The die have been cast, the gauntlet thrown down, and the worthy have been proven.
Humankind has finally discovered the ultimate crucible, that which weeds out the ignoble and anoints the noble duly. But what are we to do with this knowledge? What are those who fail the test going say, to think? Fear not, because I know exactly what we should do with all the disgusting dregs who hear “Yanny”.
For years the enlightened have been building an artificial homeland for the disgusting and deprived Yanny-hearers, we just didn’t realize it yet. Bottle by bottle, diaper by diaper, and bag after bag we piled into the pristine waters of the fearsome pacific, knowing that they would join together in one righteous cause. That cause, of course, was creating the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.
This dum-dum’s paradise is comprised holy of the refuse of society, and will hopefully soon be inhabited by it as well. What could be a more perfect paradise for those of such poor perception? If one does not care to take the time to differentiate between, “Laurel”, and, “Yanny”, then what’s really the difference between a home furnished with the trapping of a modern existence and a rotting mass of trash cavorting about the North Pacific? If I’m not to be bothered with deciphering the intended meaning of anything, what do I care if I live in a democratic republic or a loose nomadic society of hunter-gatherers based on a rudimentary recollection of world history? Personally, I think the Yanny-hearers will be happier.
Some people, probably Yanny-hearers, will argue that this is a draconian measure. They’ll point to the New York Times article which breaks down the phenomena and claims to use “science” to allow each and every one of us to hear either, “Laurel”, or, “Yanny”. This is a disgusting affront to evolution. Instead of dancing around it by using fancy tricks to make us think everyone is equal, why don’t I just dig up Charles Darwin and wallop him in the nards right now? While I’m at it, I can let him know that true love doesn’t exist and spoil the ending of the Sixth Sense for him. Is that what you want?
While I’d love the opportunity to use my Bring ’em Back Up Machine (patent pending), I don’t think it’s right to disrespect Charles Darwin like that. He sacrificed so much of his life fucking around with turtles in those shitty little islands, and to drag him up to show him the hubris of posterity would serve only to make a man realize the futility of his life’s work. No, we let him rest.
So let’s pack up those boats, find the Yanny-hearers, and send them to the garbage homeland they deserve. This solution is not only ethical, but to not implement it would be morally gross. Allowing Yanny-hearers to wander around this complex world, confused by what to them is garbled nonsense but which is in fact a beautiful beautiful musical called Hamilton, would be cruel. Let’s do the right thing.