Life As A Progressive

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Day One: Something terrible happened. I awoke from a long slumber to discover that every conservative and libertarian had left the planet. Somehow I had been overlooked. I had been forgotten. This was a most horrible thing. Progressives were in control; they had gotten their way and transformed the world into what they had been pining for all along.

First thing I noticed was no sweet aroma from fried bacon wafting from the kitchen. It was wrong to have our fellow creatures, the pigs, give up their lives for our selfish appetites. I walked into the kitchen and the only thing available for me to eat was a small earthenware bowl half full of some sort of herbs. There was a label on the bowl that said, “Picked fresh this morning by a white person of European descent, preferably northern European descent. They’re the bad guys.”

I looked closer… “Also, made with no harm done to animals or to Gaia or to any living being. No chemicals or dyes or PCP’s or MFG’s or ROFL’s… “ and the list went on. I threw the herbs into the trash – well, no, there was no trash – where was the trashcan? Then I noticed the two bins against the wall, one bin for recycling and one for compost. Trash was forbidden.

But what of the herbs? I wondered to myself. Were they not living beings? I saw another label wadded up in the compost bin. It was the wrapping in which the precious herbs had arrived. “Please unwrap and enjoy. Grown locally without pesticides or herbicides. All herbs were allowed free range, were not planted in rows, or subjected to any pain or suffering while being grown. Each plant was apologized to during picking, in case it had a soul.”

Plants have souls? Do pigs have souls? (I was really craving some bacon). Why can I eat the herbs but not the pigs? Is it because pigs look more like humans? What about fish? Can I eat fish? Insects? Do vegans eat insects? My mind reeled.

I felt so unworthy. I looked in the refrigerator. No meat, none of any kind. No eggs. No milk. What used to be labeled as the “Meat” tray was now called the “How Could You Even Think of Eating Another Living Thing, You Bastard!” tray. Lots of labels on Progressive Planet.

“Wow,” I whispered to myself. “These progressives have really made progress!” So, I wondered, what besides an herb doesn’t have a soul so that I may eat it? Perhaps I am not supposed to eat. Perhaps I am not supposed to eat anything at all, or build anything, or use anything. Perhaps I was created to just sit in my energy efficient house and waste the time away thinking thoughts of equality and social justice. Wait! I forgot. I wasn’t created. I just came about, evolved by chance from some primordial goo splashed onto a chunk of rock thrown off from the big explosion way back when. What was I thinking?

I tried to think proper progressive thought: If I get hungry I just suffer. Who am I to judge animals as worthy of consumption? If I get thirsty, I must find a mountain stream so as not to deplete the precious aquifer beneath me. If I get tired, I must lay my head upon a hard floor made of recycled old growth trees. If I need to go to the bathroom, I must flush with a thimbleful of water.

I looked at the clock, which of course was powered by solar energy. It was time to leave for work, but looking outside I couldn’t find my car. In its place was a contraption made of plastic so small I could not get into it without the flexibility of a toddler. It didn’t run on gas, but rather on some hybrid fuel mix made from corn mash and mixed bluestem grasses native to the area. Every gasp of exhaust was captured into a little nonferrous metal cylinder. It got 422 miles to the gallon, as required by an executive order of our Dear Leader. Top speed was seven miles per hour on a downhill grade.

On my commute, I noticed every spare acre of ground on the face of the earth was whiskered with windmills. I felt so much better about our collective place in the universe. I thought of the conservatives over on their planet. If they could only look through a giant telescope and see us now.

At work, we had to file our reports and conduct our meetings in the dark. No lights were allowed. No one was allowed to yell or scream or utter a personal belief or look sideways or touch anyone or express an opinion of any kind, or be taller than anyone else.

Once, around 2:00 in the afternoon, a difficult math problem crossed my desk… well, (I read the label), my “not-built-by anyone-making-less-than-a-living-wage, constructed-from-fully-recycled-fully-biodegradable-in-50-seconds-materials, not-harvested-from-any-oil-producing-country” thing that kind of looked like a desk. I didn’t know how to do the math problem and my calculator wasn’t working, since who’s to say base 10 math is better than any other kind of math… so I was stumped. I looked around; the closest coworker I could see in the dark was an Asian fellow. I asked him for help with the problem.

