Being a freelance philosopher is a very rewarding endeavor. I spend most nights on the porch discussing Kierkegarrd's objective uncertainty of religious truths with Harry and Mario from The Jackalope Machine Shop. Mario loves his Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance arguments. He's never read the book, but no one knows valve spring tension variances of a 1992 Kawasaki better.
Discussions are usually academic and civil unless that butt hole Jaime Romero shows up and starts his nihilistic horse crap. His rebuttals are always, "How do you know?" or, "You can't prove any of this even exists."
Harry usually presents his counterpoint by cracking Jaime across the skull with a Craftsman 3/4 inch flex head ratchet. "Did that exist, you squirrel turd?"
College basketball point spreads based on Aristotle's Theory of Universals is a popular topic. We wile away most evenings sitting on the bench seats I recycled from the Gremlin. We discuss our place in the universe, God's purpose and miracles along with the advantages of the nickel defense versus the 3-4.
The evening drifts by watching mosquitoes wage an aerial assault on the bug light. The Cambridge Debating Society has nothing on us.
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