“N” is for Nibbling!
Or Nothingness.
Or Nihilism.
The Nibbling Society
for Beefy Nihilism
Wearing whatever since 1871!
Greetings!
My name is Hector Klumpp, esteemed (or at least tolerated) President of the Nihilist Lites of America (NLA). For how much longer? Well, existential dread suggests not long. I’ve stirred up some controversy for my colleagues in the NLA, as well as many of my loyal students at NCCC, bless their world-weary souls. I thought taking on evaluating the Christian story through McKee‘s 8 stages of story would intrigue them. But it hasn’t. Did I, Hector Klumpp, bite into something that might now bite me back? Oh, almost certainly.
Here’s the straight skinny of how I fell into taking on the research that made this website.
It all began with my wife, Rosetta, the indomitable president of the Nibbling, MN Chamber of Commerce (NCC). Now, Rosetta is a force. She once won an argument against a customer service robot. She’s also a proud, card-carrying Beefy Nihilist, meaning she believes in nothing with a robust and terrifying enthusiasm.
So there she is, having her Friday morning coffee with her good friend Michelle, CEO of the Nibbling News Service (NNS). It’s Easter weekend of 2022. Michelle, newly minted as a Christian, is gushing about Good Friday, and my wife, in a rare moment of politeness, asks for details. Michelle, never one to undersell a story, delivers the whole dramatic account.
Now, if you think this is a story about my wife converting, you do not know my wife. Rosetta would sooner renounce cheese. And she loves cheese.
But that evening, as we prepared our Friday night omelets (an institution in the Klumpp household), I could tell something was amiss.
When I asked about it, she says, “At coffee with Michelle today, we talked about Good Friday.”
Since I knew her curiosity wasn’t in Christianity itself, I assumed this was about her relationship with Michelle. My deepest fears surfaced.
“Why did she have to go and become a Christian?! What if she turns into one of those bible-thumping zealots?”
This was, of course, a tactical comment, deployed purely to elicit one of Rosetta’s thunderous belly laughs. It worked. She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her whisk. Relieved, I joined in.
When she recovered, she shook her head, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I’m trying to imagine sweet Michelle as a bible-thumping Christian… oh my!”
Crisis averted. Or so I thought.
But, over dinner, Rosetta, ever the intellectual, laid out her actual concern. “It really wasn’t about the religious part. It was how, when Michelle told me the story of good Friday, it lined up eerily well with the ‘Crisis’ stage in good storytelling.”
As a professor and humble recipient of the student proclaimed title– “Story Guru, Jr.” (Robert McKee being the Senior) of Nibbling County Community College (NCCC)—I sat up. Now she had my attention.
“How so?”
Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. “The way Michelle described Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane… it sounded exactly like Shawn Coyne‘s ‘best bad choice’ moment in storytelling.”
Now, I’ve made a lifetime out of analyzing stories, so can you see why I love my wispy wife so?! She stirs me!
Sorry (but not sorry) for a little bunny trail here. I can’t resist! Here’s an example of ‘best bad choice’ Shawn Coyne gives:
“If I punch the guy back, I will lose my job. If I don’t punch the guy back, I’m going to be his bitch. Which one is worse?”
Here’s how Robert McKee puts it:
“A true story crisis forces a choice between irreconcilable goods or the lesser of two evils.”
— Robert McKee
Because for McKee, character is revealed by choice under pressure, just the crisis-like situation in the Garden of Gethsemane.
So, Rosetta’s comment got my gears turning. But before I could process it fully, the next night, at our usual Saturday dinner with our best friends, Clifford and Michelle Bean, the whole thing escalated.
When Rosetta brought it up, Clifford, a fellow devoted nihilist and one of the founding members of the NLA, was intrigued. Michelle, the former nihilist-lite-turned-Christian, was practically vibrating with excitement. And before I knew it, she had pulled a Bible out of her purse (apparently, her new friends advised her to carry it everywhere, which is either charming or terrifying, depending on how you look at it).
The four of us examined three different accounts of this Garden of Gethsemane scene, and to my growing horror, Rosetta was right—the crisis moment in this little story was structurally perfect.
Then, my ever-surprising, ever-intimidating, ever-curious wife, my brilliant Beefy Nihilist Butterball, leaned forward and inquired, “If we all agree that the crisis in the Christian story is compelling (assuming this is the crisis) could the whole Christian story be compelling?”
A silence fell over the room. A rare, weighty silence. If we three weren’t such devoted Nihilists, I would even say it was a silence fraught with meaning. As for the fourth, given the tomato shade of Michelle’s face, I might even guess she was holding her breath.
Then, in perfect unison, we three nihilists burst into laughter.
I, ever the drama king, threw my voice into a high falsetto to mimic my German great-grandmother: “Why, the idea!”
This sent us into further fits. Even Michelle, who was clearly hoping for some deep spiritual awakening in us, laughed along in good humor.
It could have ended there. Some days, I wish it had.
But Clifford, the idea man, the visionary, ever the troublemaker, had other plans. “Hector, you know story better than nearly anyone on the planet. Evaluate the Christian story, break it down and run it through McKee’s 8 stages of story. Then show us what you find at the NLA convention next year. You’re sure to prove the Christian story is lame, and that would be a goldmine for the NLA. I’ve got a feeling this could go viral, just like the NLA did.”
Knowing Clifford’s inner compass has proved right again and again, I groaned theatrically. Then, eyeing the Bible in Michelle’s lap, I said, “It would be akin to sifting through the entire works of Dickens. Twice.”
Then, from my wife: “But what if you did, Hector? My Beefy Nihilist Buddies would eat it up too.”
I knew she was right, and she let that irresistible grin slide across her lean face. And so, I sighed dramatically, threw up my hands, and declared, “Fine! Let’s do it!”
“Amen!” chimed in Michelle, grinning like she had just won something.
Then Clifford and I, being the last two Nihilist Lites in the room, stacked our hands like a football huddle and chanted our NLA mantra, “One for all! And all for nothing!”
Michelle, never missing a beat, offered me her bible with a teasing smile. “Here. You’re going to need this.”
With a “stop” hand, I closed my eyes, tilted my head away, and asked, “Is the bible is the best place to find the Christian story?“
She looked puzzled. “Well, where else are you going to find it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Well, here, take it,” she teased.
I recoiled further. “No, thank you, Michelle! Keep your Bible in your purse. We wouldn’t want people thinking I’d thrown my life away like you have, now would we?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You mean, found my life like I have?”
And that, dear reader, is how this website came to be. I did the work, revealed my discoveries at the annual NLA convention, and now you’re here, sifting through the wreckage. Welcome aboard. Grab an omelet.
Welcome to Nibbling 