This is what we did to you

Rachel Haywire

Dec 26, 2023

Today we have a post-Christmas guest post from the mysterious hepcat known only as C.J. Heath. Note that while we here at The Cultural Futurist don’t necessarily agree with the opinions of our contributors, we’re not going to denounce them in some pretentious intro bit while parading them around like token opposition. Instead, we’ll post a vague opening paragraph that virtue-signals freedom of speech, stating that while we don’t agree with their views we believe they are really important to share. C.J. has something to say. Do you want something to read?

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O Uncle Ted, how we missed you at the dinner table this Christmas. And the one before that. And the one before that as well. To honor your spirit, we stuffed a cornucopia full of paraffin and gasoline and shared it with all our friends and family. We stripped your image of its essence and made it go viral.

Memes, we called it.

If you’re confused, allow me to explain. You were our lucky winner, O Uncle Ted. We made you a concept virulent for swift and widespread distribution. We Henry Forded you. You’re everywhere on the street and none of your parts are functional.

O Uncle Ted, wroth and woe lay here betide my head as partners in bed, for I was there by your side when the ancient math was written, and though I am not a fed, I dread that I am among the few whose memory of the living dead still shriek inside an empty shrine. Hollowed be thy name. Sorrow be what’s mine.

Now speaking of the feds and the middle ages, they came up with this wonderful device, an actual fucking battering ram, and they call it, I shit you not, The Dong of Justice. Can you believe it? The dong dings both ways, do you understand? J. Edgar Hoover would be so proud of you. Now obviously the kids are just having fun — blowing off a bit of steam with their domestic siege engines. The Hoteps and Snowteps aren’t the real threat. They know that. We know that. Everyone knows that. What Uncle Sam truly fears is Uncle Ted.

It’s family drama.

O Uncle Ted, you didn’t speak of adolescent ideological frameworks or perform solipsistic and narcissistic vanity in your magnum esoterica. Such ideas couldn’t be latched onto by the wrong party and retrofitted with a battering dong. I mean look at you — you were once a square-jawed Harvard Chad, but instead of chasing the ladies you chose the math-path. That’s right, you chose schizophrenia. You moved out into the woods and stopped showering. Does that seem like vanity to you?

You don’t know? You’re confused? You’re still trying to make sense of this entire piece? Good. I want your faculties to be bludgeoned because I need you to be receptive to what I’m talking about. There’s a readily-visible movement called The Dissident Right. There’s a political function called The White House Correspondents Dinner. There’s a Hollywood tradition called Roasting. Every barb, every spear that you can craft and sling against The System has already been accounted for. Not only has it been accounted for, but this system manufactured the materials for your weapons and sold them to you at a premium.

Now remind me, what was the cost? Let’s crunch some numbers. Debt. Division. Addiction. Violence against thy neighbor (racism). Violence against political coherence (idpol). Violence against the subject-object relationship (post-modernism). Violence against class (corporatism). Violence against reflection (tribalism). Violence against reason (sensationalism). Violence against energy (productivity culture).  Violence against self (altruism). Violence against effective violence (misandry). Violence against life (misogyny). Violence against the future (education system).

If you’re a protestor, a dissident, a main character; if you wear a Che shirt or think of yourself as any kind of revolutionary or counter-revolutionary, you’re still just a poser waiting for your next dong hit. No one sees you as a passing threat. You’re not even important enough to be on a watchlist. You’re a jester in the court of the system you claim to oppose. So, here’s your Dong of Justice.

O Uncle Ted, I know that you’ll come back next Christmas. I know your meme energy will resurface like Coca-Cola. You’ll be ready for the next election. You’ll be ready for the next war. The most sincere acts of rebellion are still part of the show. We missed you so much.

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