Once, during a time of great moral trepidation and tribulation for the middle and upper middle classes, which is to say a period of difficulty in making enough money to feel righteous, conservatives decided they had had enough. A great creaking cry went up from a multitude of easy chairs as they began to shift uneasily from buttock to buttock in unison. Indeed, many of them had grown so physically substantial, perhaps as metaphorical expression of their substantial philosophical efforts on the subject of getting more money, that their easy chairs gave way under the onslaught. The movement immediately took casualties of between one and two percent.
After a mere fifteen years of this creaking cacophony, the Great and Hated Enemy (whom conservatives dared not identify correctly as a matter of internal optics), took advantage of the crisis by making it illegal for white men to eat food. The Enemy’s most optimistic plans had come to fruition, yet they did not give due credit to the conservative thought leaders for their upstanding virtue in never standing up for themselves particularly (or anyone generally, as sitting was considered more principled). This was the last straw for conservatives. They began to rise.
Slowly, with a gasping effort of will, they stood upon their emaciated feet to go ask for the manager of the power process and politely but firmly hand him a printout of their collected essays. Gluteal muscles strained. Hearts, panicked at the unexpected stimulus, beat at 230 beats per minute to push under-oxygenated blood through a congealed mucus membrane of cholesterol and plastic carcinogens. Another fifteen percent of the movement was lost to heart failure and pulled hamstrings. This event was later referred to as “The Second Battle of Waterloo” on account of the widespread incontinence experienced by the modern warriors, and the names of these men are often recited by schoolchildren today at Normandy in remembrance of their sacrifice.
Having arisen, conservatives were faced with the prospect of walking. This being out of fashion, a goodly many columns were written back and forth on whether walking could be considered an act of willful rebellion against God, with the “anti” faction arguing that if something were meant to be in arm’s reach He would have moved heaven and earth to put it there. The “pro” faction argued that Jesus himself did quite a bit of walking, for which the “anti” crowd chastised their hubris in equating themselves to the Son of God. But the “pro” crowd won the greater support with a rhetorical appeal to “walking with God”, with the ultimate result being a large number of editorials from both sides boasting about how standing desks had revolutionized their writing output.
To be continued…