There will come this moment when millennial humor loses the satire and what is left would be dark, vicious, and venomous.
There are things we laugh at on a daily basis that, outside of the comfort of our privacy, are subjects considered largely inappropriate to even bring up. After years of sparring with misfits, Aspergers, and the marginalized, we've agreed that we as a symbiotic system would only operate under the principle of "No Filter". The consequence with our applied understanding of this version of radical honesty is starting to take its toll (it has started to present itself long ago but was ignored in our complacency). We'd expressed with close to 90% accuracy of our transient thoughts - what is active in the foreground. "I don't think this is good enough", "This fucking sucks", "I want this", "You look awful in a suit, please consider firing your stylist", etc. The failure, which I think is entirely mine, lies in the fact that the thought process - programs running in the background - remains largely opaque, to us and to subjects with whom we wish to communicate. The "problem" at hand is therefore this a) undecipherable crypticness; b) heightened passive aggressivity. The former is the result of early conditioning (aka shit-tier parenting, or the complete lack thereof). The latter is conveniently a reverse anger management technique. From our experimental perspective, it never helped that people ask the wrong fucking questions most of the time, if not all. It is not in our interest to call people out in their stupidity, and we've been almost perfectly comfortable bathing in sarcasm as our primary defence mechanism. For the 50th time we've been called "spoiled brats" in a limited time frame, we sit back and sip our almond milk Chai Latte in silence, thinking that we've probably earned the title. "You're just a giant cunt," she commented. I should put that on my CV, I would say, that might improve my career prospect as someone who is eternally unimpressed. I would also like to hear someone say the word cunt in an Australian accent, just because. As a retort, I asked, "how's your thing with your Prince of Darknet going?" where she replied "his penis is scared of me". The only sane response to it all is simply: ayy. Not the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. For someone who simultaneously cares so much and so little, I honestly want only the best for her.
"Friendly advice? Maybe you really should fuck right off to China and die there," I said. I wanted to add "this isn't even your war" but I realised I didn't exactly know what that meant for myself.
She replied "idky" then went quiet.
That only means I have to do some heavy lifting on her behalf.
*****
