I wasn’t previously familiar with Rosanna Arquette, an “actress, poet and activist,” but goodness, she puts on a show:

But then, this isn’t her first rodeo:

He was white, you see, and obviously that’s another incriminating feature:

Update, via the comments:

As so often, these little things are quite telling. I realise that gestures of politeness or chivalry aren’t always perfectly expressed, but it takes a certain churlishness, a practised sourness, to construe the above as some ill-intended act of patriarchal oppression, and therefore something to resist – before publicly congratulating yourself on Twitter. And as noted previously, it’s curious how all this feminist empowerment doesn’t seem to result in much stoicism or self-possession or mental resilience, just lots of narcissism, ingratitude and chronic whininess. Such that publicly disdaining the physical attributes – whiteness, maleness, middle-agedness – of the person offering to help you retrieve your overhead luggage – is deemed an act of woke piety. As if these were things for which a person should be disdained, along with their offers of help.

Via Ben Sixsmith. Also, open thread.

So, anyway, in the nightmare, I’m trapped at the Atlanta National Convention of the Democratic Socialists of America, which is currently underway, and where the gathered superior beings keep triggering each other. Most notably, bottom right:

To recap: Mr Sensory Overload declares his pronouns and brings up “a point of privilege” – about how distressed and triggered he is by hearing whispering in the auditorium – and such is his distress, he uses the verboten word “guys.” This immediately triggers the Big Ungendered Flamingo Being, who, also clearly distraught, denounces the use of gendered language as itself privileged and oppressive. Given how one person’s complaint about being triggered instantly triggers another person to complain about being triggered by the previous person’s complaint, you can imagine the rip-roaring pace at which decisions are likely to be made. I suspect the toppling of capitalism may take longer than expected.

Update:

Mr Sensory Overload, pronouns he and him, is still unhappy.

Update 2:

God help us, there’s more.

Main video via Andy Ngo. Previous nightmare scenarios can be found here, here and here.

There is, I suspect, a story here. || A partial success. || Life lessons. || At last, stabilised beer. || Because you’ve always wanted contact lenses with a blink-triggered zoom option. || Virtual body ownership. || Best not to. || Balanced gourds and other stacked foodstuffs. || Them’s good eats. || Sock-related intrigue of note. (h/t, Damian) || One of these things is not like the others. || Thin crust. || Maximum security. (h/t, Holborn) || Hardcore constipation. || Duct-tape typography. || He does have a point. || Inadequate planning. || Inadequate planning, part 2. || Incoming. || The climbing Cholitas. || A mystery unfolds. || And finally, somewhat alarmingly, a lesson in, among other things, not knowing when to quit.

Climate change activists chained themselves to the wrong building in the City of London after failing to realise the fossil fuel company they wanted to disrupt had moved address last year.

And yes, there is a punchline:

The group of 200 protesters instead brought chaos to the entrance of a building which houses the offices of a leading renewable energy company.

The protestors’ chanted demands include “No borders, no nations, no gas power stations.”

Update, via the comments:

Readers are invited to marvel at the patchwork of seemingly incompatible concerns, and to ponder how, if at all, any of the protestors’ professed objectives could actually be met without nations, with borders, to implement them. Do they imagine that some borderless, undifferentiated and continually shifting mass of human beings with no common identity or common bond could function at all for any length of time, let alone in ways that they, or we, might find congenial?

Via Tim. Previously. Also, open thread.