Today, the old joke of the slick Canadian, who subsists solely off of a carnivorous diet, looking towards the man he is debating—a slovenly Slovenian philosopher—to say, “I wish I could slather you in moose grease and maple syrup and consume your flesh” is more appropriate than ever.



During a debate, a Lacanian feels inferior to his Jungian counterpart—a trim man who obviously cleans his bedroom, eats great amounts of red meat, rarely watches pornography and prays before bed each night. The Lacanian looks beneath his podium to see his middle-aged belly protruding, and he looks over again to see the fit Jungian, obviously thriving with his monthly Patreon donations. This makes him consider the outcome of the Nixon and JFK debate. Concerned with his body-image, the Lacanian feels as if only objectification will make others believe he is beautiful, worthy of winning this debate.

The Lacanian thus puts on a pair of stiletto heels and applies a crimson red lipstick to his thin lips, making them appear both supple and puckered. This gains the attention of the Jungian, who condemns the Lacanian for his application of the persona-mask in an attempt to sway the community to his side. The Lacanian says nothing, only pursing his lips and flexing his quads. While the crowd seems unphased, the Jungian loses control of himself, rushing across the stage like a crazed chimp in an attempt to sexually ravage the Lacanian.

After having his way, the Jungian blames the Lacanian, saying that their persona-mask was nothing more than a ruse to bait him, to force him into the act of copulation. “That is nothing short of a misunderstanding,” the Lacanian says, “This was only symbolic for my own self-perfecting image. You are the one who imposed himself upon the formation of myself.”



A newfound Petersonian attempts to read Crime and Punishment after seeing multiple Peterson lectures on YouTube in which the book is recommended. The new Petersonian reads the book front to back, and he is blown away by Dostoevsky’s stance on morality, framing why we, as humans, shouldn’t commit crimes we could get away with, solely because it would extinguish our ability to live truthfully, causing us to living eternally in the wrath of Hell. However, while the book had a great impact on the Petersonian’s perspective of human morality, he was pained by one simple detail: why didn’t Raskolnikov ever clean his impoverished, tiny Saint Petersburg room? Perhaps he would have never committed the crime had he not been living in such squalor.

However, I would contend that the problem is not the state of Raskolnikov’s bedroom, but the fact he felt it necessary to drive an axe through the old women in the first place. An equally symbolic act of violence would have been to call them “old, withered, incestuous lesbians.” By saying this he could have avoided the whole affair all together!



There is this joke often passed around Lacanians about Petersonians, concerning the role of the Other’s knowledge, where a young man visits his doctor out of fear that he has become the embodiment of a messy bedroom. The young man tells his doctor that his fear stems from the idea that his bedroom was once messy, and although cleaned, that has left a stain on him; however, the doctor reassures him that his fears are refutable, as he could not possibly be a messy bedroom—even if his bedroom was once messy, that is not reflective of the fact that he is human. After speaking with his doctor for four hours, the young man leaves.

To the doctor’s surprise, the young man returns immediately, trembling and fearful—the Jordan Peterson books, posters, and body pillow within his bedroom are whispering, waiting to clean him. Befuddled, the doctor says, “My dear boy, you are well aware that you are a man and not a messy bedroom.” “Of course,” the young man replies, “but does Peterson?”



So there is this joke, one that would be seen as unbecoming in some circles, of a man who is fucked on stage, made to bathe and clean his bedroom, and then is devoured in the bath. Well, this man, when being eaten, looks at the cannibal feasting on him and says, “Now, what is this for? What are you doing here?”

The cannibal then looks up from the leg is he feasting on to say, “Is this not real? Is this not as rational as you might imagine?”

Well, the man could not debate him any further, and he joined him in eating his very own thigh.

Photo taken from ontheaside.com