The Bad Influence Presents
Woke Culture is Killing Scott
Scott is in trouble. He needs your help.
Poor Scott can no longer face himself in the mornings. He woke one day and found he could never go back. He aches with political correctness gnawing at his bones. This much hated figure no longer feels the need to hide indoors.
Scott misses Scott.
He used to have certainty in his life. He used to be able to tell what was offensive and what wasn’t. He often tried his best to be as offensive as possible. He never realized that the good times had an end date.
Scott didn’t believe in any movement. He wasn’t on any crusade. He just felt it necessary to tell everybody how he felt. He knew that righteousness was on his side. Sometimes he felt the Lord’s finger prodding him. He prayed in a small local church who reinforced his views on women, love, prayer and all that’s holy in the world. He liked it when he got prodded hard.
Outside his local church community, the world were forming ugly views towards him. Scott didn’t understand why he could no longer compliment women on their attractiveness without a gentle slap on the bottom. In the past, nobody had said anything. They simply smiled and thanked him. Scott was equally confused when he put a loving arm around a female coworker. A gentle squeeze of reassurance. He’d often follow this with a small peck on the cheek. Again, nobody complained, the secretarial pool enjoyed this show of comradery.
Scott misses Scott.
He could recall the days when he referred to other humans as mankind. When boys were boys before everybody began denouncing their sex. He was consumed by the thought of walking into the wrong toilet and being accosted by a woman who may be a man but may be a woman wanting to be man. His brain hurt when he tried to unravel the ideals of binary gender. He would grab his penis for reassurance that he was all the man anyone could want. He was beginning to think of his penis as a problematic truncheon.
He was consumed by other non-pc thoughts.
He no longer knew who were the real terrorists. He suspected everybody. Nobody was safe. Islamic terrorists now identified as austere religious scholars. His friends who he met at the right party for the right crowd, were being labelled with crude monikers such as woman-hater, misogynist and abuser. When did being a straight, white male equate to being a nazi?
Poor Scott. He had become a relic overnight. Society had shifted. Moved house without him. He’d been left behind along with his wardrobe. All he wanted to do was belong.
He never asked to be woke. He had felt a growing resentment of people with each passing day. That no matter how many times he told the black people in his office he was no racist, they still wouldn’t believe him. Even when he painted his face on Martin Luther King Day to honor the legend, he received nothing but abuse and was told to go home.
What had he done to deserve such disrespect? Scott pondered on the course of his life and grew depressed.
Scott felt humiliated. There was no script for taking responsibility for advantages that he never asked for and that he couldn’t actually revoke. He was who he was. White. Male. Privileged. He was entitled to many things. That was his right. He had earned it.
But now he was no longer sure.
Please help Scott. Help him to find his old self.
Help him regain the old vigor.
Help him to never wake up.
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