Serves 7.9 billion, with leftovers of existential dread.
Ingredients
- 1 cup boiling planetary pressure
- 3 tbsp finely chopped truth (organic, if you can find it)
- 1 tsp dystopian seasoning (available in most late-stage capitalist supermarkets)
- 2 whole restrained engineers, lightly beaten
- 1 ½ cups frustrated scientists, drained of funding
- A generous handful of educators, gagged with curriculum standards
- ½ cup greedy stakeholders (substitute with "invisible hand of the market" if unavailable)
- 4 tbsp corrupt politics, pre-lubricated for easier mixing
- 1 dash of false hope (for garnish)
- Optional: 1 broken moral compass (adds a rustic flavor)
Preheat society to a slow, unacknowledged burn. You’ll know it's ready when the glaciers weep and billionaires start hoarding bunkers.
In a large, non-stick narrative, whisk the restrained engineers and drained scientists together. The mixture should be thick with good ideas, but barely able to rise due to systemic suppression. Stir gently—do not let them unionize.
In a separate bowl of denial, fold in the corrupt politics and greedy stakeholders. Be warned: this mixture will overpower the flavor of logic. It may also gaslight your smoke alarm.
Slowly combine both mixtures, adding the finely chopped truth one flake at a time. The batter may curdle, especially if truth has not been refrigerated since 1972.
Pour the batter into a pre-oiled narrative spun by legacy media. Cover with a foil of distractions (celebrity scandals, micro-scandals, microwaved opinions).
Bake in the heat of public apathy for 4–6 election cycles, or until golden brown and morally ambiguous. If it collapses, that’s normal. Just call it “deconstructed civilization.”
Top with a sprinkle of humor, a drizzle of dark irony, and a sprig of radical honesty. Pairs beautifully with a glass of “We Told You So” vintage 2020.
Chef’s Notes
Refrigerate leftovers in a vault in New Zealand.
This dish is best consumed while staring into the void and whispering, “We really could’ve just funded the science.”