The Tiki Torch Insurrection
An attempted uprising that dressed itself in rebellion but ultimately tripped over its own irony.
🎙️ Voiceover: “The Glorious Failure of the Tiki Torch Insurrection”
[Soft military snare. A lonely trumpet plays. Enter narrator with exhausted gravitas.]
Ah yes... the Tiki Torch Revolution.
History will remember it fondly—if history continues with its’ drinking problem.
It began, as all great uprisings do, on social media.
Brave men—pale, confused, and radicalized by a YouTube channel —took up arms.
Not muskets. Not bayonets.
But citronella-soaked patio décor.
[Cut to footage of angry men in polos and khakis marching like a lost fraternity pledge class.]
Here they come, fists clenched, brows furrowed, memes prepared.
They marched for liberty.
Or heritage.
Or to protect statues of people they couldn’t name.
We’re still unclear. So were they.
[Dramatic pause. Enter narrator with venom.]
This was not a revolution born in hardship.
It was born in comment sections.
Fed on fast food and faster outrage.
Shaped by memes, molded by podcasts, and lit—quite literally—by the soft glow of tropical patio lighting.
Their battle cry?
“We will not be replaced!”
Replaced by what?
Facts. Accountability. It's unclear.
[Cue exaggerated patriotic score. Narrator goes full sarcasm. Voice proud and acidic.]
And oh, how bravely they stood.
Shouting nonsense like it was gospel.
Holding torches like suburban villagers cosplaying as history.
Waging war on modernity while live-streaming in HD.
For a brief, flickering moment, they believed they were Spartans.
They were, in fact, suburbanites.
[Dramatic shift. Music darkens, tempo slows. The narrator drops into a knowing tone.]
Of course, it didn’t end there.
Inspired by their mosquito-repellent crusade, others would follow—
shirtless prophets in painted faces,
selfie soldiers with zip ties,
keyboard colonels in tactical vests they bought after watching one episode of a survival show.
They came not to overthrow tyranny,
but to overthrow decorum,
and common sense.
[Cut to a slow zoom on a wide-eyed man mid-scream, surrounded by people who think "civic duty" means bringing a GoPro.]
They were armed with slogans,
fueled by Facebook uncles,
and confused—deeply confused—about how government works,
or how anything works, for that matter.
Some scaled walls they could have walked around.
Others wandered around like looters.
[Music swells. The narrator channels faux awe.]
Oh, what a moment.
A people’s uprising brought to you by Facebook recommendations and tactical cargo pants.
A coup in khakis.
A rebellion with a punchline.
Their torches flickered.
Their phones overheated.
And their freedom…
was mostly about not getting banned from Twitter.
[Final swell. A pause. Then, almost kindly:]
So raise a glass.
To the brave few who marched into the annals of history—
armed with slogans, citronella, and constitutional misunderstandings.
They thought they were heroes.
They were assholes.
