Mankind today isn’t defined as much by its ability to survive by overcoming the direst of circumstances, as it is by its unparalleled idiocy.
Not too long ago, beer yoga became a thing. Yoga, when done right, takes years to master. Just the idea of standing tall like a mountain with both hands stretched upwards, with your eyes closed, is enough to make the strongest of hulks sway. To then try and marry that simple task with alcohol is a textbook example of self-destruction. Thankfully, the rotten-brain crits behind this cookie idea soon bashed their heads into the wall, while trying to do a shirshasana after pulling a pint, and are extinct as far as that threat goes.
But did that stop mankind dead in its tracks? Maybe make them take stock of their stupidity and possibly reroute? Of course not; which brings me to the concept of Broga, oops, I mean, Broga©, because this canny lot has gone and put a copyright on practically every corny word that they can create with the prefix ‘bro’. Yes, thanks to them, future generations will judge us for making ‘Brogram©’ a thing.
The idea of labelling everything with the bro-prefix makes it sound as if these things were gender-specific all along, and a few brave men have gone and crossed over some threshold, thereby opening up a world of possibilities for their brethren (Brothren©?). This is what happens when millennials spend too much time online instead of reading a book. Yoga, as a practice, was started by a male god, and until the 20th century, some of the main proponents of this ancient unisex way of life were, you guessed it, men. So Broga is as new as, I don’t know, turmeric and milk. All those turmeric-latte hipsters be damned!
And then there is Brotox. Thankfully, it isn’t ©ed yet. Given how salons are giving less haircuts and more facials and bum-hole bleach-jobs to men, getting Botox seems as routine as a morning cuppa. But, brotox makes it sound like a revolution; it took a brave man to wear the first pink shirt, but a braver man still to go under that syringe of mildly poisonous gel.
So, by trying to celebrate the commonplace and term the old new simply by repackaging it, we are finding newer ways to dumb ourselves down, contrary to what Darwin may have predicted.
Conclusion: we on Earth will never really need a Thanos to cull our numbers by half; our vanity will be the end of us. For, if we don’t die while taking a stupid selfie, we’ll most likely do ourselves in, in some other equally vague manner, and the chances that it has the ‘bro’-prefix and the ©-tail are getting higher with each passing generation of social media in-breds.
The writer is an old-school bon-vivant who pursues fitness dedicatedly but still refuses to Broga©
