The Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted
I am continually fascinated by a species of American that exists almost entirely online. Scientists have not yet assigned it a proper Latin name, but I propose Homo keyboardius badassus. This creature spends its days posting cryptic warnings on social media.
“Do not leave me with no other choice.”
“They’re pushing us too far.”
“Violence on the right is a switch. Violence on the left is a dial.”
“You don’t want to see what happens when patriots finally get angry.”
The amazing thing is that these statements are always delivered by a person whose most recent accomplishment was (un)successfully arguing with a Comcast phone agent. Seven out of ten times they’re still paying that bullshit fee. These people talk like they’re one bad news cycle away from crossing the Rubicon, like they’re standing on the edge of history. In reality they’re standing in their kitchen eating shredded cheese directly out of the bag while composing comments on X.
Every year I hear that The People Are Reaching Their Breaking Point. Apparently America’s breaking point is made of military-grade titanium, because I have been hearing this for years.
Gas prices go up.
“This is it.”
[Nothing happens.]
Election goes the wrong way.
“This is it.”
[Nothing happens.]
Court ruling comes down.
“This is it.”
[Nothing happens.]
A corporation puts a rainbow on a product.
“This is REALLY it.”
[Nothing happens.]
The only thing that actually occurs is another six-hour comment thread featuring forty-seven men named Mike explaining what they would theoretically do if circumstances became sufficiently dramatic.
These people have been complaining about the NFL for six years, yet still watch football and buy their teams merchandise.
These people have been complaining about hollywood, yet still park their asses on the couch to watch TV. Many times, NFL games.
The modern political internet is full of people who talk like action heroes but behave like Yelp reviewers. The funniest part is the theatrical language.
“Do not leave me with nothing to lose.”
Buddy.
You have a mortgage.
You have three streaming subscriptions.
You have a 401(k).
You have lower back pain.
You are not a revolutionary. You are a middle-aged man waiting for the air fryer to finish.
And then there is the eternal promise that “the other side better be careful.”
Careful of what?
A strongly-worded meme?
A podcast appearance?
An angry post accompanied by an eagle GIF?
The reality is that Americans from the last 40 years are among the least revolutionary people who have ever existed. We complain constantly, but mostly because complaining is free and can be done from a recliner. And that’s probably a good thing.
Actual political violence is ugly. It is stupid. It destroys lives and accomplishes less than its supporters imagine. History is full of people who thought they were lighting the torch of liberty and instead wound up becoming footnotes in criminal proceedings.
Which brings us to my favorite category of internet genius: the man who publicly announces that he may someday commit crimes. This is a fascinating strategy.
Imagine a bank robber posting:
“Don’t push me. The bank has left me with no other options.”
Then spending six months providing timestamped evidence.
If you genuinely intended to do something illegal (and to be absolutely clear, you should not) you would not announce it to the world beforehand like a Marvel movie trailer. You certainly would not leave a searchable archive. Every public threat is essentially a love letter to future prosecutors.
The internet tough guy imagines himself as a wolf. What he actually resembles is a man carefully assembling Exhibit A. So whenever I see another post warning that unnamed forces are pushing unnamed patriots toward unspecified consequences, I experience exhaustion, because we’ve all seen this movie before.
The hero narrows his eyes. The music swells.
The camera zooms in.
He declares that he’s running out of options.
And then absolutely nothing happens.
Also, I hear your next comment. Save it. Before anyone accuses me of throwing stones from a glass house, let me be perfectly clear:
I am not exempt from any of this. I’m a coward. I have assembled a comfortable life for myself after living much of it in various levels of poverty. I’m not doing anything except writing angry letters, too.
If America ever descends into some apocalyptic hot civil war, I have no illusions about my role in it. I am not going to become some sexy girlbossed, leather-jacketed road warrior roaming the wastelands dispensing justice from a souped-up sportscar. I expect to be robbed, confused, dehydrated, and eventually shot by opportunistic idiots within the first twenty-five minutes. (Probably while trying to figure out why the Wi-Fi isn’t working.)
The same fate awaits many of the self-described badasses currently posting things like “They better not push us any further.” The average internet revolutionary possesses approximately three days of canned food, one month of confidence, and a shocking inability to jog up a flight of stairs.
Everyone imagines themselves as the protagonist in these scenarios. Very few people picture themselves as “Local Man Found Looting Convenience Store Before Being Immediately Eaten By Consequences.” The fantasy is always that history will finally call upon them to reveal their hidden greatness. History’s actual track record suggests it is more likely to reveal their hidden cholesterol.
You’re most likely to be the first person that dies in the horror movie, not the hero. So shut the hell up.
"If you genuinely intended to do something illegal (and to be absolutely clear, you should not) you would not announce it to the world beforehand..."
Yes. And if you're smart, you also won't declare that you'll never do that specific thing. You'll be completely silent on the subject.
I’ve never understood the point to a “SUPER BIG GULP” drink size name, the fatter you get, the more closed-off your esophagus is, so in theory, I’m thinking that the size name should be legally changed to “AN ASSLOAD MORE SMALLER GULPS, DEAR GOD, WE WOULDN’T WANT TO BE SUED FOR CHOKING A FAT GUY WITH A SUPER BIG GULP”.
See also: I’m recalling a former coworker who I discovered had exactly 6 and a half gun safes full of guns. Not sure why he pointed out that he had an additional half-safe full of them (or empty safe half-full of guns?).
I might have a loud boom stick or two around the premises here, so I do understand the basic premise of having one, and I might actually make loud noises with them, far far away from the house, but the list of possible scenarios that would arise where I would actually have to use one of those boom sticks in multiple-hole-punching mode are few and far between, so I was naturally intrigued as to what he and his batshit-crazy-and-equal-parts-terrifyingly-stupid wife (my wife actually employed this woman briefly, dear God) had to say about their massive gun collection, and what situation might arise where they would need that many guns.
“If things go down, we load up the travel trailer with all of our guns and ammunition (some 30,000 rounds apparently) and we can go hide somewhere. Or if there is some sort of standoff, we can easily hold them off at the house”.
You do realize that adding even 5 gun safes full of guns and even 20,000 rounds of celebratory-but-very-directional noisemakers adds a considerable amount of ballast to an otherwise-not-very-sturdy, two-axle travel trailer? And what happens if your not-very-well-armored tow vehicle and trailer are ambushed? Wouldn’t take much to stop a truck.
And in response to the “we’ll hunker down inside the house!”, do you have any sort of armor plating in the walls of the house, do you have an overbuilt basement, do you have some sort of bunker in the middle of your house somewhere that I’m not aware of?
“No. Why would we need that?”
Uh, because even four or five people standing outside your house could make your existence a questionable prospect if they began to suggest that small, pistol-launched, .40-caliber projectiles should begin whizzing through your the walls of your not-very-well-protected, stick-built castle.
See also: There’s also this thing where they can sit outside and make loud noises for hours, days upon end, and prevent you from getting any sleep. Both of you are in your early 60’s, how long can you stay awake?