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Eloquent Eloquence: Sylvia Plath Confessional Oven Mittery Edition

By Mrs. Julien | Eloquent Eloquence | April 5, 2013 |

By Mrs. Julien | Eloquent Eloquence | April 5, 2013 |

Eloquent Eloquence, Sylvia Plath Confessional Oven Mittery edition, is a compilation of the best comments of the week. Comments in non-Dustin reviews are ineligible for inclusion.

The Bonus Erudite Awesomeness Comment of the Week goes to In_Between_Days for a fascinating comment on a great article:

As a fan of all things Sherlock Holmes for the past 15 years, I’d say the character as re-imagined in the BBC Sherlock displays more of a heart than Holmes ever did in Conan Doyle’s novels. Doyle’s Holmes was a borderline sociopath; borderline only because he once showed genuine concern for Watson.

Also, many people seem to confuse sociopath with psychopath. Moriarty in this series is a psychopath, in that he not only has no emotions, but no moral compass and also a tenuous grip on reality. Sherlock describes himself as a high-functioning sociopath, but therein lies the joke that every viewer can share with John, he’s actually on the high end of the autistic spectrum; he suffers from Aspergers syndrome. Perhaps the creators got this idea from the Mark Haddon novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. Or perhaps they’d read Doyle’s Holmes as an autistic man, something it would be easy to do now we understand the condition; in the books he’s obsessed by minutiae, he’s unwilling to leave Baker Street for holidays, he’ll only trust the select few people he chooses to work with, he maintains the same decor and manner of dressing, he finds it difficult to know when he’s upset someone, he dislikes crowds of people (the show has kept many of these same features).

As an autistic individual, everything Sherlock does is tempered by emotion, but only emotion for those things that matter to him. The work is his obsession, it matters, therefore it inspires emotion. John becomes associated with the work, he matters, therefore he inspires emotion. Moriarty becomes an obsession, he matters (or rather getting rid of him does) therefore he inspires emotion.

Sherlock’s genius could be a product of his condition, it could be incidental, but this is what lifts him out of the more debilitating aspects of the condition and allows him to operate on some form of everyday living. But he needs John to do his job effectively, as evidenced by the fact that his obsession only becomes a career, because John sees the potential to make him famous. And he only starts to get somewhere with people because John teaches him how to be more socially acceptable.

As a fan of all things Sherlock Holmes I would say this series is the closest to getting a handle on Doyle’s creation since Jeremy Brett lost his sanity to the character in the 90’s. But as everyone is free to interpret this magnificent work as they like, I’m sure there are some people who wish to believe Cumberbatch’s Sherlock is a sociopath, even for some, a psychopath. For me however, the fact that he laughs (might have genuinely cried) and obviously cares about John, makes him something else entirely.

The Start Working It into Your Conversations Now Comment of the Week goes to Dustin Rowles with a H/T to Stacey Bryan for the zing that brought this on:

OOF. This is why there’s an OUCH in TOUCHE.

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The Joan Holloway Is Certainly Jennifer Marlowe Comment of the Week goes to greystokememphis who will not be taught manners by man in a white belt:

I see that Don Draper has taken the job as sales manager at WKRP.

The Stalking the Spambot Comment of the Week goes to Christopher for bringing the mountain to Mohamed. Check out this one, too.


I see the name ‘Kayla’ has been passed up for the greener pastures of a fresh identity. Unfortunately, it was unwise of you to return to this place, as you clearly did not deduce the one uncovered who first uncovered your wiley schemes would have no trouble spotting your clumsy prosaic hallmarks from a distance, even as you hid beneath a new guise.

The people of this domain are under my protection, and woe betide those who overstep my lawful threshold. I will not have these good scribes fall prey to your whorish greed, and I hope that one day we shall meet in person and do battle, man to man.

Oh yes, you read correctly. I first suspected you of male genitalia when I saw the strangely cleavage-focussed profile picture of your previous alias Kayla. I did not put much stock in these thoughts as I was drunk and distracted by my own furious masturbation. It was only when I came across this comment, another pretty face indulging in god-awful short-fiction, that the notion hit me; the writer of these posts, identical in narrative structure, must simply be utilising the sexual appeal of some innocent avatar to their own devious ends. This is a cruel and hideous twist indeed. But no matter, as every new plot of yours will be thwarted thoroughly by yours truly. There is no escape.

