I remember the first time I heard “woke” tossed around like a flaming torch was during the great Disney Little Mermaid casting catastrophe. The sheer nerve of making a fictional mermaid black—what a crime against humanity’s cherished aquatic canon. It was then I realized “woke” basically meant “daring to let animated characters have a more diverse shade of skin.”

Since that day, the word “woke” has followed me like a pack of identical bros with American flag truck decals and an unhealthy love of discount beer. They hurl it like it’s some lethal insult designed to send me clutching my pearls in shame. But here’s the plot twist: these guys often can’t decide if I’m “woke” or a “right-wing troll.” It’s like I’m trapped in a funhouse mirror show of their insecurities, and I gotta say, the irony tastes as sweet as a factory-made donut.

I dipped my toes into the Christian Facebook groups, innocently sprinkling a few scientific facts around as if mental health awareness was a radical conspiracy. That’s where I discovered Matt “let’s trivialize mental illness” Walsh, and the minute I pushed back with a fact or two, his fanboys screamed “woke!” at me like they were auditioning for a reality show about who can miss the point fastest. Who knew suggesting people deserve empathy would make me a card-carrying member of the Woke Brigade?

Then came the Miss Japan drama. God forbid someone with Ukrainian ancestry but a Japanese passport wins a beauty pageant. Suddenly a bunch of old guys—white and Asian alike—were whipping out the “pure-breed” and “half-blood” vocab like we were stuck in some racist Hogwarts. When I pointed out that they were, you know, being racist, “woke” accusations poured in again, as if defending basic human decency was some outrageous, avant-garde stance.

But perhaps my favorite encounter was with yet another white dude in a truck (I’m sensing a theme) losing his mind because someone dared to say they liked college and now have a decent job. I calmly asked what made him so mad about someone else’s happiness, and guess what he screamed back? “Woke.” I mean, clearly the ultimate sin in this world is to question why someone hates joy.

After all these charming encounters, I’ve reached a scientific conclusion: “woke” is less a word and more a placeholder for “I can’t articulate my dislike for what you just said, so I’ll say this.” It’s basically the Swiss Army knife for people who want to sound hip but can’t form an actual counterargument. It’s “libtard”’s trendier cousin, bland enough to slip into any conversation and flexible enough to mean, well, nothing.

If “woke” means being aware that people other than you deserve respect and representation, then sure, I’ll take it. But let’s not kid ourselves into thinking it has any depth. It’s just another flimsy label, a sad attempt to sound edgy while staring blankly at progress. So go ahead, Chuck and friends, keep screaming “woke!” from your trucks—if anything, it just makes the rest of us look that much more reasonable.

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