This article is satire.
Certain moments define a man. Certain moments define a nation. On rare occasions, the two collide — as when, on a sunny day in 2020, George Floyd was senselessly struck down by a lethal brew of methamphetamine and anally-chugged fentanyl. If there were a big, red alarm called “systemic oppression,” Floyd’s death would’ve set it ringing. Though the only alarms he set off in life were those of home security systems.
But with retrospect and grifting comes healing. Each morning during the Biden years, I woke and took a deep, rich, fully articulated breath (of relief). Floyd’s death was not for naught. He suffered so that the general awareness of racism and stuff might be raised. And also for free TVs.
Activists quickly mobilized to erect monuments so that we might never forget Floyd’s sacrifice. Of course, a statue is a paltry substitution for…
