A Eulogy To Common Sense

Once upon a time,

people spoke, people joked,

people disagreed, people moved on —

and nobody lost a kidney over it.

Now?

Now, the world is a live grenade

with a hair-trigger made of hurt feelings.

Being offended is the newest pandemic,

an Olympic sport for the unemployed ego —

no rules, no context,

just rage, rehearsed outrage,

and canceling existences in the name of activism, for seasoning.

It’s not enough anymore

to be wounded by your own scars.

No, sir.

You must now bleed

on behalf of strangers,

on behalf of gods,

on behalf of gods of strangers.

Picture this:

Two grown-ups,

talking, laughing, debating and resolving, like adults.

And voila —

from the sidelines,

a self-appointed Lieutenant General of Morality

erupts into acidic vomit, deeply offended at something not distantly related to them, uninvited.

Because these days,

eavesdropping isn't nosy — it's taking one for the team, 

overhearing isn't gossip — it's activism of the privileged, for the privileged, by the privileged.

Your joke?

Their trauma.

Your perspective?

Their war cry.

These self-appointed saviours don’t wait to be summoned

or even understand what was said, the premise, the context, the objectives.

The only prerequisite now

is to scream the loudest,

out-offend the others,

and crown themselves the Bestseller of Deranged Sensibilities.

We live in a world

where a howling bunch of pointless, pretentious randoms

think they are so important,

such undeniable is their greatness,

that even words not spoken to them

are personal attacks

on their non-existent thrones and deluded halos.

You thought adulthood meant mortgages, cholesterol, receding hairline, and taxes.

Turns out it means

walking on egg-shells for self-awareness,

negotiating with egos so fragile,

even bubble wrap screams and laments PTSD.

You thought free speech meant dialogue, 

You thought free speech means free to speak your mind without concerning yourself with the opinions of every nobody convinced they are a somebody.

Nah.

It means you are free to speak,

but only

as long as it has been pre-approved

by the Ministry of Manufactured Offense & Packaged Outrage.

You think words can heal.

They think words are a hate crime.

This is the next-generation world, that's what artificial intelligence and natural halfwits would say at least

Ask logic, sense and rationale, and they'll tell you

It's a democracy of professional dumbfucks

who cannot listen, cannot think,

but can sure as hell

rub the rust of reality check off their bruised egos, 

sharpen them and swing them like sledgehammers.

And somewhere,

in the corpse of what once used to be conversation,

lies common sense —

unclaimed, unnamed, unmourned.