It's Consequence Culture, not Cancel Culture!
If I cared to accurately place a number on the number of cell clumps I’ve gone all grapefruit spoon and Dyson Wind Tunnel to evacuate from the festering wasteland that comprises my womb, I’d have to break out my diary and abacus. Just know that it’s a lot. I’m on a first name basis with the fine ladies at Planned Parenthood and my third punch card is close to full. Their office is clear across town and I no longer need to use my GPS to get there. Serves those nasty clumps right for taking up accommodations after I have careless and anonymous sex with disappointing and unworthy partners. Your seed shall find no purchase here, Ye Dylan of the Xanax Addiction, hailing out of Tinderland; a mere forty leagues from the Land of Meaningful Relationships.
I’ve scraped out every fetus with the audacity but still have unfulfilled maternal instincts. You know what that means for the lot of you? It means you’re my children. That’s right, so-called Greatest Generation. Millennials will be taking that mantle, even if you do mind. Yeah, you stopped that horrible straight white man and his Gestapo, but what have you done for me lately? That’s right, silent generation. Do what your name says and stay silent. That’s right, racist baby boomers. Do us all a favor and put a sock in all those Karens over sixty with their pear-shaped bodies and suspiciously non-graying hair. That’s right, Gen Xers who raised me and my ilk in homes without consequences. Don’t bother taking your flannel shirts and baggy jeans to the Salvation Army. Those are never coming back in style. That’s right, Gen Z’s. Sit back and cope with your crippling anxiety as you reflect on the seemingly impossible fact that you’re even softer than millennials.
Before you’re all forcefully adopted as my fix-it project, a little bit about me. It’ll do you some good and feed my unchecked narcissism at the same time (so, win-win). I live in a 4 x 4 studio apartment in Brooklyn, for which my dad pays a sum of money my degree in Transcendental Dance Meditation Cognition Interruption will never pay out. I have to strap myself to the wall in order to sleep standing up without crumpling into an off-putting heap of human contortion. I wake up to a strict regimen involving an hour’s worth of popping my knees (they’re prone to lock up), then slapping my feet and calves to get the blood flowing again.
After changing the world with no less than one hundred hashtags and comment thread insults, I feed and emotionally reassure my eight cats as I compost their leavings, then intensely flush out my nasal cavities in the vain hope I’ll someday be able to use them again. I’d call myself a cat mom if everything about being and even saying the word “mom” wasn’t so gross and triggering to me. In my free time I watch TCM—when it’s not too traumatizing—cataloguing racist and problematic elements, then sending preachy emails to the network’s executives about doing better. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were out of a job tomorrow” is one of my sup’ fav’ threats to use.
This is a side hobby that actually leaves the world cleaner and better than I found it. You’re welcome, future snowflakes. Enjoy the bland and inoffensive movies headed to a virtual streaming headset near you. As I’m sure you’ll all agree, I make good financial, personal, and professional decisions with the life earth goddess bequeathed me.
I’m more than qualified to be y’all’s birthing parent and impose consequences when you step out of line because I said I was and I can be anything my brain says I can be even when I’m something one day and the opposite thing the next. Say something on Twitter supporting Dotard Trumpster fire? Aaaand BOOM! go the consequences. I’ll harass your employer with so many calls you’ll be out of a job before you’ve checked the clock to see how close lunch break is. Disagree with me about black people being unable to handle racist math? KAPOW! Lawsuit and smear campaign courtesy of the Southern Poverty Law Center. Boycott the NFL because Kaepernick took a knee? RIGHT TACTIC, WRONG TARGET! Your reward is a six-week reeducation course ministered by yours truly on only canceling those befitting a good canceling. Be on the wrong side of history when it comes to religious practice and free speech I’ve personally labeled as hate? ZARK! AOC will personally hit you up with those crazy eyes and demon stare that can melt the paint on that wall behind you and everything in between. Be a black person attacking an Asian in the streets of New York? FLANGE! Chalk it up to white supremacy. Be a democrat or Canadian Prime Minister in blackface from a college photo? EMOTIONALLY MEASURED RESPONSE! That’ll be reviewed, ignored, swept under the rug, explained away, spun, and summarily forgiven on a case-by-case basis.
There are too many Fox News cucks out there I’ve never met, will never meet, and who will never affect me personally. I can’t stomach the thought of them continuing to make a living and feeding their kids and it’s high time we do something about it this time, because time’s up. Another word for this concept is “justice”. Look it up and then throw away your dictionary. Only definitions I arbitrarily create in fits of wild rage are what matters. Chew on that and see if it agrees with you. If it doesn’t, I’ll doxx you like it’s hot, doxx you like it’s haaawwwt.
Sooner rather than later, overweight, dumpy guys in masks with no discernible employability or upward direction in life will show you what a fascist you are by throwing bricks through your windows and cocktails of the Molotov variety at your lovely wife and children. “Mission accomplished, Patriarchy pegged” is what I call that right there, son. Bag ‘em and tag ‘em, boys. Let’s catch the next whirlybird home and spout additional wartime jargon at each other on the way.
I’m woke, and that means something. Words mean nothing nowadays unless I say they mean something. In that case, pull the secretly-gay-for-Adam-Tate out of your ears and pay attention. Woke means enlightenment. I’m racially, socially, politically, and factually enlightened and wise enough to know I have to go around telling everyone just how enlightened I am. More screaming than just telling, yes, but the insufferable screaming shows you just how right I feel I am, and therefore am. It’s a little matter called science. Don’t deny it. I’m woke and morally superior to you. A few years of berating and condescending to you in a highhanded manner should just about do the trick to turning you into a better person. Are you ready to begin, you fat, stupid, ugly, white, prejudiced, idiots-for-Jesus? (hint: we’ve already begun) And stop taking yourself so seriously. Only I am allowed to do that and I am the only person who doesn’t look totally ridiculous when I do that.
Long ago, I sold myself the fact that everything and everyone that came before me was and is racist. Everyone older and younger than me is now my child. I don’t care what you have to say on the matter. Facts don’t care about my feelings, but they better frickin’ bow the knee to them if’n they know what’s good for ‘em. A man with an experience is always at the mercy of a woman with an idea. Having wrestled reality to the ground then kicked, bit, screamed, and pulled its hair until it submitted, I am free to define it as I please, as is everyone of my ilk who have the right and true opinions about this country. That’s what the 1st Amendment actually means. It’s frankly amazing (and a little tiring) that I have to keep explaining this to you.
We; the Woke of the world, hereby declare our supremacy. We are mostly white, yes, but don’t misconstrue said declaration as white supremacy. We are the only friend non-whites have and they need us to be their savior in this world. Don’t misconstrue the last sentence as a white savior men…you get the point. Now that we have whined and screeched our way to a little bit of power and influence, you can all go sit in the corner until we’ve decided what’s to be done with you.
Image taken from:
https://images.app.goo.gl/7tLeXgcWhLtxHrNS8
