Scene: The Enlightened Bean Café
Frank Costanza enters, looking as grumpy as ever, scanning the room like a man who just walked into a parallel universe where logic is a joke. Juniper, Willow, and Aspen stand waiting like a jury of pretentious social media judges, ready to strike.
Juniper (with an air of utter superiority):
“Ah, Frank. You’ve arrived. It’s good, no—it’s necessary that you face the tribunal of woke justice today. You’ve committed heinous offences against the culture of enlightenment. It’s time to be held accountable.”
Frank (eyeing them with disdain):
“Oh, great, a tribunal. What are you, some kind of woke Wizard of Oz? What’s next—do I get to plead my case to a soy milk-powered unicorn?”
The Wildly Absurd Accusations
Willow (dramatically waving a hand):
“First of all, Frank, you’ve shown a blatant disregard for the sacred rules of pronoun respect. I overheard you say the word ‘he’ in reference to a non-binary individual. That’s a hate crime in five different dimensions!”
Frank (rolling his eyes, throwing his hands up):
“Oh, I see. So now pronouns are like Pokémon cards, huh? Gotta catch ‘em all. I didn’t know I needed a PhD in linguistics just to talk to someone without offending their gender cloud.”
Aspen (nodding gravely):
“You also didn’t respect the personal space of that barista. You hovered too long while ordering your oat milk latte. Too long. We counted it. That’s a violation of the ‘micro-aggression’ code.”
Frank (mocking a gasp):
“Oh no, I committed a micro-aggression! I’m so sorry for my horrific, hostile behaviour of… waiting a few seconds to order a drink. Did I hurt your precious aura by making it wait? You’re like the vegan version of a mall cop.”
Juniper (sighing deeply):
“It’s worse, Frank. We have a crisis here. You didn’t even acknowledge the sacredness of the air around you. You know that tree outside? It’s woke. And you walked right past it. That’s tree-shaming.”
Frank (laughing loudly):
“Tree-shaming? Is that what we’re calling it now? I bet you talk to that tree, huh? ‘Oh, how’s the air today, oh wise and enlightened tree?’ I can’t wait until you start putting up ‘Tree Lives Matter’ signs on your ironic rollerblades.”
The Most Ridiculous Accusations Yet
Willow (interrupting, with fire in their eyes):
“Let’s talk about your behaviour at the last brunch. You ordered bacon. Bacon, Frank. Don’t you understand? You’re not just eating animals—you’re eating their souls. You’re appropriating their very essence!”
Frank (snapping his fingers):
“Oh, I’m appropriating now? Well, guess what, I appropriated a damn good sandwich last week. You think I should’ve just spiritually gnawed on a quinoa salad like you while I watched my blood pressure climb? You people are like a gourmet version of an exorcism—always casting out flavour!”
Juniper (placing a hand on their chest):
“Oh, Frank, that’s just it. It’s not about flavour—it’s about the energy. The bacon you ate was part of a collective trauma—of pigs, of course. But also the trauma of all animals who have ever existed. Your consumption was a trigger. A trigger for everything!”
Frank (pointing at Juniper):
“You know what’s a trigger? You people. You’re all walking participation trophies. You probably write trigger warnings for the toaster in your kitchen. ‘Warning: Toast might trigger some of you. Take a deep breath before buttering your bagel, it’s a micro-assault on your chakras.’”
More Absurd Charges
Aspen (with deep concern):
“Frank, we know you love the ’80s, but your obsession with nostalgia is just as dangerous as, like, colonisation. Your constant need to refer to ‘good old times’ is a form of temporal colonisation. It’s just so… straight.”
Frank (scratching his head):
“Temporal colonisation? What does that even mean? I’m just trying to enjoy my banana bread without being lectured by someone who thinks ‘retro’ is a type of yoga pose. You people talk like the time-space continuum is a Pinterest board!”
Willow (glaring with righteous fury):
“And we have to address your choice of socks. Frank, we saw them. They were white. Purely, violently white. The audacity!”
Frank (groaning in disbelief):
“Oh, white socks? Are you kidding me? Next you’ll tell me my shoes are ‘problematic’ because they’ve been stepping on history. What do you want from me? Should I wear a pair of unicorn-hoof slippers and call it cultural sensitivity?”
The Final, Most Absurd Charge
Juniper (smugly raising an eyebrow):
“Frank, we have a final charge against you. You made a sardonic comment in front of an essential oils practitioner. This was deemed a ‘hate speech violation against inner peace.’”
Frank (mocking a gasp):
“Hate speech?! I didn’t make hate speech, I made a joke. And what’s next? Am I going to be charged for not hugging a tree with the right amount of energy? How is ‘essential oils’ a profession? Does the job description include, ‘Must smell like a Siberian pine cone and be willing to meditate at all times’?”
The Absurd Resolution
Juniper (turning to the group, dramatically):
“Frank Costanza, you’ve been found guilty of being a toxic waste dump of historical wrongs. It’s over. Your cancellation is final.”
Frank (standing tall, arms wide open, ready to go down swinging):
“Oh, is it now? Well, I’ll tell you this—I’ve been cancelled by more people than you can fit in a minimalist, organic, gluten-free Prius. If you think your little soy latte revolution is going to stop me, you’ve got another thing coming. You’re like a bunch of yoga instructors on a power trip. Go put on your ironic fanny packs and leave me the hell out of it!”
Aspen (gathering the others):
“We did it, guys. We’ve saved the world from Frank Costanza.”
Epilogue
As Frank storms out, still shouting about his ‘war on gluten-free pizza,’ the hipsters return to their spiritual meditation circle, sipping their oat milk lattes with smug satisfaction.