Justice will prevail.

The I Love It When Things Come Around Again Comment of the Week goes to Kristen Mc for a well-deployed and patiently timed nose tweaking:

My neighbor has a daughter named Precious. I hope to Godtopus she wasn’t based on the novel Push by Sapphire.

The Get Me Three Shields, Some Sealing Wax, and a Khaleesi Comment of the Week goes to Long_Pig_Tailor who should have had the decency to elucidate:

Is “sitting on the Iron Throne” a name for a sex position yet? Because it seems like if it’s not, it’s about ten minutes and one of those motivational poster generator things away from being one.


The Who Doesn’t Love a Clever Pun Comment of the Week goes to Bea Pants for the best possible response to a hedgehog dressed as Thor.

If this movie does well I’m moving forward with my plans for Ferret Bueller’s Day Off.

The I Just Love the Way He Squints Comment of the Week goes to thenchonto who comments great:

He’s, like, pensive but not whole-scale academically intimidatingly pensive, like just sort of smoldering pensive. Dreamboat pensive. Rowr.

(I submitted that first sentence for this week’s vocab homework and my teacher totally did not get it. Obviously, I should’ve included a picture.)


The At Least Today Is Going to Get Better, If You’re into the Whole Approbation by Popular Acclaim Thing ‘Cause the Commenters Were Very Clear About Their Wishes Comment of the Week goes to bleujayone.

Don’t ever say it can’t get any worse. Never. Not even when it seems the day is on the precipice of the event horizon. It can ALWAYS get worse. In fact I would argue that the powers that be, whether by the ghoulish sense of humor of divine influence, of karma or of bad luck- they all welcome the moments when someone foolishly challenges that the absolute pinnacle of Worst has been achieved and instantly strive forth to supersede it as one might expect an Olympic sprinter trying to set a new world record. By saying things cannot get worse, they inevitably do just that.

The same set of standards can be attributed to any movie even remotely related to Adam Sandler. A new, shitful movie spews forth and people burdened with more than two brain cells to rub together are forced to watch and decree, “Egads! Have mercy on us! This could not possibly be any worse!” Upon which Sandler’s ears immediately prick up and he gleefully answers the call by searching out every rejection bin and pub crawl for something that is indeed much worse. To date he has never failed to meet such a tribulation.

So please for the love of whatever deity you might believe in, don’t ever declare that the day cannot get worse. For one day there will be a trailer to a film of such magnitude that will be unleashed unto the ill-prepared masses, even the gods themselves will be taken aback and say, “Zounds!… Loki, Samael, Typhon, Hades- all of you!!! Observe and take care, for this one could have your jobs!”

The It’s Still More Appetizing than Turducken Comment of the Week goes to JJ whose neologism will now be used as the sobriety test in the tri-state area:

That’s a false assumption stuffed inside of a hypothetical wrapped in an incorrect supposition. Congratulations, you’ve invented the turducken’s metaphorical red-headed stepsibling: the suppohypoption.

(as quoted above, no one said “simple idiots,” and people probably wouldn’t like it. It wouldn’t necessarily make it untrue or the comment any less funny for razzing Dustin)

The Comment of the Week Comment of the Week goes to TherecanbeonlyoneAdmin who beat off some very stiff competition.

Court, the penis doesn’t understand even if you speak directly to him. Believe me, I’ve tried. Many times. He might perk up a bit and be all, “Wait! What? You talking to me?” but eventually he just goes back to sleep because it’s tired from a long day of having to wake up really quickly only to be disappointed that nothing’s really happening and dosing off after a minute or so.

Then there are the times that it’s woken up with a beating so severe that the poor bastard doesn’t even know what’s going on. The poor chump so thoroughly thrashed that he barfs up his innards in submission just so his abusers will finally leave him alone. It’s a defence mechanism.

There is the odd time that he’ll wake up in a warm, moist environment (which is his preferred habitat) but it happens so rarely that it’s really more of a surprise than anything. He really just can’t believe that he’s not being trounced within an inch of his life.

In closing, the penis isn’t sentient. Unless… is John Hamm’s penis able to carry on a conversation and capable of understanding complex language? FUCK YOU JOHN HAMM!

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