Woke Ramblings of a Snowflake Libtard Father of Two About to Turn 43
Today, it’s May 8, 2023, and I’m wondering if I have the ability to post a recipe, or a prose-poem about doing laundry, or a shopping list, or a Mark Twain quote, or instructions for lighting a match or a stream-of-consciousness piece about what I’d like my obituary to be if I’m ever killed in a mass shooting at the mall, or at a concert, or the movie theatre, or watching “Newsies” at my children’s middle school, or taking a walk in my neighborhood without polarizing people.
I wonder if it’s possible to publish something on Medium without pissing somebody off, without starting a riot, without vitriolic comments, without people driving by my house and giving it (and, presumably, the human beings and dog inside) the middle finger.
“Some guy just drove by and flipped us off,” my eleven year old daughter commented, nonplussed.
“What kind of car was it?” I asked. We’re car people, so I knew she’d know.
“Oh,” I said, “okay.”
And then we made dinner. I used a recipe that will probably polarize, so I won’t post a link to it. Recipes can be very controversial and exposing children to them is child abuse. They should probably all be banned. After all, we should only be reading the Bible; everything else is heretical porn. Except, I think, for Ayn Rand books.
I turn 43 in a few dumb days; if I make it. These days — who knows? I’m not particularly looking forward to it. Maybe if I lived on some other planet, I would be, but here, I’m not. The gift I’m getting, though, is worth it. I’m divorced and my children will be sailing through the door at 5pm on my birthday, so that’s worth fighting through the week’s inanity to get to experience. I wonder how many mass shootings there will be from today until my birthday. I wonder how many times the words “DeSantis” and “Disney” will appear in headlines together during the course of my last days as a 42-year-old person-type-thing.
You’re so woke,
you’re so woke
you broke my yoke!