In the labyrinthine corridors of social media, where logic’s often an afterthought and the line between the ersatz 2023 version of Gen-X irony and the earnest selling of the social self-blurs, the Movie Bob-shaped, neckbeard-sporting Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) Guy primes his stubby, vegan tendie-greased fingers to take the virtual stage. His posts, existential monologues dripping with marketing-inflected nihilism, constitute a worthy pastiche of the perennial musings on morality, identity, and the human condition of the great philosophers. As he delves into the conundrum of human actions and their ethical implications, he takes the audience on a roller coaster of normative reflections, closing with an absurd—but poignant—metaphor.
DSA Guy kicks off his monologue by challenging the audience's understanding of identity. "You think you're queer? I'm going to tell you something: we're all queer," he asserts. It's as though he's debunking the notion that “queerness” is a siloed concept, accessible only to those who conform to a particular sexual orientation or gender expression. Instead, he implies a universal queerness that undercuts normative assumptions and expands the realm of the possible.
DSA Guy also shatters the veneer of “middle-class morality,” saying, "You think you're a thief? So what? You get befuddled by a middle-class morality? Get shut of it. Shut it out." The assumption here is that conventional morality—dictated by societal norms and often perpetuated by the bourgeoisie—is a stifling framework that unjustly categorizes people. Whether you're a thief or you cheat on your spouse, DSA Guy argues that you shouldn't be confined by these moral norms.
Transitioning from the fluidity of identities, DSA Guy dives into the heart of ethics and morality, raising questions that philosophers have pondered for centuries: Is there such a thing as “absolute morality”? Do “bad people” go to hell?
He skeptically approaches the notion of an absolute moral code, saying, "And then what? If you think there is, go ahead, be that thing." It's as if he's prompting us to acknowledge that morality is a social construct—malleable and subjective, like a ball of silly putty that can be applied to a page from a newspaper to make an imprint of the text. If you believe in an unchanging moral compass, he essentially tells you to act accordingly, but leaves the validity of such a compass unresolved.
This posting-Left dialogue then veers toward the concept of hell, both metaphorical and literal. "Bad people go to hell? I don't think so. If you think that, act that way. A hell exists on earth? Yes. I won't live in it. That's me," DSA Guy states. He suggests that hell isn’t necessarily a destination for the “'wicked,” but can exist here on Earth, manifesting as the suffering people experience. His refusal to "live in it" underlines a commitment to reject despair, despite the existential questions that plague him.
In a departure from his weighty discourse, DSA Guy wraps up his thought-provoking monologue with an unexpected query: "You ever take a dump made you feel like you'd just slept for twelve hours?" On the surface, the @dril-like question appears ludicrous, a stark contrast to the existential dialogue that precedes it. However, it serves as an apt metaphor for the human experience—sometimes absurd, often confusing, but occasionally marked by fleeting moments of sublime clarity or relief.
The DSA Guy's digital soliloquy—one among billions destined to remain forever “out of cite” and thus out to sea amidst the choppy waves of the takeconomy—serves as an epitome of the modern struggle with ideology, morality, and identity. He refuses to adhere to societal norms and questions the traditional narratives that often dictate human behavior. By closing his dialogue with a seemingly absurd metaphor, he highlights the irony and complexity of life—a tapestry woven from conflicting ideologies, social constructs, the momentary pleasures of shitting and posting, in that order. In the end, he leaves us pondering our own moral compasses, the fluidity of our identities, the deeper meanings behind our most mundane experiences, and perhaps even our desire to share and like his work.