A shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe clambers onto a street corner and because he is a shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe he brings an actual replica mid-century artisanal southern yellow pine soap box to stand on.

This set-up sounds like a joke.

It isn’t a joke.

It’s real.

But the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe does have a joke in-pocket:

-How many politicians does it take to screw up the country?

-Only one, if it’s the right one.

-But hey, let’s face it, they’ll all face the grand jury in the end.

The shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe ends his sentences with exclamation points, as is the wont of his order.

And the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe has a lot of modern things to bewail!

-Kids these days are attached to their phones like those people who have to wear external hearts in little backpacks!

He shouts.

-Drink orders in coffee houses are more complex and more well-considered than the correlating coffee house attendee’s political views!

He shouts.

-Politicians are all a bunch of costermongering creeps! They crawfish to the conceits of lobbyists and fat cats!

He shouts.

A man in a brown suit puts a nickel in the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe’s upturned bowler, which the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe had only really been wearing ironically in the first place.

Then…

The shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe clears his throat and draws a deep dramaturgical breath to signify his phasing into the second round of the enfilade.

-The media’s corrupt! It’s all a bunch of sensationalist, special interest bullshit and over-generalized Internet broadsiding! With no touch for policy nuance and no informational depth!

-Do you hear me!

He shouts.

Someone replies that they do, though in more indelicate terms.

Lightning round!

-Bush did 9/11!

-Hillary did Benghazi!

-Obama made ISIS!

(As if with LEGO, one presumes.)

-Jimmy Carter unleashed a horde of killer rabbits on an unsuspecting people for his own personal delight!

-Don’t you see!

-Don’t you see where we’re headed!

The shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe shouts.

-And it gets worse!

-I can see into the future!

-Re-flub-lican president Donald Trump, having stumbled ass-backwards into a presidency he chased like a dog does a car and then did not, when he got it, know what to do with it* accidentally fires nuclear-grade weapons at the peaceful island nation of Nauru, having mistaken the red nuclear weapon-firing button for the pussy of a woman on whom he wanted to anticipatorily advance!

(*Much alike a dog would not with its respective raison d’etre.)

-A mugwumping Trump refuses to show proper contrition, then hightails out of Newark on a brazenly-conspicuous aircraft; last seen in blurry photographs in Red Square, eating duty-free Cheez-Whiz out of the can, extolling his own virtues to all within earshot!

(He’s got the “best” words, says him. Though none of them are in Russian.)

-The ires of the G8 countries all (understandably) provoked, this sloe-eyed butterfinger of a mishap elicits swift and un-measured counter-attack: the ol’ USA’s infrastructure is fire-bombed back to pre-Columbian days in the dark months that follow!

-What then?

-I’ll tell you what then!

-Hilarious babies, with no YouTube to preen to, are forced to seek other lines of work!

-A shutdown of Snapchat sends a generation of self-obsessed young people into panicked, near-paralytic hysteria, their fragile systems experiencing dangerous low-tides of reassurance, which in turn pugmills their psyches into jealous, terrified, vainglorious catatonia!

-Blackouts at the Tinder corporate offices send newly sex-starved singles scuttling through the vacant streets, resorting to crude sign language in desperate attempts to attract a mate!

-Gourmet meals go cold and uneaten as phoneless Millenials hunt ceaselessly for a medium on which to immortalize their dinners!

-Brooklynites begin shaving with razor clams now that beards have re-entered mainstream fashion!

-Vegans in the post-apocalypse are seen trying to frantically rationalize cannibalism!

-Hoarse-voiced hipsters caravan the flattened cities, attempting to find one last x-junction aside which to perch their expensive soapboxes!

Just then, a pigeon: a piebald thing with a punk rock haircut and exposed ailerons and a scuzzy overall vibe, abandons its halal lunch and takes to the sky. As it burbles upward in spastic, bloated flight, the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe’s head cranes up, tracking the motion. The pigeon chandelles and, gathering speed, takes a huge, great, tour of the intersection. I mean, this thing is great. It’s very huge. It’s the best tour of the intersection. As this pigeon’s particular flight path reaches its apical point, the pigeon loosens its avian asshole and jettisons a white shit from its bomb-bay doors.

-The sky is falling! The shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe shouts.

“Care to elaborate?” Asks a passer-by.

-Elaborate?

-Elaborate! Asks, rhetorically, the shitty hipster sui generis beat poet wannabe.

-Brother, weren’t you listening? With all that’s going on in the world, how could anybody find the time?