Blockheads

The Blockheads were stuffy. They were congested. Their sinuses were blocked, their ideas were stifled, and their loves were tentative. But their likes were easily posted with a keystroke.

The Blockheads lacked moral wherewithal.

What little moral wherewithal they had they squandered on petty peeves and oneupmanship against others. Sometimes they spent too much of their wherewithal — out of an abundance of caution until caution was no longer abundant. This was precisely why Blockheads repeated the same mistakes, over and over.

Rarely, each time one of the Blockheads matured a little, realized a truth or debunked some fallacy, it was wherewithal payday. The Blockheads who accrued the most wherewithal sat at the top of a block pyramid, where Maslow never looked. Way up there, they mastered fueling the rationalizations that bolstered their dominance.

Yet, shit still rolls downhill. As it does. In the wrong hands, riches can be squandered, luxuries drained, and necessities all spent. Caveats are lost in translation. And doom, like the mistakes, happens over and over.

The Blockheads pledged unwavering support to their hero — someone who was outrageous enough to have the most "likes," which was a fluid dynamic that defined the opioid of the masses. The cheapest demagogic trick in the book, the us-vs-them motif, created each hero du jour.

Blockheads lay down in homage to their hero — each hero, a day at a time. Being Blockheads, they fit together without the irregularities that made heads different. The more regular their heads, the better they were able to fall together into a wall of obstinacy.

Everyone had their wall.

They were the wall.

Such a wall lacked wherewithal. Or wisdom. Or compassion. Such a wall, without those things, stood strong because of those wants. Winds of change simply blew off of such a wall. Without erosion.

But the wall did what it did best, whether that be holding other heads in or keeping the other heads out. The more "liked" the heros, the taller the wall of Blockheads grew. Tall enough, and such a construct is divisive. For everything.

"My way" means the "might way"; otherwise, it's the highway. The highway just over the wall. But mind the razorwire.