doing that for YEARS!...
To those who I stopped from throwing their chairs through their monitors, I suggest you do so now.

Now, if your monitor is still intact, let me go through a Freudian psychologist’s wet dream:
“Okay JBlancs, tell me about your mother”
“Well, she’s nice, and kind, she’s really sweet. I love her”
“Well, what about your father?”
“Oh, he’s a complete egghead. Worthless, I wish he were gone!”
“Okay JBlancs, here’s a shiv. Make sure to wash it when you’re done.”
“You mean my mother or the shiv?”
Both high five each other and laugh. Two years go by, and JBlancs comes back to Dr. Freudian…
“Wow, that really worked. Thanks, Doc!”
“What can I say, that Freud is one smart, rational guy!”
Both turn and smile to the camera, the set freezes, and the credits roll as elevator music plays in the background

Don’t worry; I’ve got a taste of reality:
“Okay JBlancs, tell me about your mother.”
“Uh, okay… uh… she’s, uh, tall, and has an awesome not-afro. Uh… she made me… anything else I need to say? I mean, she’s my mom, I love her…”
“Well, what about your father?”
“Oh, he’s awesome. I could go on and on about that guy. Best part of my life. My idol”
“Are you entirely sure? Forget that question; let’s talk more on your mother. Do you really love her?”
“Um, yes… she’s my mother…”
“would you—you know…”
“…whaaaaaa? Wait, why’re you pulling out that shiv?”
An awkward moment of silence occurs as a brief stare-down ensues. Dr. Freudian starts crying into his arms.
“… Doctor, I have two questions: What do I pay you for, and can I get a refund?”

Obviously, there will be legitimate doctors who’d destroy every element of this dramatization. To those, I have two caveats. One, this is an exaggeration, an overrepresentation of a subtle truth. Two, I’d like to see some doctors that still call themselves Freudian. I’d also like to watch them defend themselves; it would be most entertaining.
The problem with debunking Freud’s theories if that, at this point in time, you can’t prove the negative. You can’t prove that Freud’s theories don’t exist. On the other hand, you can prove that anyone loves anyone. It’s one of those “to those that said no: how do you know?”
I find religious people use this often, not in the controversial way as does Freud, but in a much more silent way. Just as you can’t prove the non-existence of God, Ghosts, and liberal republicans, you cannot prove the non-existence of Freudianism. It lies in the realms of the mind, which Freud did well to explain so abstractly as to make any acknowledgement impossible.
Good job Freud, you will continue to destroy good books and people minds for generations. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Search This Blog