I Think, Therefore I Am?!
Rita drags Descartes into a riotous 1969 blues-rock showdown where philosophy gets a beating and common sense demands an encore.
I Think, Therefore I Am?!
[Intro]
I think, therefore I am!
Yo, dude!
Rocks don’t think, so rocks ain’t real?
Hey, hey, Descartes!
Try explaining that to a rock!
Ha ha ha!
[Chorus]
Think, think, think!
Thinky, think, think!
Think, think, think!
Don’t you dare stop!
Don’t stop or you’ll pop!
Hey, dude, is thinking a yes or a no?
When you close your eyes at night,
Did you disappear from the show?!
[Verse 2]
When Descartes stopped thinking,
Was it time to have him toasted,
Roasted, or composted?
Ha ha ha!
Hey! Let’s do a solid for the environment!
Toss him in the garden!
The tomatoes have requested it!
[Final Chorus]
The tomatoes are waiting night and day!
The tomatoes don’t think!
They’re waiting for you anyway!
Snatch that dude away!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
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Com! Post! His! Sorry! Ass!
Music Critique: Descartes Versus the Tomato Department
Rita’s “I Think, Therefore I Am?!” — A Philosophical Disaster at 148 BPM
René Descartes spent years developing one of philosophy’s most celebrated propositions: I think, therefore I am. Rita gives him approximately twelve seconds before introducing him to a rock. She arrives with an electric guitar, a bad attitude, and a geological witness for the prosecution. Within seconds, the foundations of Western philosophy are under assault.
Rita’s opening is magnificent. She doesn’t waste time debating the nature of consciousness. She demands that Descartes explain his theory to a rock. This presents certain difficulties, principally because the rock has declined to participate. Nevertheless, its continued existence constitutes an embarrassment to the proceedings. Descartes has no immediate response. The rock remains unmoved.
Of course, Descartes’ cogito establishes certainty about the thinking self; it doesn’t claim that rocks are unreal. Rita’s objection is a deliberately outrageous caricature. She isn’t submitting a philosophical refutation. She’s conducting a roadhouse interrogation, and the rock has already made a more convincing appearance than the defendant.
Then comes the chorus. At a blistering 148 BPM, Rita launches into “Think, think, think! Thinky, think, think!” This is philosophy reduced to a neurological emergency. Apparently, Descartes must maintain continuous intellectual activity or risk disappearing altogether. Sleeping is out of the question. So is fainting. A momentary lapse in concentration could constitute an existential catastrophe. Somebody get that man a gallon of coffee!
“Don’t stop or you’ll pop!” is especially well suited to a hard instrumental stop. The band can make the word pop feel like a minor industrial accident. One moment Descartes is contemplating the nature of existence; the next, the rhythm section is apparently preparing to blow him through the ceiling.
The pounding drums and snarling guitars turn the philosophical dispute into a 1969 roadhouse interrogation, with a swaggering bass and a barrelhouse piano enthusiastically assisting the prosecution. Rita’s high, mischievous vocals make matters considerably worse. Descartes arrives expecting a scholarly discussion of epistemology and discovers that his interrogator has brought a rock, a rhythm section, and absolutely no intention of granting him tenure.
And then, without warning, the tomatoes enter the case.
Rita goes from questioning the certainty of existence to recommending that the philosopher be recycled as garden fertilizer. Apparently, Descartes has exhausted his usefulness to metaphysics and is being reassigned to agriculture.
But the most astonishing revelation follows:
“THE TOMATOES HAVE REQUESTED IT!”
Good grief! The tomatoes have organized!
Have they elected representatives? Is there a tomato committee? One suspects the vegetables have been quietly reading philosophy and have finally reached the end of their patience.
“The tomatoes have requested it!” deserves a full-band silence afterward. It’s a beautifully ridiculous assertion because Rita delivers it as though she has received official correspondence from the vegetable kingdom. Somewhere, presumably, a tomato has signed the paperwork, another has seconded the motion, and the entire garden is awaiting delivery.
The brilliance of Rita’s botanical uprising becomes apparent in the final chorus. The tomatoes don’t think, but they’re waiting for Descartes anyway. They have no apparent need to establish their own existence. They’re perfectly content to grow, ripen, and eventually incorporate the philosopher into their nutritional arrangements.
Unfortunately for Descartes, the tomatoes are conducting their own evaluation. One particularly large specimen examines the prospective fertilizer and declares, “Four hundred years of philosophy, and this is the best compost they could send us?”
Another tomato suggests requesting a refund.
Descartes spent a lifetime investigating certainty. The tomatoes have achieved it without thinking at all.
And then comes Rita’s magnificent final command:
“COM! POST! HIS! SORRY! ASS!”
Five explosive rhythmic blows, delivered with all the ceremonial dignity of a demolition crew disposing of a condemned building. The guitars roar, the piano pounds, and four centuries of philosophical prestige disappear beneath a vegetable patch.
And so, after centuries of scholarly debate, the philosopher’s celebrated proposition receives its final amendment:
I think, therefore I am.
I stop thinking, therefore I am fertilizer.
Enjoy on YouTube
