In the year 10,422 when archaeologists sift through whatever is left of us, I hope they find Facebook. If they do, they’ll conclude that in the decade before the robots took over, we were a very angry and upset bunch of people. That we were exceptionally well-fed. And had a fondness for the funny things our pets did.
If they find Facebook.
Hopefully that’s a sufficient segue into the core content of this article. I, like you, have a Facebook account. You will not find mine because it’s as locked down as can be and whenever I have so much as a hint that it’s been compromised I delete it and start over again when I feel like it. Which is kind of how I treat Facebook. I visit when I feel like it and most times I don’t feel like it. Really, if I wanted people in my business I’d cut peepholes in my walls and post signs saying “look here to see Andrew’s ham sammich”.
I love me some ham sammiches by the way. You should send me some. It’s 4:21PM as I write this, the vacancy sign at Mister Belly’s is flashing, and Mister Andrew is too lazy to rectify the situation.
Anyway, a good friend of mine that is very much into the notion of publishing his life on Facebook for future archaeologists to find recently made a very tame Facebook post explaining why healthcare isn’t a right. The 55+ and counting responses will be among those archaeologists in 10,422 stumble upon and turn into a footnote in whatever document archaeologists put together that define ancient cultures so that Hollywood can make movies portraying those cultures as exceptionally violent and angry. (Talk about racist!) Those future explorers of our flotsam and jetsam will conclude that:
– As a people we were cool with people dying in the streets, although they’ll be perplexed to explain why no human remains can be found along our ancient roadways.
– The medical industry cared less about healing people and more about not going out of the business of helping the people they could.
– Obama must have been some kind of a God people in the early 2000s worshipped. There must have been some spiritual hierarchy that involved trouser creases and the ability to stutter and extend the word “and” to unnatural lengths that separated Obama from the rest of humanity.
– (I’m kicking myself for not quoting this particular Facebook comment word for word endorsing socialism as it was illustrative of how lunatic 2017’s left is.) Socialism makes things harder for everyone which in turn creates hardened individuals from which emerge hardened leaders who can fix things. (Yes, the left is praying for neo-Stalinism.)
So you get the idea. The same clap trap liberals have been spewing since Lyndon Baines Johnson was President dutifully wheeled out as visceral Hatebook, oops I meant Facebook, posts all because my friend stated a particular point of view. Since I’d been drinking beer all afternoon, for a split second I almost chimed in. Then I pulled back because a) a female Facebook friend that’s really into fitness and hiking in the southwest posted a picture as gorgeous for the landscape as it was for her form in spandex and b) because of pants.
That’s right. Pants.
If I lack pants, I’m about as cut-off from society as I am from another adult beverage around the time I’m convinced the other patrons in the bar can’t wait for me to drop in another $1.25 to play Hanson’s Mmmbop for the fifteenth time. If I don’t have pants I am more likely than an illegal immigrant to get busted for being a lone and free spirit. After all, I might simply be out in the buff with a stirring need to air things out while Juan with fourteen kids and a wife in Jalisco State might truly, honestly, be one step from death’s door if he can’t do jobs Americans won’t do in Vegas while Western Unioning his remittances back to Mexico tax free of course. Me with my stick and twigs dangling is an easier grab for the local PD than Juan is – I’d make for an easier report than Juan who would no doubt require volumes of local, state, and federal paperwork to facilitate his journey through America’s vast judicial system.
Racist. I know. I’m such a racist even though I once bought my mom African inspired wind chimes called “Knockla-vida”. That was a long time ago but I want to say we dined on okra soaked in Clinton-endorsed hot sauce that evening as the knockla-vidas clanked and clattered the way a wind chime in the Congo might. For real. We were sitting around the dinner table right outside a major North Carolina city and had to pinch ourselves to make sure we weren’t in Kinshasa thanks to those Knockla-vida wind chimes.
So very ethnic. And anyway, didn’t the very gay and liberal Elton John once amend his views on immigration when he sang “Suzie went and left us for some foreign guy” in Crocodile Rock?
Where were we?
If I had pants, this whole thing never would have gotten to where it is right now. Can I please get some pants? Via a government program designed to make sure I’m contained from ankle to waist, junk included chaps be damned? Why isn’t there such a program? Sure, healthcare is important. But I can’t access healthcare without pants. I can’t even walk into the local chain pharmacy store and check my blood pressure if I’m not wearing pants.
If healthcare is a right why are pants a luxury? Have we become so hardened to the idea of personal responsibility that we’ve become great pets for the largely anonymous apparatus of state, and ambivalent to the realization that the hardened hand of a neo-Stalin may await us in the future?
In 10,422 they know. What a shame we can’t see it when it’s right there in front of us.
Image: By Fahad Faisal – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38295258