Lord of the Flies, P.C. Version

From the New Yorker . . . 

Suddenly, a naval vessel appeared in the distance. A dinghy dropped into the sea; a small team of sailors climbed into it and paddled toward the island. The boys regarded them warily as they landed on the beach.
“Are you the boys who need to be rescued?” an officer shouted.
“Why is he screaming at us?” Percival cried. “I feel very unsafe!”
“Some of us identify as gender-questioning,” Jack called back to the officer. “And we reject your Eurocentric imposition of the jungle-rescue narrative.”
“No, please! Save us!” Ralph yelled, rushing to the officer. “Save us!”
“Er, see, here’s the thing,” the officer said, backing away. “I’m going to have to radio back to my supervisors to make sure I’m following the proper protocols for dealing with self-identified indigenous populations before I can do anything.”
They stared at him. He shrugged. “Or else we’ll just get killed on Twitter.”
The dinghy motored off. Then the ship. The boys were alone again. Ralph was afraid. “The tide is coming in,” he said. “It’s getting dark! We need to build a shelter. We need to move to higher ground!”
“Sucks to higher ground!” Jack said triumphantly, even though a large python had begun coiling itself around his leg. “The tide is a mindless instrument of patriarchal violence!”
“I feel unsafe!” Percival cried, one final time, as he was swept out to sea.
“And another thing,” Jack said as he was being eaten by the snake and also a large boar. “This conch of yours. It’s clearly vaginal, but you’re using it as some sort of musical instrument to dominate us. That’s extremely problematic.
“But, by all means, ignore me,” he said to Ralph, who by then had died. “I’m just trying to make this a safe place.”

Hopefully people have read the book.  If not, do so, and finish Animal Farm and 1984 too before you graduate.