Just to prove that we suffer from a subset of the fallacy of relative privation (First World Problems), I hear people who made the leap to electric cars are now complaining they “miss the smell of petrol”.

The solution (apparently) is not to punch these idiots in the face. Ford listened, and partnered with a parfumier (or perhaps just fumier) to make ‘Mach-Eau’, a blend of benzaldehyde, paracresol, blue ginger, lavender, geranium and sandalwood to remind you how ‘real’ cars smells.

With the IPCC delivering its most dire climate change findings yet (summarized here: “We’re fucked!”) let’s hope Mach-Eau is as flammable as petrol, too. Then when e-Mustang owners burst into flames we can call it spontaneous humane combustion because culling these fools, honestly, that would be an act of pure altruism.

But where does the madness stop?

Cheugy as it seems, I miss being allowed to externalize my unrealistic body-size expectations. For example, each time I encounter some morbidly obese Chthuluesque horror, I have to suck it up and smile, all because of the whole “everybody is beautiful” bullshit narrative.

I know, so for us hapless monsters who miss the sight of healthy-looking people, maybe Ray-Ban could partner with Biggest Loser and develop a slim-o-matic lens that slenderises anyone I inadvertently oppress with my male gaze?

At least make them lose the gunt. I’d pay real, folding money for that.

Likewise, this dinosaur fondly recalls a time in the tar-pits when you could tell the sort of harmless gay joke that gay people would laugh at. For example, “Q: What did the polite homosexual man say to another at the bar? A: Mind if I push your stool in for you?” That’s still funny in 2021, but only gay people are allowed to tell it now.

As a foil to this uptightness, maybe we could buy an app that replays canned laughter from that Friends episode when Ross picks up a beer Carol drank straight from the can, and comments that he “should’ve known” she was a lesbian. You could mentally tell your inappropriate joke, then cue the app. Everybody wins!

When I grew up, my brother and I played “Cops and Robbers” a lot and I was always the cop. Always. Now nobody wants to play the cop, and we’re all cheering for the robber? So confusing. Plus, I didn’t know the ‘Bad Boys’ theme song from COPS was actually about the cops!

But now I get it. It’s called ‘satire’.


But this means we need to change the emergency number for when we’re getting robbed. Maybe have a social justice advocate on-call who can counsel the robbers not to kick me to death. Or at least provide pro-bono legal advice on how to sue my estate for damages if they hyperextend their stabbing elbow during the frenzied attack.

We could go on and on, but it’s past my bedtime and I need to curl up with my white privilege. Sweet dreams, people.

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