Imagine regularly carrying a ragged plastic grocery bag as a daily means of luggage for transporting personal items around the business corridor of an affluent suburb instead of a designer purse. Existing as a presentable, healthy individual with a friendly demeanor, lugging the offending bag represents a dichotomy to stability and sanity that is too much for the average person to effectively process in the land of luxury and triggers fear and trepidation from neighborhood activists. Hauling the controversial sack offers no advantage to bipedal transportation or the simple act of walking efficiently, as the bag costs eight cents that funds apparent bureaucratic revenue (at least in the state of Washington), and triple the cost in producing the bag which is shouldered by the tax-payer, yet the plastic sack at least serves a purpose on a multitude of levels and represents a micro-demographic of neglected demographic and a victim of political correctness. Meet the suburban hobo, and an identity that is not currently recognized on college campuses as an official pronoun.
Within the self-described and self-identifying sack he (recognized pronoun among 53 others at New York’s (SUNY) public university system) holds onto for dear life are contained a wallet, keys, and a smart device. This is not merely a cute prop, but a tool that has multiple uses in the domain of the handy. The entire arrangement as an alternative and protest to pockets is now status quo for the middle aged male as both a fashion statement and a cry for help as in Democratically controlled cities such as the bevy of metropolitan areas up and down the Left cost are not sanctuaries for dating, but nightmares to the mating instinct. The “bag lady” movement has reached the domain of males and those deliberately exercising or exorcising their diminishing Constitutional rights, before counterculture extinguishes any hope for the affable and optimism. It’s a fact that the majority of single women in this region hate men with all the subtlety of a “misandrist” and the term is used liberally among male support groups.
Traditional men have become an afterthought thanks to both the phenomenon of the H1-B movement and general apathy for making meaningful connections with the opposite sex, with the makeshift purse bag being at the forefront of the current societal dynamics. The bag or the “Murse” (man’s purse) at an $800 price point through the Gucci portal is the sobering and despondent response to the dog mom revolution, as the pampered pets are preferred over thoughtful and intelligent males (an identity or pronoun not recognized by the SUNY board of regents) men that don’t require the blue pill to at least make the attempt to satisfy a partner, but are merely afterthoughts living in an environment that does not make sense, an environment more conducive to the test tube generated descendents of the esteemed panel of “The View” who by 2050 will have wiped out Western society as the Yoga pants revolution sweeping women of all generations results in universal verbal vasectomy.
While the Murse is the proverbial tip of the iceberg an evidence of a forthcoming passive aggressive anarchy, involving rioters marching, looting and even scheduling the time to enjoy a pedicure after the carnage, those suffering from relationship PTSB are going to bizarre lengths in processing their feelings in the quest for a rare instance of validation.
Take for example the disheartening plot of “Rick”, a semi-retired techie in Kirkland who lives a transient lifestyle throughout the day and into the early morning hours and closing time at the bar, yet goes home to a condo valued at 1.4 million dollars to fitfully rest. The former Apple employee under the tutelage of Steve Jobs, who once smoked a joint with author Ken Kesey at the Bay Area campus in the late 1980’s, faces an existence of angst and disgruntlement in no fault of his own and with major sociological implications.
During the afternoon to the late night scene, “Rick”, who is an accomplished artist and intellect, will dumpster dive among alleyways in cosplaying a defeatist fetish, and reacting to the abhorrent obliviousness of females within the suburb emotionally unavailable to sexuality and sensibility. While his performance art celebrating the destitute is understandable, the cost of his actions is a priceless toll on his humanity and overall health.
One Winter evening during a seasonal deluge of rain, he sat outside a pub with a jerry-rigged sling barely protecting a swollen hand of Halloween reaper proportions, that he had injured while climbing into a dumpster searching for a solution to the repugnant. Wilbur Mercer would be jealous of the necessary coping mechanism of masochism.
Neatly dressed, but carrying a feral bag, he accepted a ride to the emergency room and the glares of a discerning staff assuming he was a homeless vagrant, because of the sack accessory, and rolling there eyes as to the financial consequences to the hospital of treating him. “Rick” deftly brandished his insurance card at the admittance desk with his good hand, and the looks of surprises were gratifying in the sense that “never judge a book by its cover” while blindly assuming. He was subsequently treated and sent on his way. After recovering, he still prefers the underworld of the city to this day and the dark shadowy enclaves of trash and empty solitude, over potentially superficial and forgettable, and brutally savage interactions with those vapid and bereft of critical thinking skills, who choose to judge, rather than experience.
The inclination to roam free as a clean-cut hobo and not engage in the hive mind on the Left Coast and in other cities in the industrialized world is an indictment of decades of societal engineering that is truly saddening, as the majority of the population cannot comprehend the cause and effect, or the simple recognition of “why?”. This fascinating and tragic subculture of dejected and reflective men spawned from the remnants of militant feminism is a bittersweet dramedy that on the surface is laughable, but for the future of the nation the severe backlash will not be realized until the middle of the century as a dwindling population will be unable and ill-equipped to serve the needs of AI and self-driving vehicles which possess the murderous personality of the prolific serial killers in the 1970’s.
The next time one encounters a dapper gentlemen lugging around a tattered sack, do not offer a five dollar bill, but if one is a man, shake the person’s hand, and if a woman, just give him the priceless respite of a kiss.