Wisdom of the Wokensphere

 As a Human Resources Professional, I ooze caring.  I am a proud member of the Municipality of Mitchieville's Human Resources Professional team.  Amongst the whale pod that is the Human Resources community, I am a reflective surface of virtue, diversity, and the rich, creamy goodness that is the sturdy timber of woken perspective.  This week's woke Wednesday wisdom is about a new lingo appearing in the petri dish of The Wokensphere.  

Bowel health is ... now ... an important part of the healthy breakfast of awareness of The Wokensphere.  The woke now embrace post-Patriarchy positions on roughage and eco-friendly fiber foods.  Gone are the racist stereotypes of The Supreme White Male telling some slave, whore, or beta about how good a bowl of bran is for their bowel.  In the past, The Wokensphere simply rejected everything from The Supreme White Male.  Of course, the result was an epidemic of constipation;  missed moments at mostly peaceful Blim events as activist whoever sat out the burning, breaking, and beating; instead, sitting on a toilet, sweating, squeezing, and choking on trace decay gases of tofu.  

The woke of the Wokensphere use coded language to summon bowel concepts.  If you are on the outside of the Wokensphere, you are well served to know.  

Firstly, the struggle between The Prunes faction, and the The Bran faction.  The outsider to The Wokensphere usually considers The Wokensphere to be a solid front.  In matters of the bowel, the woke are not solid.  They are a liquid, divided.  Squeezed into opposing belief shapes, the woke use their unnatural hair colors to signal support for prunes, or bran.  Color signals vary from community to community.  At the bus station in Mitchieville, electric pink hair means prunes; whereas electric green hair means bran.  

Secondly, recycling.  Certainly yesterday's issue, recycling is no longer at the thin leading edge of woken activism.  Mindless recycling rules that nobody but chumps follow are part of our new woken ways.  So, the word recycling is now a coded term.  The hysterical antics of a 'recycling' activist are now rational expressions of a tormented soul, whose digestive tract has been infiltrated by the concrete byproducts of green, fibreless, foodstuffs.  Their pain is real; but not on behalf of whatever Person of X they are activisting for.  No, that pinched expression, grey pallor, eyesight shifting to farsightedness, and premonitions of tidal waves on Lake Winnipeg, are but presentations of constipation.  

You can show you care, Happy Worker.  The lingering legacy of colonialism is the stagnant impacted feces, compounded and compounding, in the guts of the hysterical activist shouting about the lingering legacy of colonialism.  Demand for Justice for what's his name, is really a demand for a bran muffin and a bowl of prunes.  

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.  I care.