Schopenhauer Likes Seafood

Will baby B-B say something?

What the Tic! He WILL say something.

And how is one supposed to recognise a Schopenhauerian aphorism? asks baby B-B.

But you know how it is when some naive person (or bird) mentions Schopenhauer (or Nietzsche).

Exactly. You hear what you want to.

Listen to that, says Gaius. The bird is grateful. It is trying to burble its thanks.

It wants something to eat, says Dries.

No. He doesn't, says Terence.

Yes I do, says baby B-B.

Well done, says Terence. Schopenhauer likes food. He likes seafood.

How do you know? asks baby B-B.

I went on a trip with him, says Terence. Him and Professor Freud. We played paintball.

So does aphorism mean seafood, or does it mean paintball? asks baby B-B.

It means any food, says Terence. What kind do you like?

I like marshmallows and coffee, says baby B-B. What kind do you like?

Red milk, says Terence.

I'd like to try that, says baby B-B.

Can we have some red milk? asks Terence.

Certainly, says Gaius. Dries, have a look in the fridge.

Dries looks in the fridge. It is full of carefully wrapped packages. Some are still moving.

Milk. But no red milk.

You have to MAKE it, says Terence.

Then I'll have to go to the shops, says Dries. How absurd this is becoming. Must it be red?

It's not red milk otherwise, says Terence.

Aphorism! says baby B-B.

Sort of, says Terence.

Dries goes off to the shops, on his bicycle, which once was Schopenhauer's, thinking:

Surely colour is merely subjective?

Meanwhile Gaius is googling the mantis shrimp, so that he will be up to date on the latest.

He finds a short video on Youtube.

Underwater, a mantis shrimp attacks a clam shell with a claw like a hammer.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Each time the mantis shrimp whacks the clam, a bit breaks off the lip of the clam shell.

A rim of white flesh is exposed. The mantis shrimp whips its broken prey into its gaping black lair.

Fadeout.