Immediately, sirens went off (pre-adjusted sirens at the previously approved decibel level), and several voices came over the loudspeaker. I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. I came to understand later that every official pronouncement had to be made in every language known to man, and woman, and anyone confused about their gender, because who’s to say English is best? Soon, security guards surrounded me. They pulled out rubber band guns and pointed them at me.

“Why did you ask him for help with that math problem? Is it because he’s Asian?” I though fast. I sure didn’t like those rubber band guns being pointed at me. “No, that is not the reason I asked him. I asked him because I think he’s an atheist, and I know that atheists are the most evolved and most nonjudgmental people. Plus, I’m an illegal immigrant, and I’m not really white; this is just a pigmentation disease on my skin.” Reassured, they lowered their weapons and left.

Later, I was called into the main office to see… well, the person we used to call the boss. The sign over the door read, “Humble Facilitator Partner Coach Fellow Journeyperson.” I had never been called into the Humble Facilitator Partner Coach Fellow Journeyperson’s office before, and I was pretty rattled. Sitting before me, at a desk… well, kind of like a desk, was a person, not white or black, but gray, with both male and female features, wearing a type of multicultural dashiki. Above the desk was a large poster, “Believe in Nothing.”

I stood before the person at the sort of desk.

“John Wilson, correct?”

“Indeed, if a statement can be qualified as being correct, but who’s to judge?”

“Well said,” the person responded.

I stared ahead.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Can anyone know why he, or she, or it, is here?” I asked. “I apologize for putting ‘he’ before ‘she’.”

“Well said.”

I stared ahead.

“Why do you think you are here?”

“Where is here?” I asked.

“Well said.”

I stared ahead.

“All is equal,” the person continued. “All is fair. Men sew and women fight.”

I stared ahead.

“Do you agree?” the person asked.

“I can make no value judgment, Humble Facilitator Partner Coach Fellow Journeyperson,” I stammered. “Who am I to say what is true or false?”

“Well said.”

“All is nothing, and nothing is all,” I continued.

“Well said.”

“Good is evil and evil is good.”

“Well said.”

I went for broke. “Everyone smokes dope and does yoga and listens to hip music, and no one judges anyone else or opens doors for anyone else, and men can marry other men, or animals, or whomever or whatever they want!”

I was on a roll.

“Oh yeah,” I went on, “and pigs, and asparagus, and all living things have souls, and no one should wear fur…. and everyone should be gay.”

“Excellent, John Wilson! Excellent! There is hope for you yet… “

“Hold on!” I interrupted. “Babies in utero have souls too…. and being gay is a sin.”

The Humble Facilitator Partner Coach Fellow Journeyperson’s smile quickly disappeared.

My true conservative colors, common sense in a normal world, had come out.

Long story short, I was fired for the last statement. Indeed, tolerance had raged for so long that not only was being gay acceptable and celebrated, it had become expected. And babies in utero couldn’t have souls because… because that would make abortion (gasp)… murder.

So, as I say, I was fired, though in a truly equitable world the Humble Facilitator Partner Coach Fellow Journeyperson would have no authority to tell me anything.

On the way home in my little half of a car, it hit me. In the land of progressive nirvana, in the dreamed of utopia of utopias, all life is precious and unique except that of human life… the opposite of what Scripture says.

I immediately went into my garage, grilled a steak I found in an old freezer, drank a big glass of tap water, even pouring some on the ground, and started building a spaceship to take me far, far away.

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7 Responses to Life As A Progressive

  1. vinod says:

    This a very racist and ignorant commentary

    Like

    • It’s satire. It’s allowed. It’s no more racist and ignorant than the rantings and ravings I read everyday on Facebook and other social media sites about Christians and anyone else who doesn’t adore Obama, his family, his beliefs, his agenda, and his administration.

      Like

    • charles kevin sebastian mclaughlin says:

      you are being too judgmental.

      Like

  2. trlee says:

    Writing is an art form and no one can criticize art as it is free expression. They can disagree if
    there is a point of disagreement. When two people agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary. But not both. So, here, both are necessary. Both are coming from different experience, or points of view. Own your feelings and respect the other. Try to put yourself
    in their place. Gain empathy by allowing yourself to experience someone else’s pain.

    Like

  3. hugh prestwood says:

    Loved it. Far too true for progressives to swallow.

    Like

  4. Christiane says:

    I couldn’t refrain from commenting. Well written!

    Like

  5. Dhimmi Jean says:

    This was absolutely hilarious. I loved it.

    Like

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