If ever there was a word that fit a man, bloviation fits Plumpkins: to speak pompously. This word fits him like hand in glove, like gross on garbage, like weird on Gaga, like points on Calvin, like Demi and Ashton links on a French cuffs.

Even the simplest skimming of his blog makes one things absolutely clear-he loves to hear himself talk, and he loves to hear himself talk down to others. Note any “response” by Plumpkins and quite a large number of comments he has plastered on various websites, and you will see he is a firm believer in the writing philosophy, “Never use one word when fifty will do.”

Earlier this month a fellow named William Birch wrote a 1,308 word rejoinder to Gerald Harris’ Christian Index article. Birch countered Harris’ “The Calvinists are coming” with “The Calvinists have been here…” Plumpkins took a personal offense to the critique of his new hero, thus a two part “response” to Birch. The first topped 2,130 words (including his overblown, condescending footnotes), and the second was nearly 1,600 words. More than 3,700 words to respond to a 1,300 word post. Nearly 300% more words to rebut a person with whom Plumpkins is in ostensible theological agreement? Birch is an Armenian, not a Calvinist.

In at least these two posts, Plumpkins develops a love affair with variations of the word “gratuitious.” He believes “Birch’s piece is the gratuitous approach,” “Birch’s gratuity aside,” “Birch falsely and gratuitously observes,” “Birch’s unsubstantiated gratuitous presumption,” and “Birch’s gratuitous assumption.” The problem is, quoting Inigo to Vizzini in The Princess Bride, “I do not think that word means what you think it means.”

Reading Plumpkins is like reading someone who was first in line for opening day at an overused adjective and adverb sale.

For those who care to look at his drivel, note the superlatives that he heaps on those with whom he agrees, and the denigrating terms-like those used on William Birch-with those who he disagrees. It’s easy to see and no one should fall for it. Peter admits he has a bias, though such an admission is hardly necessary.

In the end, Plumpkins is able to convince the easily impressed readers he has that he’s making sense by virtue of his stringing together descriptors that sound learned, but reading him is like eating marshmallows instead of steak. Or to borrow the descriptive words of C. S. Lewis, one who enjoys Plumpkins is “like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”

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