The extremes I went to in order to hide my Liberal Elite membership
This time last year I joined an argument in a Facebook group and made the following point: “If this is a country founded on immigration, surely you are unpatriotic if you hate immigrants.” One reply shook me to my core:
“We are coming after you liberals with our pitchforks and fake news. We are trawling your social media and coming to your workplaces with our pitchforks”
With hindsight, my Facebook profile wasn’t locked down nearly well enough. The abuse escalated until I had been shouted down as the voice of the silent majority one too many times. I had to start fitting in better with this noisy section of society that I’d rubbed up the wrong way, otherwise my life would be unliveable.
My first step was to hire someone to mis-spell my Facebook posts. Surely the perfect way to blend in with trolls? Although misspelling immigrant by writing immugrunt works just fine, asking where to find the local Hole Foodz is a total giveaway.
The threat of pitchforks started playing on my mind. I had to play smarter so I started posting pictures of me with American flags. I went to public buildings, parades, flag societies, anywhere with the old red, white and blue. It was seen as a sarcastic move because apparently my face is sarcastic.
By this point the rabid right wingers had found out my home address and small changes were not enough. I needed to make changes to my life that were as drastic as the Trump shit-storm unleashed by the anti-liberals.
There was only one thing for it, gay conversion therapy. Too many people knew I was a gay man so I went to a weekend for “would-be womb groomers” and was told by a man named Chuck that if I prayed hard enough and paid him $2850, I would be straight.
Straight helped me for about two weeks and then my angular features and thick-rimmed glasses tripped me up again. Was it not enough that I had a finance called Beth who loved monster trucks? No. No it was not.
When I met my reconstructive surgeon, Dr Barratt, he said it would be a challenge to make me look like a “regular Joe” but when I got back onto Facebook and posted pictures of my new face kissing Beth’s people went wild for it. “Good on you homo — you’re one of the boys now” said Kevin Huntley, who had dropped out of school at 15 due to being a wanted violent offender. “We’re not ashamed to let you mix with our kids now” said Suzie, who had burned down her ex’s tool shed because he’d shown weakness and had a breakdown. “See you at tomorrow’s game” said Tim who looked like an angry country music singer.
And that’s where I tripped up again. I asked “which game?” and, of course, I should have known. Before long I was having death threats on Twitter plus co-workers at my new job in a Dick’s Sports Depot tried to run me down with a forklift — which I didn’t see coming because I was on the lookout for pitchforks not forklifts.
Last Thursday, while working in the depot, I noticed someone had dropped their ID. The face on the ID looked vaguely like the face Dr Barratt had given me but this face was called Aaron. I googled him and it turns out he was missing presumed dead after going to an open-carry line dancing event out of town. I took the chance to make a new life for myself.
If anyone asks, I’m a great line dancer and I shot every last one of the other dancers in self defence. I have never been a member of the librol elite — how could I be? I can’t even spell it. Also, does anyone have a corkscrew for this beer thing I’ve been given?
