Well, here we are—living in the New Abnormal in the first world nations trying to figure out what to do with those little plastic tabs they put on milk cartons without being wasteful because God knows that even though “they” say “they” recycle things who really believes “they” are going to recycle those wee things?
Now, I know there’s all that stuff about nuclear war annihilation and doom and gloom out there but really… we can only manage what we have the power to control and these plastic tabs have been driving us crazy for years.
You’d think we could at least manage these things if nothing else.
Truth is, these little plastic tabs are gonna end up littering ocean tides in the Philippines being eaten inadvertently by the Long-Jawed Mackerel who will keel over and die which the media will exploit to convince us yet again the planet is dying from climate change.
Now, maybe the planet is dying from climate change but it certainly is NOT because of the Long-Jawed Mackerel which swim around with their large mouths open looking for food much like humans with jaws dropping at the price of food. The only difference being they get plankton and we get ramen noodles.
Obviously “we” will have to figure out a use for those little plastic tabs to save the planet because “they” certainly aren’t going to do it, now are they? We know this. We’re not complete fools. Except when it comes to elections and stuff. Then we’re blithering idiots driven by emotion and misery and media influencers. We’ve learned it is what “looks” good and not what “is” good that matters.
We know this because Boris Johnson was elected because he had wild hair and we were feeling wild at the time and Justin Trudeau has lost all sorts of popularity since he did his new look-at-me haircut. That much at least we’ve learned. These politicians in turn appoint like-minded diplomats and hire PR consultants and the rest is history… or the end of history maybe. Hard to tell at this point. However, I digress.
The important thing is the crickets. And the cockroaches. Oh, I know I’ve written about this before but it is the only thing of any real relevance in the world. I mean, to the common person in the first world who gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and does something in between.
Or maybe not.
“Doing something” all depends on where you are on the chart of demoralization and despair allotted to your particular country at this point in the Great Regret.
If you’re in the freezing to death/unemployed/civil war/famine stage of it all, you probably aren’t doing a darn thing but staring at the ceiling in a fit of existential angst. And eating chocolate Easter eggs in August fresh off the boats from China that have been sitting idle in harbours for about seven months.
But they were very cheap—for chocolate after all. And that matters.
But never mind all that. It’s about cricket consumption.
I know some of you might think the most pressing concern has nothing to do with crickets and is related to global climate, nuclear armageddon, wars, market meltdowns, civil unrest, gender confusions, racism, genocide, overpopulation, plagues and magnetosphere rollercoaster pole reversal solar flare minimum incoming asteroids and stuff, but really… We have to eat.
Now, I am very upset about the prospect of Sunday dinners with cockroaches. No, not the relatives, the main dish. I refuse to eat a cockroach. Or the milk of cockroaches which is apparently a thing. Or a cricket. Or a flat-faced long-horn beetle.
What kind of tasty gravy can you make to serve with a long-snouted weevil?
Oh the dilemma… I’m telling you, if we’re put in the position of having to survive on Spittlebug burgers then why are we even bothering to save the planet?
And it is all as if we were in charge of the world. We never were. But you know that.
The cockroaches, knowing they are the only beings that would survive nuclear war, have just been humouring us all this time. They are indubitably unpleased by the idea of being milked but since it takes 1000 cockroaches, delicate microsurgery and many many days to make 3.5 ounces of milk I’m absolutely certain they’re not that worried.
But then again, here in the New Abnormal maybe these high and mighty cockroaches shouldn’t be so very smug about not being cost-effective as a food source.
We humans have a way of choosing the hard way every single time. Like using hydrogen for fuel in Germany or paying farmers not to farm just before the famine starts or encouraging wars in foreign lands to interrupt microprocessor manufacturing.
It is almost like we “want” life to be difficult. (Or “they” do—whoever “they” are) It gives us something to complain about on YouTube and TikTok so we can feel we are part of the herd. We’re just not happy without something to complain about.
And we’ve got SO MUCH to complain about now—we couldn’t be happier.
However, that being said…. The eating cockroaches thing is the last straw.
Yet there is always hope. There is no doubt in my mind that once we’ve all become obedient slaves to the global system and hungry enough there will be plenty of people willing to milk cockroaches for a top up on their digital currency account. Which will of course be the turning point for the revolution to start.
Because you gotta know how far you’ve fallen in your Social Credit Score and how low it has to get before you find yourself working with a lactating roach, a magnifying glass and a miniature breast pump for a living. But never mind all that…