I was in my room, studying a paper on quark theory, and I had just found a miscalculated integral. This was three years after I had evicted the ghosts by withholding their ectoplasm, so I was surprised to see the woman at the door. She was dressed in a long white robe and could have been Athena herself except for her undignified attempt to hold a scroll in one hand and scales in the other. "I am Classicism" she introduced herself, and spouted out all sorts of rhetoric about truth, beauty, and goodness. The only truth and beauty are characteristics of quarks, I cynically thought. She pointed a finger at me accusingly, "That's not a nice thing to think; wait for my friend Moralism!" She dropped her scroll, and as she bent down, I snuck out of the room.
If the ghosts were coming back, I wanted to get something to eat, so I headed towards the refrigerator. At the stairs, a deep voice bellowed, "Believe me. I'm Romanticism!" A large man with greasy hair told me about how the purpose of art was emotion, and accompanied his exposition with sweeping gestures. I asked him why emotion should be the center of art, and he seemed to search for a reply. I left him in an eternal stammer.
As I snacked in the kitchen, two more "Isms", Moralism and Humanism showed up. But then I saw her! A stunning blonde! It was belief at first sight. She was introduced to me as Impressionism, and I gazed at her, starry-eyed. But as the evening wore on, and I heard her in conversation, I concluded that after the first Impression, she was just another "Ism."
Since I was feeling bloated after my snack, I went to the bathroom. Modernism was sprawled sloppily on the toilet, reading the sheet music to John Cage's 4'33". He told me about how everything was meaningless, how art had to be abstract and useless, and supported these claims with arguments from Godel's theorem and quantum mechanics. "But," I asked, "if everything is useless, uncertain, and meaningless, so is Modernism, Godel's theorem, and quantum mechanics!" He gave an evasive answer so I left.
Fairly soon, the house was filled with Isms, espousing their views to me, or arguing with each other. Buddhism was making a good attempt to clap with one hand, and Modernism hailed it as a musical masterpiece. Idealism, Existentialism, and even second generation art movements, such as Neoclassicism, who helped Mom with her scales, showed up. Political philosophies, such as Liberalism, Conservatism, Communism, and Fascism scribbled editorials on the walls in crayon. I was getting annoyed at this breach of my hospitality, and was beginning to hope they would all leave.
At this point, several policemen entered the house, and shouted through megaphones, "All 'Isms' out of the house! We know you're in here!" I was overjoyed, but it was only Repressionism, out to crush the party.
That having failed, I decided to be a good host, and put up a sign, "Ism party," and made some popcorn. Immediately two "Isms", Saltism and Butterism started telling me how to make it, but they disappeared when Nihilism entered the kitchen. One "Ism" remarked to me, "Disgusting, isn't it? All these 'Isms'... I bet they really don't believe what they're saying." I decided he was Cynicism.
Posessed with a bright idea, I asked around for Hedonism and was
told to look in the Jacuzzi. There's nothing like a hot bath.