I’m bored with little epistemic on my mind. So a story befitting my present geographic location and level of tequila consumption. There’s a detectable epistemic residue to the story, which the sophisticated reader will notice and on which I will comment at the end.
Last quarter of 19th century. Ship’s captain hears the call from the crow’s nest: “Pirate ship, pirate ship!” “To your stations, maties! Boy, bring my red shirt!” Boy brings shirt. Captain dons. Battle lasts all day. Terrible fighting, but the ship’s crew prevails. “Well done!” says the Captain. The boy agrees, but asks, “Why did you wear your red shirt?” “Because I might have been wounded, and if I bleed and the crew can tell it, they may become discouraged and lose the fight. So I wore the red shirt to hide any wounds.” “Very smart,” thinks the boy.
Next day. Captain hears a new call from the crow’s nest: “20 pirate ships, Captain, 20!” “To your stations, maties! Boy, bring my brown pants!”
Epistemic moral of the story:
Rorty died, so the epistemic residue ain’t in the punchline.