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"I’ve always found Rand objectionable as a philosopher. Specifically, her uncredited middle-school re-writes of Nietzsche’s hits, and personal revelations based on really obvious tautologies. Seriously, “A” is “A”? It’s a symbol, you dingbat. It’s what we say it is. Is somebody spreading rumors that an abstract symbol isn’t itself? A legit problem is determining its relationship with our experience of reality (e.g. Wittgenstein’s language games if you’re ready for the real shit). And existence exists? Are you fucking kidding me? We’ve gone from Hume and Kierkegaard to this? Listening to her impatience at other ideologies reminds me of a five year-old considering the world’s problems. Can’t get the Chilean miners out? “Why not just build a robot?” she’d say, handing over a sketch; herself pictured overseeing the operation from a unicorn. When kids do it, it’s cute (theoretically), but seeing a brusque Russian author do it — not so much.
Luckily for her, it’s not hard to peddle a lowbrow philosophy to a brain-dead cult. Read Hubbard if you’re an Objectivist; and Rand if you’re a Scientologist. It’ll be like recognizing yourself in the mirror for the first time since being checked out of the Fort Harrison Hotel by your new and improved family. Not that it’ll help. Faith-heads always think their particular mythologies and superstitions are somehow more relevant and less stupid than the rest."
Thus begins Caigoy's brilliant and funny blitzkrieg against Ayn Rand. Read it. It's hilarious. He really hates the hell out of her. Did Le Haineux read it, you ask, if he is going to agree with such criticism? No, because Le Haineux likes his life to be as fun as possible, and reading Ayn Rand sounds about as fun as drinking your own balls after they have been chewed off by a tiger and put in a blender.
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