Zim’s Myth of the Hero

In the words of Joseph Campbell, “myths, particularly that of the hero’s journey, are the universal currency with which civilization is bought and paid for. Zimizmizt heros, however, diverge from those of other cultured in that the hero is bat shit crazy.”

Zim’s hero’s are multifaceted collections of bizarre gestures, glossolalic pronouncements at awkward pauses in conversation, gibbering gibbous gibbons, objects that come from nowhere, nattering nabobs of negativity and profound acts of lolligagging.

The Hero stumbles

The first or seventh act of the classic Zimizmizt Hero is a hilarious stumble or faux pas, which initiates the formation of carbon nanotubes in the nostrils. Sometimes nanoboogers are launched hypersonically, inflicting micrometeorite-like damage upon large appliances and people’s bodies.

Often, a Ouija board is used to contact the spirits of deceased Wall Street types killed by cabs. They’ve since grown some odd number of tentacles from armpits and sternum, which they use to build supercomputers from several Raspberry Pis. I

What does all this have to do with Buddhism?

Not very much, actually.

What’s with all the Belching Hyenas

Belching Hyenas are crucial to the crux of the biscuit, to wit, the apostrophe. Phenonomenology notwithstanding, lots of big words are hefted about in this article with the purpose of impressing the reader with the author’s smartyness. Smarminess? Smell? Smell emblazoned on a t shirt?

Another big word is antidisestablishmentarianism, a favorite of my childhood friend. In a groups, we became garrulous dregs. When Robin Williams said, “sieze the day”, I made it a point to seize nothing whatsoever.

So why am I reading this?

I suppose I could counter with, “why read anything? A romance novel, Scientific American, a newspaper... why choose to read anything, and once decided, why choose this over that?”

Then I’d be some kind of jerk, simply wanting to dick around with language, and maybe prove to myself how clever I am. No, I would go another route... unless I was goofing around with my friend, who likes to play, “let’s act like assholes” on occasion.

Reading this specific gravity drivel, as I sit here writing it wearing a fez, smoking a corncob pipe, shopping for cheese on Amazon.com, a peculiar twitch in my left eye, beard recently dyed red, sitting on a trapeze... in my mind... while in reality, I’m too delusional to discern where I am or what I’m wearing.

So back to this. This is for the curious who may want to see how badly I misunderstand Joseph Campbell or how horribly I can mangle language, reason and logic while trying to retain the thinnest thread throughout. For any excluded from this small group, it can be manifold. Perhaps learning a new word, or linking to Belching Hyenas, thinking it can’t be all that bad, or being disturbed that you know the author in real life, and that you may cross paths in the future, or another clause starting with “or” that might lead nowhere, or seeing 2.3 megabytes file size and thinking perhaps this jerk is writing the world’s longest sentence containing the most occurrences of “or”, or the same but also with the largest number of occurrences of two “ors”, one right next to the other, or guessing the weight of a hog named, “Pig Malion”, or the mind wanders to that memory of a caterpillar during zazen, or wondering why you’re experiencing my memory, which is in fact a false memory, or wondering if somehow I’ve gotten into your mind through some sort of French-Canadien by way of Lowell (we have a dialect) telepathic power, and am even now convincing you to send me cult money, or that perhaps this dude is just some weirdo, writing the annoying thoughts as they clomp through the field of vision of his consciousness, or that this sentence continues, with little hope of any sense of satisfaction upon reaching the period, a common punctuation mark which could end your suffering, or that I call my dog Frunobulax.

It becomes clear that this... all of this... is an insignificant monument, a save file of the meeting’s minutes, the Illogicopedic entry documenting the sophomoric banter of the committee of components of my psyche.

Ultimately, the act amuses me. Documenting Illogicopedic stuff for our descendents’ benefit is hilarious.

The Point. Or ‘’a’’ point, at least.

The coolest interpretation of the hero’s journey these days might be Adventure Time.