the baggy trousered misanthropist

missives issued from the lair

In the post 9/11 climate, gestures of dissonance from the unwashed public have been forced to undergo some changes. The chances of being able to get within a few miles of a  politician or celebrity at a public event while brandishing anything more dangerous or threatening than a juice box are extremely limited.

Far from being an impediment to freedom of expression though, the prospect of an orange jumpsuit and a go on the waterboard has forced people to modify their protests into a friendlier format.

With fascinating results.

As we know, when we’re talking human endeavour, necessity is the mother of invention. If you’re going to get close enough to a politician, a sportsperson or anyone else obscenely famous enough to warrant massive media attention, the items in your holdall need to be frisk-proof, or at least not immediately recognisable as weaponry. Something you might have on you anyway as you go about your daily business.

A shoe. The constituent ingredients of a foam pie. A hotdog.

As Tiger Woods found out this weekend, there is an unintentional but superb side-effect to this form of protest. Instead of killing or maiming the intended target, which tends to push public sympathy towards their cause rather than the protagonists own, this form of contact just humiliates, which is much more fun. You see, whether you chuck a hand grenade or a hotdog, the security response remains the same. Which is how we got to yesterday’s farcical footage of several burly bodyguards in casuals and earpieces running around a golf course trying to close down a weiner in a bun while the golfer in question tried (and failed) to look unperturbed.

We can use this, people. By destroying the mystique of the rich and famous through the hurling of baked goods we can restore the balance in our society and ultimately create peace throughout the world.

Takin’ the power back, people. One donut at a time.

Image: REUTERS/Robert Galbraith.

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