Cappuccino and bile

Well, it’s finally happened. Inauguration Day just squelched straight in and kicked its muddy boots off right on the hearth rug, leaving Donald John Trump as the official, no bullshit, bona fide President of the United States. Given the endless mosaic of hysterical and, let’s be honest, completely unhinged rhetoric flashing across my computer screen at the moment, I’d half expected none of us would wake up at all the following morning.

And yet, here we all are. That’s one more for reality, and another big fat zero for cyberspace.

I guess the new Commander in Chief must be in a good mood right now; either that or he’s just too dumb to figure out what that big red button on his desk is actually for. I mean, they really do have that, right? They must do, because I keep hearing how the new lunatic in charge can just touch off a nuclear conflagration on a whim for absolutely no reason.

Personally, it makes me wonder just what all those advisors, Joint Chiefs, sub commanders and reams of nuclear release protocols are really for if Trump can just ignore them and do as he pleases. Maybe it’s a kind of jobs for the boys scheme. You know the score, make ‘em look busy while the shadow state continues the endless, terrifying and yet utterly invisible de-facto dictatorship of the Military Industrial Complex. Or something like that.

With the yawn-inducing predictability of the so-called creative class, Hollywood millionaires and internet billionaire tax dodgers have issued their collective cry that now is the time for the people to resist the outcome of the democratic process. I guess these must be the same racists and deplorables who rejected the piercing insight and sage advice of their betters in the first place.

But that cry of insurrection has been answered from the cosseted safety of pretentiously named coffee shops across the civilised world. Action this day, as some dead white aristocrat once said. No time to enjoy that over-priced, over-complicated twattachino, with its little melty feel-good Fairtrade chocolate twizzle. The world needs your profound wisdom and insight right now, or at least as soon as you’ve moved to that vacant window seat to let impressionable shoppers and cruising muggers check out your shiny new MacBook. You’re clearly someone who should be listened to. After all, you look the part, and that distressed hipster laptop bag didn’t come cheap.

So, the first order of business for the coming coffee house revolution is to change your profile picture to something profound and meaningful – maybe a George Orwell quote from a book you’ve never read. On the other hand, Trump’s head on Hitler’s body always gets a lot of likes.

Nothing shows your complete grasp of power politics and current affairs like repeatedly calling the US head of state a Sicilian revolutionary democrat. All your friends are doing it, and they’re really popular. Seriously, you guys are like monkeys with faeces when it comes to the F-word. Maybe you should try another approach to make your point, because in truth, nothing says ill-informed, pretentious, attention-seeking twat quite like directly comparing a rather boorish elected leader with some of history’s most notorious mass murderers.

Now don’t get me wrong. I can appreciate that many people are facing 2017 with a sense of profound disappointment and unease. I understand that because you’ve told me…constantly…every time I fire up my computer, look at the TV or even ride a fucking bus to work. I’m beginning to feel like I’m trapped inside some kind of warped virtual reality experiment, a pinch-faced and humourless version of the Truman Show where the season will never end. There seems to be no escape from the constant background drone of contrived hand-wringing and pathological virtue signalling.

Unfortunately for you guys out there in cyberspace, the brutal truth behind all that oh-so-earnest mocha flavoured meme posting is the fervent belief that you’re not alone in this world, but you might as well be for all the bloody good you’re doing and the minds you’re changing.

Seriously, have any of you keyboard slacktivists ever stopped to wonder how many people are even seeing that comically authoritarian, anti-capitalist slogan you’ve just reposted from behind that layer of barista induced condensation?

Nobody’s listening.

Tell you what, just stop for a moment, take your heads from out of your arses and take a good look around. You’re preaching to the choir in an empty church, and you probably have been for months or maybe even years now.

I know you don’t want to hear the truth, but we’ve had it up to here with your endless moralising! Your constant bitter whining, virtue signalling, finger wagging and hectoring has already alienated nearly everybody you know, especially in cyberspace. I’m willing to bet that at least 75% of those 1,500 Facebook friends of yours have already unfollowed you, and I can promise that the rest have started glancing at the exit.

Take a scroll back through your own feeds and ask yourself why the hell anyone should take you seriously. Half the time you can’t even decide what’s important to you, so why should anybody else care?

This week it’s the obvious comparison between Trump’s lawful inauguration and the 9/11 attacks. I mean, the resemblances are quite striking and…oh wait, no they’re not, and all you’ve achieved is to deliver proof positive that you’re just another self-appointed talking head who’s prone to bouts of hysterical overreaction.

Now it’s 76% who’ve unfollowed you.

What will be the burning issue next week, I wonder? What piece of carefully choreographed poverty porn will you have a hard on for then? Or don’t you yet know because your ever shrinking peer group hasn’t got around to issuing instructions yet?

I’ll tell you what, I’m glad I’m well out of it. After all, it must really suck to be you. Always outraged, always upset and constantly fearful, while the rest of us just blithely carry on doing jobs, making money, raising families and building reasonably stable, reasonably safe societies like the good, reliable, unquestioning little drones you so often denounce us as.

I don’t envy you, living with a constant fear of impending disaster gnawing away at your consciousness, like that toxic mix of cappuccino and bile sloshing around inside of you. No wonder record numbers of you are depressed and on medication. If I was feeling especially mischievous, I might suggest that you’ve willingly become the compliant zombie slaves of big pharma, but I learned long ago that you can’t take a joke. Besides, it’s uncivilised to mock the afflicted.

But don’t worry, because help is at hand, so listen up. Here’s a homemade, 100% natural, drug free and easily accessible remedy for your sorry situation. Why don’t you do yourself, and everyone else a favour and just be quiet for a fortnight? Seriously, you might learn all manner of new and interesting things if you just shut the hell up and listen instead of lecturing constantly.

Now I’ll be the first to admit this is not an entirely risk free strategy. There is an increased likelihood of coming face-to-face with the stark realisation that your expensive social studies course has not in fact furnished you with some special, magical understanding of everything that’s wrong with this world. I suppose you’re deserving of sympathy, or you would be if you weren’t so goddamn self-righteous and just plain irritating.

Anyway, I’m outta here. Gotta go to work, and I’m sure you have a street poetry collective or something to go to. That is, if the local authority hasn’t finally pulled the funding and spent it on roads or social care, or something else that the oppressed proletariat you claim to represent and yet clearly hate might actually give a toss about.

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