A grand auditorium. Two podiums. A stage lit like an arena. The audience is packed with academics, students, intellectuals, and a handful of confused people who wandered in thinking this was a TED Talk.

At one podium stands Noam Chomsky, the architect of modern linguistics, the relentless critic of power structures.

At the other, Jordan Peterson, the psychologist-warrior of meaning, the defender of order against the creeping forces of postmodern chaos.

Between them, at a smaller, almost absurdly tiny podium, sits the Moderator—a fool Jester in full regalia, bells jingling on his hat, grinning like he’s about to witness the most magnificent circus act of all time.

He taps the microphone. "Welcome, welcome, wise ones and word-weavers, scholars and syllable slingers. Tonight, we gather to determine, once and for all, who possesses the most impressive, labyrinthine, multi-syllabic TRUTH!"

The audience applauds. The debaters nod seriously.

Jester clears his throat, adjusts his spectacles. "Our topic tonight: Language, Truth, and the Nature of Reality. Our contestants—sorry, esteemed thinkers—will now begin. Professor Chomsky, you may attempt to make yourself understood first."

Chomsky leans forward, steepling his fingers.

"It is imperative to recognize that language, as a recursive generative system, operates not merely as a conduit for communication but as an active participant in the ideological scaffolding of systemic power, a phenomenon well-documented within—"

Ding! Jester hits a tiny bell on his podium. "I lost the plot at 'recursive generative system.' Professor Peterson, your turn."

Peterson, undeterred, adjusts his tie.

"Well, fundamentally, the epistemological substratum upon which the conceptual hierarchy of linguistic structure is predicated must be examined through a lens that does not fall prey to the undue relativistic tendencies of postmodern neo-Marxist ideological infiltration, which, as we know, is—"

Ding!

Jester holds up a sign:
"Sentence Collapsed Under Own Weight."

Jester leans forward, hands on his tiny podium. "Gentlemen. You have been speaking for exactly one minute each, and neither of you has actually said anything a tavern drunk couldn’t refute by pointing at the moon and going, 'That thing’s real.' So let me try.

He clears his throat dramatically.

"Words are just loud air pretending to be important."

"See? I made a point. Short. Sharp. Doesn’t require a doctorate to decipher. Now, let’s get back to the show."

He waves dramatically. "Professor Chomsky, please say something that could, in theory, be understood by a fisherman who has never read Foucault."

Chomsky shifts uncomfortably. "Uh… language shapes how we see the world?"

"Excellent! A full sentence, digestible to humans! Professor Peterson, same challenge. Make a statement that wouldn’t give a medieval peasant a seizure."

Peterson frowns. "Hierarchy is natural and exists everywhere in the animal kingdom?"

"Boom! We got ourselves a debate, folks!" Jester throws confetti into the air.

And for the first time, they actually debate.

Without the weight of towers of jargon, without the oppressive burden of intellectual posturing, they just talk.

Since the best philosophical ideas comes from experience, I have had been witness to something horrific. One day, in the midst of dawn, when the shadows usually appear and scare you because nobody would care about your existence anyway, my mushroom LSD rent colleague, played League of Philosophers an entire night, the next day, he slept in the morning and he was dead. Because he was dead, the nightmare happenend:

He couldn't open the fricking door, so I had to stay outside the rented fucking appartment for a whole fucking night, for god sake. That's the moment when I decided to compose my entire list of philosophical bad language expression. Because language is retarded, in my mother tongue they sound more majestic and I am not able to express the real meaning, I will try it anyway. So, here is the list:

1. Fuck existence.
   
2. Fuck my existence.
   
3. I think, therefore fuck you, existence.
   
4. Fucking existence preceeds essence.