Socrates Moves To The Neighborhood

Socrates Moves To The Neighborhood

Hello, I just bought the house down the street, and, as required by law, am here to introduce myself to you as a registered sex offender. Actually, I didn't buy it, I'm just renting for the-

Okay, that's a fair question. Allow me to answer it this way: exactly how many 12-year-old boys have you had sex with? None? Would you condemn McDonald's without first trying a Big Mac? Please admit your ignorance, sir.

You see, an Athenian jury convicted me of "Corrupting the Youth of Athens," and, later, "Involuntary Deviate Sexual Intercourse." Ridiculous, right? What's wrong with teaching young men to question authority? Athens didn't lose the Peloponnesian War because I prefer testicles that haven't sunk yet.

Is my asking you these questions helping with your quest for knowledge? Is it at least fulfilling my legal obligation under the terms of Megan's Law, Officer O'Brien? Thank you.

It is much like the Allegory of the Cave. There's a cave, okay? And it's filled with oiled-up Greek boys chained to the wall. They don't even know that there's anything outside the cave, because every time they ask if they can go home now, I bombard them with ridiculous, unanswerable questions until they get confused and fondle my-well"¦you get the idea.

My Theory of Forms holds that the material world is simply a shadow of the real world. There is a form, or blueprint of perfection, for everything. There are many chairs, but there is only one Form of Chairness. Similarly, there are many 12-year-old boys, but only one Cleon, and he is beautiful.

Speaking of which, do you have any young sons? I'm quite the tutor. Ever hear of a guy named Plato? I taught him for free. Well, almost.

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