Somewhere back in the dim recesses of time, when Happy Days was still new to the Earth, an evolutionary divergence occurred. Whether it happened by mutation or genetic obstinacy is unclear, but the human race split into two definitive and eternally irreconcilable strains. One branch, Homo Pragmaticus, was to progress and elevate humanity to new, hitherto unimagined realms of achievement. The other; Homo Spankis, devoted themselves to not understanding their children’s music and bitching a lot.
For a while the two subspecies coexisted somewhat peacefully, in an almost symbiotic fashion. Pragmaticus would write books that Spankis would use for heating and light, and occasionally as a source of food. The latter of course constipated them terribly, and it has been postulated that diet was a determining factor in their subsequent accelerated social and psychological regression.
Pragmaticus continued to evolve, however. They developed concepts like scented candles and universal human rights. They began to uncover the immutable secrets of existence and formulated theories to explain them – such as chaos and string theory, and if you pick up that acoustic guitar and play one more fucking Joni Mitchell song I’m going to punch you really hard in the fun-sack. These insights led to technological breakthroughs that culminated in the pinnacle of all human achievement, the Personal Computer.
The Personal Computer changed everything. It was affordable, and Spankis could for the first time communicate with a world that existed outside of their own stunted imagination. They didn’t even have to get on their knees to do it, although many of them still chose to out of habit and familiarity. For one glimmering moment it seemed possible for the subspecies to reunite under the universal banner of porn.
Alas, it was not to be. Spankis failed to grasp the concept, much as they had failed to grasp every precedent societal development. While they embraced porn wholeheartedly, they introduced donkeys and their Uncle Muriel then wept with guilt in the corner, effectively cruelling everybody’s fun.
Realising that the only way to counter Pragmaticus’ dangerously guilt-free and progressive behaviour was through repetition and loud complaints, Spankis prudently incubated a number of homunculi to utilise the tools of their perceived enemy, while they busied themselves building frightening structures with great big fuck off sound systems within which to preach the virtues of humility. War had been declared and was to be waged. Pragmaticus was caught entirely unawares, as it was collectively seeking a decent Pho and arguing amongst itself as to whether Radiohead’s artistic pinnacle was OK Computer or Amnesiac.
So began the war of the bleeding obvious, a gruesome battle destined to shed much blood, and not a little semen from those amongst the ranks of Spankis who had moved on from farm animal porn and into the rarefied glory of science denial. ‘Fuck you and fuck your scientists’ became the rallying cry of those who didn’t understand that their Personal Computer was a by-product of the science they held in such contempt. ‘Humans have no impact on the environment’ cried those who wept about the population explosion bringing strange looking people into their neighbourhood. ‘Their beliefs are an affront to our way of life’ said the people who threatened doctors with creatively painful deaths. ‘I’ll pray for you’ squealed those using medicine to keep themselves alive.
The war continues. It will probably outlast this generation, and maybe even the next. Spankis is a subspecies with an enormous bank of stupid and money at its disposal. Pragmaticus is weak from eating tofu and suffering an overwhelming fear of soap. The only thing that is certain to us at this crucial moment is that the battle will be dragged further into the sewer, and the victor is likely to be the subspecies which breathes best amongst the shit. Alas, we all know which fuckers have the gills.